stand, wait at first light,
for a smouldering apparition
for a wraith on the tide,
for a chimney to rise;
for a breath of smoke
to smudge at,
to erase, to displace
the remains of this night.
All rights reserved
Monday, 11 May 2015
Factory Ship
stand, wait at first light,
for a smouldering apparition
for a wraith on the tide,
for a chimney to rise;
for a breath of smoke
to smudge at,
to erase, to displace
the remains of this night.
All rights reserved
Misremembering a life
Rumpled dark blue
sheets,
a perfect cup of tea.
A bouquet of Tiger
lilies on his desk;
her hands knitting
whilst she listened to the BBC.
A pair of dark
glasses,
Rachel’s slow smile.
A series of
photographs;
disconnected short
films,
The failure of false
maps;
their loss in
transmission;
All rights reserved
Thursday, 23 April 2015
First Kiss
We
rose at dawn to hear nightingales
upon the undercliff. Old Man’s Beard
and brambles tangled the narrow track
and light and shadow played across our skin.
Jonny was gentle with rough hands,
a thatcher like his Dad.
I was fourteen, still dreaming
of a charming prince to wake me
from my rural sleep.
upon the undercliff. Old Man’s Beard
and brambles tangled the narrow track
and light and shadow played across our skin.
Jonny was gentle with rough hands,
a thatcher like his Dad.
I was fourteen, still dreaming
of a charming prince to wake me
from my rural sleep.
© Gill Dunstan
All rights reserved
Wednesday, 15 April 2015
First Kiss
Her hair was cut severely – and hadn’t changed since early
days of motherhood; although his profile spoke of sports, clearly he frequented
Greggs.
They dined at the Taj Mahal.
When they kissed afterwards, she tasted of mouthwash, he of
extra strong mints. Blood sang and they
gasped, groaned and grinned.
© Tim Scott
All rights reserved
First Kiss
I kissed the
wall,
cool and
flat;
unsatisfactory,
though I
burrowed into
my
imagination,
senses and
dreams.
He took me
to see Ben Hur
that winter,
when the
snow froze
and glinted
in the car
headlights,
cracking
under foot.
He jammed
his lips hard on mine.
I was
disappointed.
All rights reserved
Her first kiss
After
forty days voyaging into the light
I
knew the touch of a mother’s wing, brushing my face.
She
opened her heart, offered a breast.
Eighty
years pass; she begins her journey into darkness.
My
parted lips, soft with sorrow’s breath, linger on her cooling flesh -
my
last kiss
All rights reserved
Saturday, 4 April 2015
EDITING
Interesting link, here: What It Takes: The Second Draft (Is Not a Draft)
So what are the beginning, middle and end of Editing? How do you complete THE SECOND DRAFT THAT ISN’T A DRAFT?
Well, I’ve spent the last six months or so at www.storygrid.com to explain what it is editors do. And the website is the basis of my upcoming book The Story Grid: What Good EditorsKnow, which is just about to go to the printer.
It would be terrific if you bought a copy, but you don’t have to. Everything you need to know about editing is free at www.storygrid.com. Really.
But to answer the above question simply:
The beginning of editing is creating a Story Grid Spreadsheet.
The middle of editing is creating a Foolscap Global Story Grid.
And the end of editing is putting together the Spreadsheet and the Foolscap Page into a complete Story Grid for your first draft.
Once you’ve finished Editing or THE SECOND DRAFT THAT ISN’T A DRAFT, you will have a clear understanding of what you’ll need to do in the drafts to come. You will not fear these drafts. Rather you will be re-energized to tackle the obvious problems in your first draft with vim and vigor.
You’ll have that confidence because you’ll know exactly what you’ll need to do to fix the problems and you’ll have a strategy to get that work done.
That is what THE SECOND DRAFT THAT IS NOT A DRAFT is all about.
What It Takes: The Second Draft (Is Not a Draft)
So what are the beginning, middle and end of Editing? How do you complete THE SECOND DRAFT THAT ISN’T A DRAFT?
Well, I’ve spent the last six months or so at www.storygrid.com to explain what it is editors do. And the website is the basis of my upcoming book The Story Grid: What Good EditorsKnow, which is just about to go to the printer.
It would be terrific if you bought a copy, but you don’t have to. Everything you need to know about editing is free at www.storygrid.com. Really.
But to answer the above question simply:
The beginning of editing is creating a Story Grid Spreadsheet.
The middle of editing is creating a Foolscap Global Story Grid.
And the end of editing is putting together the Spreadsheet and the Foolscap Page into a complete Story Grid for your first draft.
Once you’ve finished Editing or THE SECOND DRAFT THAT ISN’T A DRAFT, you will have a clear understanding of what you’ll need to do in the drafts to come. You will not fear these drafts. Rather you will be re-energized to tackle the obvious problems in your first draft with vim and vigor.
You’ll have that confidence because you’ll know exactly what you’ll need to do to fix the problems and you’ll have a strategy to get that work done.
That is what THE SECOND DRAFT THAT IS NOT A DRAFT is all about.
What It Takes: The Second Draft (Is Not a Draft)
Wednesday, 1 April 2015
SUBURBIA
Just in from work, still going on the 'phone.
Two young-ish daughters, always hungry, whine and moan.
He parks the car, uptight to kitchen sills;
Comes in to kiss us all and open bills.
Sub- village life's the same as in the 'burbs:
We work and live and love in equal thirds.
All rights reserved
Claygate 1954
Bowler hats and brollies on the 7.42,
(Hinchley Wood, Clapham, Waterloo)
privet-packaged houses, net curtains a-twitch,
shanks pony for the hoi-polloi, Bentleys for the rich'
Sunday allotments, cabbages and beans,
Morris men outside the Swan, cricket on the green,
"Rag 'n' Bones!" on Tuesdays, bobby on the
beat,
sweets from the
corner shop - Saturday treat!
© Sheila Rogers
All rights reserved
Suburbia
'Suburbia shines like sweat on you,’
he sneered. ‘Your Daddy
is a middle manager. You look the part
but you are petty bourgeois to your core.
We’re through.’
He walked.
I sighed.
I didn’t say, ‘the chip upon your shoulder
bleeds. You’re on a path
to self-destruct and I
cannot
save
you.’
© Gill Dunstan
All rights reserved
he sneered. ‘Your Daddy
is a middle manager. You look the part
but you are petty bourgeois to your core.
We’re through.’
He walked.
I sighed.
I didn’t say, ‘the chip upon your shoulder
bleeds. You’re on a path
to self-destruct and I
cannot
save
you.’
© Gill Dunstan
All rights reserved
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