Past Painting

 

Which

School of art

Did your memory

Attend?

Parkstreet 

Testament

 

She didn’t have kids,

So when I die

My last words

Will be the last time

Anyone

Says her name.

Parkstreet 

Ko-fi

The Summer Of Love

 

The Summer of Love,

Or as it was known 

In my family,

The Summer We Bought The Fondue Kit,

Was ending

As I was born,

But in winter, 

In the wrong hemisphere 

And the wrong house.

Parkstreet

Ko-fi

The Process

 

"I need to ask you a favour mate, well, two favours."

"Whaddya' need mate?"

"On Monday I have to take the new work to the gallery, it's too big to carry on my own. Should only take half an hour, down the big stairs, through Woolloomooloo, up the path to the gallery."

"No worries mate, canvas is light, even I can carry that. What's the other favour."

"I need you to take it seriously. We have to be on time to meet the bloke there. And I need you to refrain from tripping down the stairs jokes, from small talk, I don't know mate, for some reason it seems inportant that we carry it there in the right way. It's my first real work. Hope you don't think I'm a being a wanker mate, it's just important to me."

"No worries mate, I understand, like Seymour Glass shining his shoes before he goes on the radio in that Franny And Zooey book you lent me."

"Right mate, just like that."








Parkstreet

Ko-fi

Wish You Were Here

When I'm here, and I think of you, I remember that I'd never heard of this place when you were alive, but I remember all the things you liked, the sort of people, the sort of food, old houses, dogs, coffee, all the things you liked, and I know you'd have loved it here, so when I'm here I think of you, all the time, and wish you were here.

Parkstreet 

Reading

 

He called himself a writer, but never seemed to write much. He claimed he was learning how to write less, that his long term goal was to write a one word novel. He bragged that he was making progress, that his latest novel was down to two lines.

Chapter 1

"Why don't you ever visit me?", she asked.

"Because I love you", he replied.

He said he was struggling to find an apt title, and a publisher who understood his minimalist style, who understood that two lines told enough of the story, yet allowed the reader the freedom to imagine the rest. 

"Why would anyone buy a book that tells them everything?", he asked, apparently quite sincerely.

It became a habit to take coffee with him each week, eager to hear how little he had written over the last seven days, if he had completed a one sentence novel. 

I found myself yearning for that one word novel, wondered what that word could be.

He reminded me that even a one word novel, no matter how perfect, would be a work of fiction, just another story, not an answer.

Parkstreet 

Ko-Fi

Not A Trout

I am not a trout, to be played until I'm weary, then cut loose, with a scarred lip to remember you by.

I am not a trout.

Parkstreet

Ko-Fi