Spy Story The Rossenoff is a heavy tool, more so now he is old. The hotel in Paris is no longer managed by the beautiful Algerians, offers a full breakfast, but the lift is still intimate, two people in it are crushed together. The Marais trendy and full of the young. He leaves the memory … Continue reading My flash fiction in Panoply
Author: James Walton
My poem in the new Grieve Anthology August 2021
Mine is just dentistry, thus I can pray for my oldest friend I lack the faith of doorknobs or roadsthe steadfast purity in purposean exhibit of solid testimonybetween before during now and afterhow hands or rain or dust cannot shakethe utility of being so no minor inconvenience for directionno reason to look beyond or underbut … Continue reading My poem in the new Grieve Anthology August 2021
A new poem in Burrow Bi Annual
Cleaning the gutters, advent each handful carries its own risksfrom such fallow rustingwandering ashes meant for seakidnapped by an idling wind, the journey of leaves delayedin the stalled gravity of Autumnbeetle husks within dreamroof nails departing purpose, desiccated chicks abandonedconcerto de Aranjuezthrough an open windowforehead above to weatherboard, debris falling to obeisancesideways gusts push for … Continue reading A new poem in Burrow Bi Annual
Two of my poems from the newly released Lothlorien Poetry Journal Volume 2
No compass for wrack They say, in the north countryrain has lost its bearingsand wanders seeking a daughteror son to remember the touchof earth on cheek and knee.How bones, out of kilterkeep clear of steeping gulchand scry for penance in feldsparweigh each measure of lossto shy at every consequence.Deep south, the indifferent skycurls back a … Continue reading Two of my poems from the newly released Lothlorien Poetry Journal Volume 2
The Fencer and the Sunset: Eight Bars for Broken Strings
The ripped wire is back up uncurled recycled twice the effort for half the result(I hear the scent of you smiling in the fragrant drapery of the orange tree),but happy doing the right thingwitnessed by how much the disinfectant stings my hands All those cuts for a little comfort and of course pleasurein some resurrection … Continue reading The Fencer and the Sunset: Eight Bars for Broken Strings
Stretcher Bearers
snow only comes with death hereI thought I heard you saybut it fell twice at Christmas as we watched the truancy of crystalshredded coconut out of treesrefusing to stay grounded albino kelp on the herbsa tincture of ointment risingout of that braiding landscape and I was thinking of howlepers were smoked with rosemaryso as not … Continue reading Stretcher Bearers
These bridges, too far
My friend and my enemyare buried together where the peat is frozen as glass over by Bartlet’s Outletthe falls we played beneath a chandelier of tears side by sidethe child and the adult grow under the mound patted gently with spadesof rifles loaded from Sundays an armistice culls the night its preparatory dayswound through this … Continue reading These bridges, too far
Coonabarabran, Suddenly.
Hazza leans against a veranda post, drinking a malted milk, his hat brim pushed up, smiling into the sun. He is young. Across the road a three- legged, one- eyed Labrador goes car to car outside the takeaway, hedging itself to a tyre with a back leg propped to the rubber, gently as a sculptor’s … Continue reading Coonabarabran, Suddenly.
Afghanistan, a rose grew
the glimmer catches your breatha thorn to the reachyet how that light entertainedpalm and wrist in stretchto think to encompassthose petals of beingrestrain these swathed elementariesvenetian in wander and stasisthe prick as you toucha hand withdrawn from colourso certain of consequencegasp now as primaries splinterone hue in keening refrainflickers within a closingthe burdens so heavy … Continue reading Afghanistan, a rose grew
Sea of Souls
There’s a cove. A house stragglesa sagging beach, where behind a patched blindthe Hendrix version of All Along the Watchtowersends its summons through the wave speakers.God opens the door, a stubby in one handand his left eye bleeding from a blood vessel.You’re late he pines at me, I’m too polite to saywhat I think, that’s … Continue reading Sea of Souls