– Manic Street Preacher –

by Paul Woodgate

You, on a street, in Army-surplus hazmat suit surfing decades of decay, leaving Armstrong-deep footprints in the fallout. Brick-thick scaffolds of vine with pale orange lipstick flowers border broken shop windows, long ago looted by now dead men.

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– Looking For A Day In The Night –

by The Lilac Time

In the early Noughties I bought an album on the strength of the cover art. Black and red, the blurred outline of a face, a hand reaching up or out (to protect, to caress?) and ‘The Lilac Time’ in white text, off-center. Simple. Powerful. Who was this, their music nestled deep in a busy CD rack in HMV, surrounded, with some artistic licence, by Leonard Cohen and Linda Ronstadt?

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– The Write Stuff –

for the people who make me want to write

I’m a big fan of the Yew, and, if you’ve read this far, you*. Associated with churchyards – theories are many and varied – and renowned for their longevity, all but their red berries are toxic to humans. Steam and hide a few leaves under the spinach and boom! you have a Yew-related short story waiting to happen. It amuses me that the male tree rates highest on the plant allergy scale yet the female is considered allergy-fighting and produces no allergenic material. Is it mocking the Homo Sapiens male, do you think?

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– Everything Under –

by Daisy Johnson

‘The water has a way of making anything that was clear murky. You think I haven’t seen things out there? When it’s misty or on days so hot the air gets wavy I think I’ve seen things I left behind, never thought I’d see again.’

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