In a ramschackle pub by the dock
The foghorn wailed, when at the bar through scurvy teeth a sailor hissed and slammed his fist. “Tonight I’m pissed” the room went silent, barmaid jarred remembered nights before the […]
The foghorn wailed, when at the bar through scurvy teeth a sailor hissed and slammed his fist. “Tonight I’m pissed” the room went silent, barmaid jarred remembered nights before the […]
Writing about living in two places (and times)
Poems & Stories from The Author Stew
practising for a whole life
haikai poetry matters
Running in the slow lane
The view from here ... Or here!
“Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.” — Albert Einstein
chronicling my quarter life crisis