FABLES FROM THE GREAT NORTH WOOD

FABLES FROM THE GREAT NORTH WOOD

A sequence of twelve stories for two or more voices by Robert ColeOriginal cover art by Nomis Dedicated to Mark Beech (1960-2020). He left too soon Here is how it starts . . . ONE: BLACKHEATH I – Before the Beginning Pond Mount. Blackheath. Nothing is begun.There is...

FABLES from the GREAT NORTH WOOD

NEW YEAR, NEW BOOK A sequence of 12 short storieS for two or more voices Original cover art by Nomis 150pp ON SALE WITH EBAY FOR £9.99FREE POSTAGE AND PERSONAL INSCRIPTION here is how it starts . . .ONE: BLACKHEATHI – Before the BeginningPond Mount. Blackheath....

Christmas 2020

There may be snow this year, and icicles; crunchy footsteps, misty breath and bubbles in puddles under frost-frozen glass; crystals may sparkle in winter-white grass. Like when fresh-fallen snow blankets the ground, pure Christmas love is quietly profound; and, as...
The Dairy

The Dairy

Hospital-clean, the cold-washed concrete floor drains towards the middle, flushing muck to sluices. Wide galvanised sliding doors hang on corrugated wall panels tucked under impermanent eaves. Strip lighting — and hydraulic noise from electric pumps attached to...
Rhapsody in Pink

Rhapsody in Pink

For a few moments, maybe some minutes,let’s dreamy drift into the feather crushof London’s clouds of cherry blossom bliss. The buds, which season-swell with ruby flush,fill as racing pulses fill impatientflesh with rhapsodical urges to burst. Then Beauty comes...
Winter Again

Winter Again

As winter ends, winter starts again. Late March warmth lies with coughs and fever, face-grey shadows darken longer days, and high-sky sun shines on windowless wards. Hospital green is the season’s colour. Garden foxes play in rose-dawn light, rising doubt hangs in...
Sonnet

Sonnet

Nights are the worst: dark acres of time areunfilled with anything but low noiseas cars burr along the northbound carriageway. Mum is cold, anxious in unsettled grief.There’s no point getting up: without him there’snothing to do. Days see diversions butnow, why does...

The Calm before the Quiet

  It is pretty ugly between Gravesend and Stone Crossing. Puzzling through Rosherville,to Northfleet’s exhausted ragstone quarry,Kimberly Clark is making Andrex. At Ebbsfleet, the footpath runs in zigzagsspanning voids and empty strips of railwaybehind galvanised...

Cliffe to Gravesend

Same train, same bus, same strange metal giraffes.This, though, is different. The storm wind is armed:tiny water dumdums, as hard as ice,spear and splay, needling my defenceless face. Plastic mud-larky litters the foreshore:old rope, smashed flowerpots and bookies’...