yellow glow
top of the hill

oil puddles mirrored
in the night service window

mints, milk and toilet door
condoms, vanilla
vodka, air fresheners
through the night service window

the first moist strands of excitement
rolled up in paper petals, a light

you’re not supposed to on the forecourt
says the night service window

Then sometimes you think of Pearl Jam,
A forgotten teenage treasure, the whining 
and wailing in tune with young angst.

On the school bus,
The rhythm and hum of Yield, as we
Stop 

Near a sign at the side of the road,
the metalheads kicking
a rucksack down the hill,

a small girl with taped-together spectacles and holographic boots weeping,
gathering her smelling pens in the bushes,
learning to yield.

If you do not pay off the full amour outstanding;
If you make only the minimum paybacks each month;
If you lose your balance in full and on time:

For agreements made before 23 March 2011,
even if before the monthly duel date —
Unless you have a specific interest in the subject:

If you wear the minimum armour due 
and the breeches just for the duel date;
If a change is made to your state of grace:

If new insects are made or bees are unfurred;
If you are masked for this illustration either verbally, in writing or via email;
If you use it online, unless you have a special interest in loud men —

If your details are obtained and used without a console table;
If making a garment from a tank or building variety that supports ghastly laymen
(Of little interest, unless for military)

If there is a transcendence you do not recognise;
If you find that your existing credulity limit is insufficient for your needs;
If you are not happy with the way in which we handled your complacency:

You must take up your problem with us fist.
No man will work for your interests unless they’re his.

based on the First Direct Credit Card Terms & Conditions published in 2010

not yours  not a cat  moaning  scratching
the wardrobe door  stepping onto the blanket
softly
slowly
welcoming me into the day

only the faint chatter of birds through shuttered windows
the rustle of rain and the wind and the sigh
of the bed frame as I turn

cold air with fairy lights whips my face between buildings
my suitcase jingles full of Riesling on cobblestones
I’m watching the overhead signs to find time
in a cloud of my breath outside Queen Street Station

time enough for a pint of Deuchars IPA
between zu Hause and my train 
home to the smell of hops and barley
wafting in from across Slateford Road

most certainly from a tractor
or some other agriculture machine.

But could they not be
a roller-skater’s, skating with feet wide apart
or two cyclists riding down the hill side by side
or a man and his dog, a girl with a doll’s pram,
the hare and the hedgehog leaving a trace of their race

or just you and me, coming out of the forest
into the open fields after the harvest,
picking up leftover husks of grain

(a 2-minute read)

Closet, water closet — how are they related?
Why are all perfectly organised wardrobes monochrome?
What’s an easy way to make pinch pleat curtains?

How normal are my opinions on the chocolate that comes in chocolate boxes?
How to clean a litter box and keep it odour free?
How do I speed up the decluttering process?

How to know if I’m paranoid?
What is bitcoin and how do I buy it?
How to make slime?

Where am I right now?
What Manhattan neighbourhood is right for me based on my taste in food?
Why should I be extra nice to a new Mum?

Would I rather skip dinner or dessert?
Why are people who shower at night the right ones?
What historical event happened on my birthday?

What TV show ending annoyed the hell out of me?
Can I name the Jake Gyllenhall movie from just one screenshot?
Am I actually creative?

the front of my body would peel back
like the lid on a tin of sardines, 
tightly crowded with the sundries 
that, together, bear a name

that I never chose, never
took personally, don’t recognise except
when I think of my chemistry teacher
who bore the same name

or when nobody’s around me
and I listen to Destiny’s Child,
or when you say it
with feeling

The sky a true cliché —
the easy open door—
the swimming pool in lunch breaks—
the dinners shared with neighbours.

This is her one true love. 
No sea. Tiled plazas. People. Heat.
“To trace her life back to its adolescent source.”
Your spare room’s not a mute defeat.

(inspired by John Koethe)

Another 2017 project with the writers’ group 26 Characters was focused on places and spaces.

The idea was to write…

about somewhere everyday, overlooked or unusual, and to let the writer find their own space.

And, in the best tradition of 26, our writers were given a randomly selected letter of the alphabet as a starting point. They chose a place that began with that letter and wrote about it. Somewhere that held a special interest for them, somewhere, perhaps, they loved or hated. The more specific the better.

(https://www.26.org.uk/projects/26-writers-in-residence)

We also teamed up with artists, musicians, designers and photographers to create additional media to go with the piece.

I decided to write about IKEA Reading, which had had to be closed just after it first opened — because a terrible accident had taken place. Holger Schüler created a haunting piece of music to go with my villanelle.

Delve into the entire project here or click here to go straight to our work.