Beacons

This is a poem about smoking. Burning through a pack of Ten. Ten moments in time. Ten streams of conciousness. Ten pauses.   The first? A smoke screen hiding inner fears. The second blasts the fear, yes every trace. Third one ¬†blows up clouds that squeeze out ashen tears; Fourth a signal, steeling jaw in … More Beacons

Smoke Signal

It was the best part of a very shitty day. Sitting on the decking, Fin listened to the starlings and savoured his cigarette. The last of the colours were leaching out of the sky, and a bat skittered overhead. He revelled in the quietness. Replaying the argument in his head he drew on the fag … More Smoke Signal