Latest Submissions

To whom it may concern. Please forgive my lack of Polish. I am a British immigrant to your country. I prefer to consider myself a refugee. I have lived in Poland for ten months now. I left Western Europe because I could no longer stand their insane immigration policies and increasingly absurd political correctness. I am worried about the future of Poland. I see your wonderful country as being in danger of falling to the ...
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Do littlest of things to help others. You'll never feel left out Never ever be depressed, morose Your life, up and about Will always have an outstanding purpose ...
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riding the storm The skies were filled with formidable clouds that burst in reckless fury wreaking chaos, havoc and disaster all around in hopeless desperation constantly increasing the horrendous darkness that seemed thicker every day with thunderstorms and heavy rains that flooded all that was considered safe and ruined almost everyone in this abysmal cataclysm and horror. What is to be done about it? Close your eyes, escape to heavy drinking, party recklessly just to ...
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The lights in yonder window lifts my spirit out of space to everlasting light of glory in the view of what it means, that somehow my love has come home and might be thinking of me in my absence, while her presence never was more present to me than now with this light that softly stole into my heart. Beware, it might go out, it flickers, so let us take care of it and warm ...
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  I usually swerve socio-political writing but I caught a snatch of radio and this sprung into mind - it's kinda haiku stylee.   ...
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edited repost, old enough, re-titled  ...
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My only fictional story in the first person. Other fiction has always been in third person. Any critique or comment more than welcome. I’m particularly keen to learn if any of the paragraphs should be shorter. (Including in Part 1 previously submitted) Thanks. This is the second and final part of a short story which has a total length of about 5500 words ...
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Chapter 24 of the City of Gargoyles: Book 2 of the Light-Father Trilogy  Snatched from the jaws of death, Surl is reunited with Ken Glascae whom she'd freed from the Redemptions Cells at the Great Abbey. Uneasy alliances are forged....     Tower of the Sun        Harold despaired as four lines of erupting fountains from heavy calibre rounds plunging into the Milverbore advanced towards them then passed the Ellendaed spraying them all with seawater. Rounds ...
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edited repost, an oldie ...
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Five hours until my train so I buy some soothing cream and repelling powder and stand smearing rubbing pouring throwing them over my bullseye-peppered arms and chest next to people snoring on blankets or eating out of clay bowls with the hands they don’t wipe their bottoms with on a platform of Gorakhpur station. Face a beetroot monsoon, I pick out a few islets of “Gora” in a lake of sniggering before the foremost shiny-toothed ...
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Arsonists howl, “Apostate!”, hate from the bowel, “Apostate!” Chasing the tale they have not read, burning, they growl, “Apostate!” The moon bribed into murder, I hear only the vowel. Apostate? Prostrate freedom waves a white flag and we throw in our towel, apostate. From “Disoccidented” by Alfie Shoyger: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Disoccidented-Alfie-Shoyger/dp/1999922859 https://alfieshoyger.blogspot.com ...
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High time Tonsured lands of Amazon! Lungs of the world, severed? What a pity! Disappearing trees Write burning stories of boiling destiny. Leaders! Qualified scholars, Where will you capture the evergreen words? Leaves, very soon, will leave the world. Do you still have time to slaughter? So much on the high? Your sheepish laughter, Cattle rearing greed will wither In the pyre of the heat and the fire You’ll swoon to death, Lose your wealthy, ...
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summer lovin’   for two mad weeks in Mablethorpe, in Jen’s mind, though not in mine, we were nothing more than passing strangers, holiday romancers, summer buddies to flirt with over ices.   or people watch sipping tall white wine as plush upholstered hotel evenings melted into night.   to spite the weather, in sunny day beachwear, we arm-in-armed the promenade playing storm-chicken, howling in silly voices against angry waves and a raging gale.   ...
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a little version of something I am not sure where it will lead me as a writer, started as sci fi prose poem. anyway here it is. basic idea was microprocessing and microarchitecture ...
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So now I am thirty-eight years old. And, not for the first time, I am having to rebuild my life from scratch. I will do this by leaving the culture I grew up in completely and moving to a significantly different one which, surprisingly, is only a few hundred miles away and on the same continent. So how do I feel about Western civilisation? I feel that basically, as Gandhi is purported to have said, ...
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