From the moment we are born, we begin to die. Mum tells me this, holding my hand, big fat tears falling like wingless angels before the procession. Carrots, Cream, and Detah – Jamie D. Stacey
Leena Batchelor invites you to the launch of her Worcestershire Poet Laureate collection of poems, Pearl Blades and Painted Silks: The Language of Fans 1pm Sunday 19 September 2021 – a celebration of poetry written in her Worcestershire Poet Laureate year. Leena and her guests plan an entertaining afternoon. Leena says ‘There will be fizzContinue reading “Launch of Poet Laureate collection”
Marvellous to see a review of Michael W. Thomas’s ‘The Stations of the Day’ by Neil Leadbeater in the September issue of ‘Quill and Parchment’ – see the full review here
More reviews of Kevin Brooke’s new book ‘The Objectors’ can be seen on Facebook and other social media platforms daily. To see the latest we’ve spotted from Creative Writing lecturer Ruth Stacey of University of Worcester’s Creative Writing team, click here …and you will kick yourself if you miss this incredible video trailer, created withContinue reading “Reviews for ‘The Objectors’ by Kevin Brooke”
On the left shoulder
of the man’s jacket was
the image of a white
blade, cutting through a
circle of black. The
Shard. The symbol of the
regime and one that
signified this man as a
member of the elite.
‘Hold still now,’ he said.
‘No!’ Ethan shouted as the man stepped forward, but
the more he tried to kick and fight his way free, the tighter
the mechanical grip of the synthetic warrior became.
Two debut collections of poetry from talented poets Beth O’Brien, and Brian Comber.
Mental illness affects one in four of us, yet too many people are made to feel isolated and worthless as a result. This anthology seeks to encourage everyone to be more open about their mental state, to talk, to listen, to change lives. The poetry and prose was sent in to Worcestershire LitFest and FringeContinue reading “Hard Times Happen—a Worcestershire LitFest & Fringe anthology”
Emile found herself sitting on an empty bench, wine glass in hand. She twirled the glass, watching the rogue liquid run laps around the crystal. She looked at the ceiling; if Robespierre could see her now…