Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter

Life, Poetry


There was something odd about death.
He’d always thought that, and asked
Himself why machines could be forever
Repaired but not humans. He thinks of
The day she convinced him to work on
Something that might repair her, broken as
She was. Such was her shattered beauty
He hadn’t been able to resist, and had
Worked all hours. She’d tried it on
Once, this wonder machine, and never
Taken it off. It killed her there and then,
And now she looks younger than ever.

R, 03/01/2023


Today’s #MastoPrompt was #Convinced.

I’ve spent most of the day chasing my own tail, doing lots of financial housekeeping, and all such lovely things (he says sarcastically). M was in her employer’s office in Norwich today, A was also at work, and O is not well so has been recuperating on the sofa. And the weather has been vile, as can only be expected.

It looks like January will be getting some BBC radio air play (I’ll keep you posted), and hopefully we’ll be able to get it some air play elsewhere, too.

The best news is that my dear friend AR, oop North, has started her own blog, Rundle Writes Stuff, which is a rather splendid thing to behold, as she has a very special voice. So go and subscribe to it.

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