4/2023
The Rupture He gave her a ring one day. She gave it back the next. Perhaps it was the black stone That made her realise it was His heart that… Continue Reading
Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter
The Rupture He gave her a ring one day. She gave it back the next. Perhaps it was the black stone That made her realise it was His heart that… Continue Reading
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… Continue Reading
Those days, when nothing disturbed The quietness of holy hours, except For us, were wrapped in the speed Of an empty motorway, the verges Blurred beyond the windows. We skipped… Continue Reading
We writhe through the clichés While we talk past each other On the sofa we’ve inhabited Since early last night intent On having fun and being Together the way we… Continue Reading
RUNNING We’re always running out of time, Always looking around the same corners At different landscapes, those parallel Universes of fear and hope, those Parallax separate lines that seem to… Continue Reading
I was sitting in the car outside Carrow Road waiting for A to finish a late shift the other week, coming up to two in the morning, when it was… Continue Reading
DANCE There is never a last dance. We Swim through the flames between The worlds of death and life and The fear disappears as we disintegrate And merge into these… Continue Reading
Naming I remember reading about structuralism, de Saussure, and outdated notions about how different parts of language fitted one into the other to make meaning. Then turned the pages to… Continue Reading
FROZEN The Thames is not frozen. No fear of breaking through Into the water by making a friend Of the treacherous ice. The sun Paints a gentle shine over the… Continue Reading
Bunkers Hill To crest the road here Is to risk losing your balance, And to skid down the remorseless Slope with no control nor hold, And even to descend upright… Continue Reading