A short poem about Streatham Endless traffic, souped up cars, Farmers’ markets, craft ale bars. Much loved common, ancient trees, Lofty views, soft breeze...
Tag: new writing
Breeze full of promise
Short poem As I lie in my bed, The sound of cars in the night On a nearby road, Remind me of the sea...
The ceiling fan whirred noisily above Lily as she lay in bed. She had always been nervous of its wild gyrating, fearing it would spin loose any moment and slice her to pieces. In over thirty years it had neither been fixed nor fallen. She wasn’t sure if this should worry or reassure her... She closed her eyes. She could hear birdsong and shuffling footsteps along the dirt road outside the house. She looked up at two geckos on the peach walls that seemed on course for a collision. Nothing seemed to have changed from her childhood, yet everything had.
Something to curl up with
A snowy extract from my debut novel, Waking hours. Spanning over fifty years, from 1950s Ceylon to twenty-first century England, it follows three generations of one family.