Welcome to the Art Angel writing group showcase. To read more about our writing group click here.
You get miniature lighthouses on Orkney and Shetland and there has always been some form of lighthouse around our coast. Some people built fires to lure ships onto the rocks, pretending to be lighthouses. That’s how they got all their goodies and booty. There is an Irish lighthouse system, British, a bit of French and then Iceland. Lighthouses are a tribe unto themselves; the people who build them and the lighthouse keepers who work in them.
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A cute kitten pounces
With fresh-born animality
Claws slashing
At the scattering
White doves
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A small child and his mother walk the dry, dusty and desolate road. They are thirsty and hungry; they are African, troubled, poor and destitute. They have no fresh water, in fact the only way they can quench their thirst is to drink from a filthy well which will kill them anyway. What do they do?
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A new year
A new you
Your trousers tight,
Too much blood in
Your alcohol stream
Smoked more than a kipper?
You need
OTT resolutions
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This is the wheel of time. The story of the world: the song of mankind. The melody and harshness of mother earth. Rain falls to relieve the heavens. Sun shines to relieve the ravages of winter. Autumn slips by into winter. All life knows it’s own season, whether sowing, planting or harvesting.
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