Friday, 11 April 2014

A Sonnet To Dinner ...

... where the witticism flows like wine,
and likewise stains the lips from which it drips.
Who has not felt the tongue's cruel flail?
Who has not quailed before that whip?

Admit me not to Pandemonium,
that two-starred Hell, where unkind hosts 
hold court, and homicidal chefs concoct
culinary deserts of burnt toast

I cannot look upon another assiette
bare but for some nanoparticle of Hollandaise.
I cannot go to banquets where I am the ghost.
I'll not be the lapdog, not the salon pet.
I'll lurk at home, and swallow takeaways
and, very coldly, sweat.


Tuesday, 8 April 2014

After finishing Amoeba Dick and sending it to an agent, I'm taking a month off writing before I start work on my next novel - Pretty Poli, or Monsieur Perroquet's Ascent to a High Perch. I'm using this time to attend to my home, for a diy frenzy is necessitated by the slum conditions and domestic desuetude in which I have become enmired whilst writing (i) my PhD and (ii) Amoeba Dick.

On the subjects of Pretty Poli, I'm going to have to do some research. The easy part will be re-reading the Mayor of Casterbridge. But is there anyone out there acquainted with a talkative, and preferably rather rude, parrot?

2nd Prize in the Sentinel Literary Quarterly May Poetry Competition

Opening my email about twenty minutes ago, I was delighted to discover that my Sonnet 142 has been awarded 2nd Prize in the Sentinel Literar...