Summer doesn’t come round again Because no two summers are the same. If you’re waiting for love to revisit The parks and sofas and cars, They’re gone – under concrete, Crushed and melted down, landfill.
No, summer won’t come round again, Look forward to the unborn, Look backward to the long gone. In winter, don’t wish your life away. There will be another season For you, there will be a new day.
The mile-high club is grounded. Sand dunes on that beach are in tier four. There are cobwebs in the public toilets. (Mind you, there always were.) The back row of the flicks is nixed. Wake up little Susy, it’s over, we’re dead.
You can look at it one of two ways. You can say there’s sodden paper On the ground Or Sunlight shines on one side Of the weed-grown back lane Behind the shopping parade.
A smell of paint thinner is in the breeze And the corner of an outdated poster On a gable billboard Opens like a door.
Over the past sixteen years, I have been instrumental in publishing 139 short stories by 113 writers, not counting myself, from Bosnia, Canada, China, England, India, Ireland, Nepal, New Zealand, Nigeria, Northern Ireland, Russia, Scotland, Singapore, South Africa, USA and Wales.
The last few were online and the rest were in 11 anthologies. I also co-edited two anthologies of poetry. Sales have been very poor but the writers I picked have gone on to win all the major prizes for short stories [and, more importantly, continue to be lovely people. Ed.]
I am not a novelist. I’ve wasted good ideas for short stories by trying to think of them as novels. However, if I revisit them, and I have about four I think I started on, maybe I can rewrite them as long short stories. I’m very down and depressed. Hardly an hour goes by that I don’t spend partially in contemplation of throwing my hat at it all. I wish this coronavirus would go away, it’s so worrying and depressing. So much anxiety, fear… We’re shielding each other here. A ticklish throat, random cough at night: is this it? Are we goners?
Then sometimes interludes of welcome respite in the garden. I wish goldfinches would slow down so I could have time to get my binoculars and have a good look at them. They flit to the bird bath and are gone in an instant. I’m going to go for a long walk today, my 3 mile walk. I’ve been taking the 1 mile route most days or staying in all day. Meanwhile here’s Donny…