For the Time Being

ForTheTimeBeingDWJ-createspaceBook-webStories, poems, reflective pieces.

*** UPDATE: Paperback now available

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A coming together of new and some old but previously unpublished work. Scraps, odds and ends, unedited, partially edited, abandoned work in progress – and some highly polished works.

Just something ‘For the Time Being’

Expected publication date late October / early November 2014

*** UPDATE *** weirdly this has come together ahead of schedule and will now be published on October 5th 2014. It may take a few days after that for physical copies to arrive.

Here’s  couple of bits from the book to give a little taster of what’s to come:

The Black Sheep
He wasn’t much of a ram, small and weak, with no possibility of siring any of the sumptuous ewes that shared the lush green hillsides. He didn’t mind, he had his darling girl. She was tall and thin on her two legs, her hair as black and as thick as his fleece. He knew he was her favourite. Today, she hugged him longer and harder than usual and her eyes were wet with tears. Then she vanished. Later, the big man came back, grabbed his black fleece and dragged him into the back of a lorry.

————-

Visitors

The fucking mice are back. I know they’re there. They’re crawling under the fucking floorboards. The cheeky fuckers are even hiding under the settee. I saw one last night, a dark beige flash, zipping from the side of the settee towards the hole in the floorboards. It’s my own fault. There shouldn’t be a hole in the floorboards. It’s as easy as that; all you’ve got to do is give them a fucking excuse and they’re in. It doesn’t have to be anything major, a little gap in the bottom of the back door, a small crack in the floorboards, and that’s enough; that’s all they need . . . . . . . . . . (more)

Being Air Under Sky

From the deep, enigma
the source of the river
springing, sparkling
spreading its dream
flowing, glowing
a growing stream
Through the long, dilemma
the course of the river
shoaling, shining
shedding its blood
splashing, flashing
a dashing flood
To the wide, conundrum
the force of the river
scouring, scumbling
scuttling its breath
flaring, glaring
a sharing death

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