Crankwood
By Ken Simm
A Collection of eclectic (I hope)tales, poems, fiction, ,mysteries, horrors, humour. That hopefully make sense, are readable and enjoyable. But I suppose we cannot have everything.
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- 1346 reads
A Luminous fish
he chooses pain but comes back for more
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- 706 reads
A Pipistrelle in Winter
This winter roars, the ice stick spike
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- 4 comments
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- 1423 reads
A Victorian Poem of Self Love
And under the sheets the boy awakes Light in his eye, his dream creates
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- 1142 reads
Alexion
What does the ghost think of that? An escape is always possible.
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- 3198 reads
Alexion 12 Part 1
The entrance to the mortuary side of the building was through a side door kept hidden behind a shiny sick yellow curtain.
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- 998 reads
As in the field he sat
ry to change someone and you have lost
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- 3 comments
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- 1116 reads
Conspiracies Sources
For weeping and debt are stained in our ears as calamity beckons licentious fears
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- 856 reads
Crankwood Chapter 1
It was in a similar way that rumour floated and buzzed unknown around our innocent and largely unconcerned hero’s head.
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- 732 reads
Crankwood Chapter 2
understanding the real difference between being alone and loneliness.
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- 755 reads
Crankwood Part 1
Mystery, Horror and a small boy.
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- 905 reads
David 1917
I remembered your foot pushing towards my face through the grass.
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- 1023 reads
K
K was short and exceptionally thin. He had long, lanky blond hair that was always greasy, a big nose, pock marked skin and false teeth.
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- 991 reads
Mi Mam & the Curate
With apologies to Marriott Edgar
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- 1027 reads
Our Stan, Doris & the Bike Ride.
Monologue with apologies to Marriot Edgar
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- 970 reads
Pastorale
In the hedgerow fields of absent yellow
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- 808 reads
Pieces
Some words, so gentle Stick behind the eyes
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- 789 reads
Pale and Ignorant
A long exhalation of air, laden, worrisome. A sound in the dark. Two figures le, one sleeps,
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- 818 reads
Dreaming of Elysium
I dreamt of a beautiful painting, now I cannot remember
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- 996 reads
The Irish Girl
In bed, waiting for an Irish girl. A good Irish girl she said, not that I would doubt her, not for one moment.
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- 896 reads
The Crow that said WOW!
He being a very clever Crow, remember.
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- 907 reads
The Crow that said WOW Part 2
Oh hell, not again thought the Crow.
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- 862 reads
Die Stimme, die schreit, kann nicht Ihr Herz haben
Trans: The Voice which walks cannot have your heart
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- 886 reads
The sound of loving Gently
The sound of loving gently And lunar swooping distant sounds That chase from our side The sight of swelling brightly And lover sighing Distant thoughts That wound inside
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- 959 reads
The Symptoms of Pleasure
in a future less ordinary
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- 810 reads
The Tree Changes Colour
The tree changes colour The geese have arrived
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- 1 comment
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- 1015 reads
See my love what we have found
“see my love what we have found”
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- 772 reads
The Country of Romance
Now heed this well you commentators of truth. The country of romance is not the prerequisite of youth.
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- 823 reads
Words
With words I speak my doubt, What can I say all hollowed out. Of yet to see and not to. In desperation my thoughts continue. A ruptured task, I'm surely past. All that I knew would never last.
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- 880 reads
Libby
She said unexpectedly that she loved me and would let me touch her.
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- 2 comments
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- 1319 reads
The Eventual Will of Savien II Cyrano De Bergerac
when Cyrano told Roxanne that it was him at the bottom of the ladder.
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- 775 reads
Polidori's Madness
Give it all these romantic fools take to a body and then so use
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- 2 comments
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- 1033 reads
The Long Death of my Grandfather
The first impression was of red. On the bed, on the walls, on me and my white baby clothes.
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- 754 reads
Step in the Same Stream Twice
This is what Hericlitus said
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- 758 reads
Live Happily Enraptured
Live Happily Enraptured The Final Statement of a Philanderer. Being a verse from a Courtier to a Lady. In hope of a happy reply
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- 2 comments
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- 890 reads
Least of Gifts
You play with rhyme and words neglect their duty
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- 4 comments
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- 1032 reads
The Ghost of Time
No hormones, no passion, no love when you die.
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- 1 comment
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- 790 reads
The Liability of Caverns
To be this bitter is reasonably correct
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- 696 reads
Plank Lane Working Men's Club Trip to Southport
Bright light that came from her smile shone through the windows and there was a silent roar in my ears.
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- 4 comments
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- 1257 reads
Insane inside my head
bits of voice or empty waste
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- 657 reads
The perhaps last speakings of John Wilmot. Earl of Rochester upon his death bed to divers ghosts and relationships.
dreary dreams are all that pass for my waking sounds at last
I lost the sea
I win my pyric victory
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- 639 reads
The Erotic Art of Klingsors last Summer
Tied to the flower of wooden release
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- 811 reads
Tie Down Natasha
hope you feel this free soon
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- 4 comments
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- 1380 reads