The Broken State of Things by Michael Ashley Met a scruffy bloke today in Bar38 on New Briggate told me he was a Marxist "I didn't know they still existed" I told him with the third gulp of my pint... Continue Reading →
At His Wake by Michael Ashley you muffled it not so much a laugh more a murmur best you could muster given the setting- an old man’s pub The Oak [decayed] where every seat has a name a face neither... Continue Reading →
Children by Michael Ashley I watch as they play with a matchbox car, in their eyes the carpet is the lushest meadow, their limbs are mountains, and the light-bulb above is a swinging moon. Looking past them out through the... Continue Reading →
Poetry Breakfast 