Monthly Archives: March 2011

Primeval/Primordial, by Phyllis Lane

Monsters eating babies, mouths,eyes,teeth, snakes twisting and turning, eyes burning into me, dreams and nightmares, circles,squares,rectangles, diamonds,triangles,zig-zags, a trail of sploges and splashes, on a trancelike journey, church purple,viridian green,poppy red, azure blue,banana yellow, black dots and lines, hieroglyphics and … Continue reading

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In Her Element, by Sally Barnes

Up on a chimney pot, high as a cliff, a cormorant stretches her wings, hanging them out to dry in the nickel plated rays of early sunshine.  She is indifferent to the building site behind her, where a meteor seems … Continue reading

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Elements enjoy the new season, by Astrid Sutton

“My name is Gallium Germanium. I’m a crane. My huge red shoulders toil as they lift the earth. I work with a digger, Antimony Tellurium who shifts the loads. At this time of the year, we smell the first fresh … Continue reading

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Magic Landscape: Alan Davie to Camley St, Kings Cross

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London Streets Vignettes, by Rocío Prieto Rodríguez

Close Up Is not open and beckoning, but closed and twisted.  Only the back is visible.  A pentagon of whiteness buried in charcoal material. The lens pulls back:  white shirt, tie, top hat.  The Bank of England in the background.  … Continue reading

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from street photography, by Astrid Sutton

The Rent Collector He’ll usually go on a Friday, as you’ve got more chance of getting the money on payday. But sometimes they’re out to spend it already. Mondays, they’re in, it’s wash-day. But the money might’ve already gone down … Continue reading

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From photographs and from the street, by Phyllis Lane

Two young lovers entwined while embracing as passers-by totally ignore them. She stands on tip-toes to reach his lips as they spin around on the pavement reluctantly separating like stuck gum. He goes back through an office door while she skips away … Continue reading

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Outside St Paul’s Station, by Sally Barnes

(I) A wall of glass, drawn with black verticals and venetian blinds into a pellucid sheet of graph paper, hangs in a pearly sky. In its curve is a reflection of St. Paul’s dome, merely a fragment, an echo of Wren’s … Continue reading

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the word on the street

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The Swing, by Astrid Sutton

Florence was sitting at the harpsichord practicing a study by Couperin. She was finding it hard to concentrate, she was thinking about Henri and the evening they met at the ball. They danced a minuet and he looked at her … Continue reading

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