With a deft touch of her keypad, she started the recording. “Name, number?” It was the same broad they always sent - a studious, serious one from the City with so many letters after her name I got dizzy reading her ID.
Author: Pam Swanborough
writing and other occupations
Save the Water Save the World
Once,/ years past,/ white seashells/ beaded blonde shores.
Popcorn Trees
The sound of dying trees/ they say/ is like pop corn/ popping
Enough
I didn’t ask you this morning,/ when I ripped you / from the Earth.
Bowing to mountains
A half a mountain-/ Shear jagged rock face/ Meets me when I venture out...
The Cup of Kindness
The last of the trees, the luxuriant undergrowth, fell away, and the great dome of the sky opened around them...
Death Is a Woman
With hands outstretched, soft like butter to the touch and with all the tender love and care only a woman knows how to give, there is nothing quite like Death’s embrace.
I Was a Plastic Bag
Everything breaks eventually, except plastic. I was a plastic bag...
Personals Ad: Artist Seeks World
Me: Sad-eyed dreamer with battered heart, eternal/ optimist given to bouts of despair, idealist/...
No Feather Bed
Angel of The North, you stand awake.
