New Poems & Drabbles!

Hi there!

Here are some of the latest pieces that our group has been working on, including some poetry and a few exercises in the art of drabble-writing.



The Apple of my Eye by Neil James Jones

Beautiful. Your body a work of art
But I do not love you, only those you know
Not inseparable but we must not part
I do not need you still must never go.
Touching is believing and I know it.
You’re my property but anyone can call
The shine has left this apple, I’ll admit.
They’ll claim you. Were you ever mine at all?
You will stay with me, more often than not
The signals you send are mixed, it’s true
You need me, I’m all that you’ve got
So every time I leave, I fear I’ll lose you
And no matter how many times you die
You’ll come back, you’re the apple of my eye


This poem is by Jessica Jane Parsons, whose friend (who is producing an album called Green Eyed Girl) approached her and asked for a poem to grace the back of the record. 


not quite

depends on the light




but rage exists

glints and hints

but always controlled

never unfolds

I see that now

it is never unleashed

but never to be leashed


burns with purpose

with reason

and with care.


In last weeks meeting, we had a go at writing some drabbles. Drabbles are stories which are exactly 100 words long, and challenge the writer to be as succinct and concise as possible whilst still telling a story. Here are some of our efforts…

There was a steady drip from a corner she could not see. She pulled at the rope binding her ankles together and whined through the dirty cloth covering her mouth. Her hair was matted. She didn’t know what with, but she could feel it caked to her face. It might have been blood. It probably was blood. There was a pounding in her head. She screamed through the cloth as the dripping water got faster. The concrete below her started to get colder. A gentle puddle of water started to creep over her. The dripping sound turned into a gushing sound.  – by Sam Moulton

The Idiots are Winning

The final signs of the end times were not biblical, they were idiotic. The idiots arrived. The perfect storm of ignorance and hypocrisy. And an idiot presented with The Big Red Button will invariably press The Big Red Button. We know this now as we did then, but it is little comfort as we pick through the dust and rubble of this grave, new world. Literature does not fill empty stomachs and art does not prevent the spread of infection. But you need not worry. Idiots were as ill equipped to survive in this world as they were the last. – by Neil James Jones

Jane awoke on the day of the wedding feeling dizzy. It was a beautiful morning, the glittery sunshine the same shade of champagne as the bride’s hair. At the church, Anna squeezed her hand. “You make a beautiful bridesmaid.” They began their descent up the aisle along with the rest of the wedding party – and then Jane could see him. Tall, imposing, dark – but handsome. He looked into Jane’s eyes and smiled, as Jane took her position and Anna stood next to her soon to be husband. Beautiful blonde Anna was getting married and there was nothing Jane could do. – by Danielle Jade Oldham

There was a moment as the sun set, pink and grey into the night, that I believed. Not in a god but something blameless. The mountains that fell around me were quiet as the birds rousted and the night animals had yet to stir. You let me stand there, protected but alone on that ridge as the shadows settled around us. There was warm blood on my knee from an injury on the scramble up, it made me feel human and safely mortal in a night that felt like it would never end, and until you spoke it never did. – by Imogen Berry-Henshaw


She lay there, not sure of what to think – wanting more than nothing to turn back time, wish the last few months back. She knew the symptoms, it had happened to her before. But this – the blood – not again! She knew what had happened; she’d lost it. Him. Her. It. Whatever had been growing inside of her – no longer there. Her bed was draped with the scarlet she had made. She couldn’t move, frozen within her own mind. This is your fault. You should have done better – taken more care. This is all down to you. And she believed it. – by Amy Murphy







Opening Chapter by Ward Eli Butt

This is the opening chapter of a currently unnamed story by Ward. Any feedback would be much appreciated! 

“Welcome Johnny,” came a metallic and dark voice. The bag over Johnny’s head was removed and a sickly man with a face a mother couldn’t recognize was revealed. Blood seeped down from his mouth, nose and brow. The gashes wore down on his eyes as he struggled to look around at where he was. The room was dark. One light shone upon his face from above him –  it looked like a damp cellar of some old house that he was in. The walls were a dark lime colour with old paintings of lords and mayors hanging from them. That was all he could make out.

The two men beside him were big from what he could tell, stocky and tall. The man in the suit ahead of him, cast in the darkness, was square jawed. Handsome even. He didn’t look as though he belonged but Johnny knew him. He was in charge of the two mugs beside him. Edward Lester was his name. He stood there, black gloves raised up in a welcoming posture towards Johnny.

“Nice night. Warm it is. Nice to be down here in a cool cellar. Could freeze down here in the winter I reckon though,” said Edward. “Now Johnny, what on earth happened? Did you forget who I was? Well here I am to remind you.”

He crept forward like a snake slithering on the surface, and a shade, a darkness, came forth into the light.  Infected it. He took shape and held out his hand to take a knife from a box held out by one of his lackeys. He lent forward and pressed the knife to Johnny’s neck.

“You remember me now? Good old Ed? You forgot your place Johnny. You stole from me. But don’t you worry. I ain’t going to kill you. No. No. Just gonna take an ear so I can whisper into it when I need your services again. Because I will need it again.”

Johnny sat there trying to find the words, he stuttered and shook. He was scared. “Eddie, mate. I was gonna give it back I swear, I just needed the money a little longer, this investment I-I got it all figured, I just…”

Edward hushed Johnny. “Need more time? Well unfortunately, you miss a deadline, you pay the price mate. We don’t want the money anymore, too little too late.” He swept the knife carefully across the skin, going at a slow pace. It made Johnny quiver in fear. “You will lose your ear. And you will go out and skulk around hunting for someone who wronged my father. His life for yours. But obviously, the catch being you lose a limb.”  He grabbed Johnny’s head suddenly, and violently. “Now hold still.”

Johnny moaned and yelled, “No!” He made noises he didn’t think were remotely possible from his lungs. He screamed like a tragic widow losing her husband. He cried and took bites at his own tongue in agony writhing around like a worm. Until a strange, silky noise echoed throughout the cellar. It had echoed for only a fraction of a second, but that made it ever more haunting. Johnny was now crying, Edward’s black gloves stained in a juicy thick red, and he was holding the ear in his hand. “Now Johnny, venture out into the world, I’ve got me a walkie-talkie now to speak to you if I need anything else. Have a nice day.”  Edward said. Johnny was still crying and writhing on the ground kicking and screaming like a newborn babe.