Trigger Warning PEOPLE OF A SENSITIVE NATURE ARE ADVISED THAT THE FOLLOWING EXTRACTS EXPLORE FAMILY DYSFUNCTION AND ABUSE ISSUES Zero Gravity Excerpt for 26 November, 2021 <chapter> Two continued Again, Owen paused a beat, then nodded. Not sure where this was going, he stalled by reaching across the table to refill their wine glasses. He studied the deep, rich garnet liquid in his own glass and found himself transported to another time, another glass of wine on a solitary beach in Mexico; Hilary across the table from him on their honeymoon, anxiety clouding her mercurial grey eyes, choosing the intimacy of that moment to reveal family secrets. “Yes,” Owen whispered, the word containing within it the lifetime of pain Hilary had shared with him that night, suffering which he had willingly taken into himself and borne with her, though it contributed, in part, to the eventual destruction of their marriage. Confused by his distraction, and impatient to get on with his story, Ryan coughed gently and Owen looked up. “I think I’ve found her.” -Gayle J. Greenlea YOU’RE THE DEAD TO ME Fourth week -A Waning –

Day Five

Bramah’s invention,

Bird’s hands, reconstructed town,

All reinvention

-Paul Brookes Bios And Links -Gayle J. Greenlea is an American-Australian poet and counselor for survivors of sexual and gender-related violence. Her poem, Wonderland”, received the Australian Poetry Prod Award in 2011. She shortlisted and longlisted for the Fish Poetry Prize in 2013, and debuted her first novel, Zero Gravity, at the KGB Literary Bar in Manhattan in 2016. Her work has been published in St. Julian Press, Rebelle Society, A Time to Speak, Headline Poetry and Press, The Wombwell Rainbow, Fevers of the Mind, Kalonopia and The Australian Health Review.

Trigger Warning PEOPLE OF A SENSITIVE NATURE ARE ADVISED THAT THE FOLLOWING EXTRACTS EXPLORE FAMILY DYSFUNCTION AND ABUSE ISSUES Zero Gravity Excerpt for 25 November, 2021 <chapter> Two continued Owen set the table, poured two glasses of Barossa Valley Shiraz and met Ryan’s gaze. “Okay. What’s happened?” “How much do you know about Hilary’s childhood?” Ryan asked. Owen opted for caution. “Enough. What do you know?” “You know there’s another sister? I mean, besides Siobhan.” Owen waited a moment before nodding. “Yes,” he said carefully. This was treacherous ground. Hilary almost never spoke of the third sister and he felt uncertain about how much Ryan actually knew and what he, himself, might inadvertently reveal. “You know she disappeared.” -Gayle J. Greenlea YOU’RE THE DEAD TO ME Fourth week -A Waning –

Day Four

I’m Ashley Jackson

landscape, McMillan stanza,

Ibbeson sculpture.

-Paul Brookes Bios And Links -Gayle J. Greenlea is an American-Australian poet and counselor for survivors of sexual and gender-related violence. Her poem, Wonderland”, received the Australian Poetry Prod Award in 2011. She shortlisted and longlisted for the Fish Poetry Prize in 2013, and debuted her first novel, Zero Gravity, at the KGB Literary Bar in Manhattan in 2016. Her work has been published in St. Julian Press, Rebelle Society, A Time to Speak, Headline Poetry and Press, The Wombwell Rainbow, Fevers of the Mind, Kalonopia and The Australian Health Review.

Trigger Warning PEOPLE OF A SENSITIVE NATURE ARE ADVISED THAT THE FOLLOWING EXTRACTS EXPLORE FAMILY DYSFUNCTION AND ABUSE ISSUES Zero Gravity Excerpt for 24th November, 2021 <chapter> Two continued Ryan gone, dishes washed and put away, Owen sat in front of the TV, attempting without success to concentrate on the 11 o’clock news. Finally giving up, he extricated Banjo from his lap and headed for bed. Now he lay awake in the dark, listening to the cat’s contented purring next to his pillow, trying to anaesthetise his brain against what Ryan had told him. After an exhausting day at the AIDS hospice with no time to stop for lunch, Owen had been in no mood to talk on an empty stomach. He’d postponed their conversation long enough to unpack the groceries and make a dinner of lamb cutlets, rosemary potatoes and salad. YOU’RE THE DEAD TO ME Fourth week -A Waning – Day Three

I’m Watta Joa’s

bucket, cat attacked the man.

Miner’s ghosts on stroll.

-Paul Brookes Bios And Links -Gayle J. Greenlea is an American-Australian poet and counselor for survivors of sexual and gender-related violence. Her poem, Wonderland”, received the Australian Poetry Prod Award in 2011. She shortlisted and longlisted for the Fish Poetry Prize in 2013, and debuted her first novel, Zero Gravity, at the KGB Literary Bar in Manhattan in 2016. Her work has been published in St. Julian Press, Rebelle Society, A Time to Speak, Headline Poetry and Press, The Wombwell Rainbow, Fevers of the Mind, Kalonopia and The Australian Health Review.

Giving Time

Happy memories I have many
of days when I didn’t earn a penny,
helping out at Help the Aged at thirteen;
a few years later on a play scheme.
For nearly a year after my degree
I was filing notes at the CAB.
Life wasn’t bad
though some thought me mad.
I think it kept me sane;
like gardening, one day I’ll take it up again.

-Peter J. Donnelly

Bios And Links

-Peter J Donnelly

lives in York where he works as a hospital secretary. He has a degree in English Literature and a MA in Creative Writing from the University of Wales Lampeter.

He has been published in various magazines and anthologies, including Writer’s Egg where ‘Survival’ previously appeared.  ‘Peppered Moth’ was included in the Ripon Poetry Festival anthology ‘Seeing Things’. ‘One Day on Dartmoor’ was highly commended in the Barn Owl Trust competition and published in their anthology ‘Wildlife Words’. It was also published online by the National Trust on their Fingle Woods webpage.

Each Time there is Lightning

I am taken back to a campsite –
Appleby, a moment of moonlight
in the daytime, it seemed to me
aged four as I watched from the
caravan window. Or a field near Ripon
ten years later – a second of sunshine
at midnight, that lit up the car like daylight
as I walked back to the tent.
I don’t remember thunder, or rain,
as there was tonight, before I walked
into the city in search of a takeaway
on the last day of July, after a storm
which hasn’t cleared the air.

-Peter J Donnelly

 

Struck Mr. Kay

5.20 a.m. on Tuesday it were.
I were walking to work through Wombwell woods,
when a great storm overtook us, fair
surprised us watta comin’ dahn. I stood

wi Mr. Kay under a beech tree, known not
to be struck by leetnin. Not five minutes
when we were all skittled. Tell thee I’d not
heard crack, nor seen leetnin afore hit us.

Mark Kay were assistant colliery
checkweighman at Wombwell. Awake and wick
first I went to gamekeeper’s house for to see.
fetch help, on return. found his soul had flit.

Reet sorrowful for his wife. Distraught. No
money comin. In God’s hands her sorrow.

-Paul Brookes (From my Wombwell Cemetery Sonnets)

Bios And Links

-Peter J Donnelly

lives in York where he works as a hospital secretary. He has a degree in English Literature and a MA in Creative Writing from the University of Wales Lampeter.

He has been published in various magazines and anthologies, including Writer’s Egg where ‘Survival’ previously appeared.  ‘Peppered Moth’ was included in the Ripon Poetry Festival anthology ‘Seeing Things’. ‘One Day on Dartmoor’ was highly commended in the Barn Owl Trust competition and published in their anthology ‘Wildlife Words’. It was also published online by the National Trust on their Fingle Woods webpage.