Steve Coel - Market Dish

Market Dish 

Here -

Where...beggared coffee is alley fresh..

Where...small change cups are collected for market stall dish..

Where...sweeping eye line catches weak fumbled glass..

Where...failure becomes habit..

Where...folded arm argument frames evening entertainment..

is the place language comes to die.

...creating fictions...

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel - Bandstand

Bandstand

Here -

Where...top floor swearing is frequent..

Where...poor disguises are deliberate..

Where...slippery couples meet between sheets of harsh fabric..

Where...derelict woods shelter shrivelled worlds..

Where...door step begging is hasty and mindless..

is the place language comes to die.

...creating fictions...

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel - Daytime Sleeping

Daytime Sleeping

Here -

Where...shielded discount aisles are glued together with spiced smile and free news..

Where...stickered metal bollards herd cheap early morning trainee's shoe..

Where...daytime sleeping is bagged with tourist litter..

Where...each stuttering step is guided by habit..

Where...whiskered waterway trees hang on singing electric wire..

is the place language comes to die.

...creating fictions...

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Deaf Ear: Parts 1 to 4 and Leafed Reminders - Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography - Steve Coel

Deaf Ear: Parts 1 to 4

Here -

Where...loyalty is sought and funded through dark glass..

Where...anger is buttery..

Where...doorstep begging is hasty and youthful..

Where...brave words are thrown away with cheap lager and soapy gritted water..

Where...curled up broken yard hideaways become legend..

is the place language comes to die.

 

Here -

Where...layered sounds of gated dog and broken motor serenade gloomy high street..

Where...cheap toys are solitary on pavement and stolen trolley..

Where...flagless memory walks sullen and dead down late night dual carriageway tunnel..

Where...simple slogans are stamped hard on tourist lamp post..

Where...lost faces merge with elderly condemned brick..

is the place language comes to die.

Here -

Where...early sandal foot death lays down grass foundation..

Where...shallow drunk opinion dominates afternoon decision making..

Where...teenage defence is held tightly to deaf ear..

Where...clumsy stapled barriers warn away passing neighbourhood shadows..

Where...off grid roads disappear through unpleasant fields of illegal chambered stubble..

is the place language comes to die.

Here -

Where...sad walled archive crowds day time sky..

Where... nylon jumpered youth blankly congregate..

Where...anonymous kiosk cards are pierced carefully on stolen rusty spike rods..

Where...blistered nickel punches into broken fence..

is the place language comes to die.

From Half Stolen Buildings (2024)

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Documentary Fiction Photography - Steve Coel

Leafed Reminders

Here -

Where...dusty wind up street watches clutter closed library doorstep..

Where...smoked paper bag breakfasts are pocketed behind laddered vans..

Where...pointed leather shoes kick out leafed reminders of late morning wrestled submissions..

Where...painted wall challenges are numbered and stripped of crafted meaning..

Where...mobile ticket hall becomes corrupted illegal water bridge..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

 

Dead Air into Warm Harp - Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography

Dead Air into Warm Harp

Steve Coel

Since I bust my legs down The Works I've had to spend all my mornings blowing dead air into warm harp by the Central Library. Bust my heart too truth be known. Lost everything now. Still...once I get enough coin I has a mild and Clark's pie down The Vulcan, and often or not, I end up talking to the old girls warming themselves up before they go and shelters under the bridge by The Glastonbury.

Clink Hotel across the road gets noisy in the afternoon so I usually wonder into town for a bit of a stretch and go and cadge a cup of tea from Asteys before heading back down Bute for warm meal and early bunk.

Doesn't have time to feel sad really. Not me. Trick I finds is to forget past and just stick to what I knows. Need change of shoes mind. Guess I'll find some in the box by side door Sunday morning.

Steve Coel .....creating fictions....

 

Steve Coel - Documentary Fiction Photography

No Paths

Steve Coel

Here -

Where...young people never return and there are no paths..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel - Documentary Fiction Photography

.....creating fictions.....

Steve Coel

No Paths: Experimental Narratives, 2026

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel .....creating fictions...

 

Steve Coel - Documentary Fiction Photography

Metallic Stumble

Here -

Where...straight talking is a cold charmless click..

Where...wind launched building demolitions scratch neighborhood itch..

Where...stickered light falls on damp nylon shoe..

Where...last nights takeaway guides corner walled stumble..

Where...bitter smoke sticks to dark glass passenger..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel - Chemical Bone + Shank Metal

Steve Coel - Documentary Fiction Photography

Chemical Bone

Here- 

Where...car corner shadowed delivery is timed for all night pick up..

Where...burnt out tools lie on warped oil chop shop floor..

Where...thrift store T shirts sit bin begging long after closing 

time..

Where...skin twists tight against prescribed illegal chemical bone..

Where...tree lined hiding place becomes stripped down home for safe 

refuge..

is the place language comes to die.

Shank Metal

Here -

Where...frosted eating is laced with home grown bagged chemical..

Where...shared escape looks like walking..

Where...respect is shank metal ribbon hidden..

Where...floor sleeping is warehouse skipped redundant..

Where...happiness is distant..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel - Etched Arm

Steve Coel - Documentary Fiction Photography

Etched Arm

Here -

Where...ripped memory is etched into electric wall..

Where...enveloped escape payment lies forgotten..

Where...plastic bag purchase is photographed and questioned..

Where...traffic stamps impatiently along ditched street..

Where...broken fence literature is sprayed on machined older arm..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel - Tented Song

Steve Coel - Documentary Fiction Photography

Tented Song

Here -

Where...broken rhythms pulse out of boarded second hand door darkness..

Where...stolen boxed official paper deliveries lie forgotten behind metered indoor yard..

Where...beggared song is shuttled away from bagged evening collection..

Where...glass eyed conversation is embankment tented secret..

Where...newness is nailed down and closely observed..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel - Wired Beauty

Steve Coel - Documentary Fiction Photography

Wired Beauty

Here -

Where...drowned road happiness is traded for pennies..

Where...beauty is inked into loose skin..

Where...hostel dispute is shop door knuckled..

Where...salted air breathing is painful reminder of loss..

Where...wired thought becomes backroom industry..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel - Metal Carpet

Steve Coel - Documentary Fiction Photography

Metal Carpet

Here -

Where...knotted metal carpet rolls lean on concrete window salesroom..

Where...reflected sleep is caught shuffling across bridged river..

Where...drained smiles remain confused..

Where...doctored papers shield gridded nylon building..

Where...ordered talk is wooden..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel - Open Mic. June, 2025. Y Gogledd: #2

Steve Coel - Documentary Fiction Photography

Paper Bag

Here -

 

Where...banned entry is monitored by walled bored glass eye..

Where...cracked machine street furniture empties rigid oil onto skated shoe..

Where...paper bag eating is tin roof sheltered..

Where...curious hands grip tightly bridged water passage way..

Where...alarm bells herd crowds into uniformed wallets of silence..

is the place language comes to die.

Electric Hair

Here -

Where...tree scaffolding shields stained daytime drinking..

Where...coughed innocence is heavy in charity cotton shirt..

Where...electric hair passengers are stiff backed against fake safety exit..

Where...metalled corner stubs become local broken emblems..

Where...chested aggression clips rough handed into rum hinged crowd..

is the place language comes to die.

Glum Dance

Here -

Where...slim concrete staircase funnels nervous jealous glance..

Where...starched wrinkled skin sticks to stretched bone..

Where...young people die old..

Where...unopened door fades into peeling brick and small bottled back yard..

Where...glum dance patters on fractured acre..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel - Greedy Laughter

Steve Coel - Documentary Fiction Photography

Greedy Laughter

Here - 

Where...filmed movement is bound by derelict building and deadwood fire..

Where...sober silent conversations are concerned and paper free..

Where...official tattooed authority is broken by wired library bench seat..

Where...early evening heron fishing gets plastic bag poison water netted..

Where...greedy laughter clings to painted doorway shadow..

is the place language comes to die

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel - Open Mic. June, 2025. Y Gogledd

Steve Coel - Documentary Fiction Photography

Painted Hatred

Here -

Where...silence is timed..

Where...kerbside road walking is never local..

Where...car lights halt hooded debt collection..

Where...early morning cigarettes are gathered from canal path bin..

Where...painted hatred shows handcuffed hints of humour..

is the place language comes to die.

Sad Eyes

Here -

Where...crowded thoughts are positioned above empty guide dog begging..

Where...plastic bag clumsiness shelters fenced bus stop..

Where...shadow glassed laughter becomes bitter and sad-eyed..

Where...blistered wood holds signed memories of yesterdays bargains..

Where...puddle damp trainers split through confused traffic..

is the place language comes to die.

Metallic Stumble

Here -

Where...straight talking is a cold charmless metallic click..

Where...wind launched building demolition scratches neighbourhood itch..

Where...stickered light falls on damp nylon shoe..

Where...last nights takeaway guides corner walled stumble..

Where...gritted smoke sticks to dark glass passenger..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel/An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel - Open Mic, June 2025. Y De.

Documentary Fiction Photography - Steve Coel

Adult Hands

Here -

Where...illegal plastic high releases urgent stammered step..

Where...solitary private glass is windowed in shoddy single drinking room..

Where...stolen adult hands are nailed..

Where...blown factory wall rage by-passes toughened water..

Where...sponsored imagination drains away through rusting pipe..

is the place language comes to die.

Wired Beauty

Here -

Where...drowned road happiness is traded for pennies..

Where...beauty is inked into loose skin..

Where...hostel dispute is shop door knuckled..

Where...salted air breathing is a painful reminder of loss..

Where...wired thought becomes backroom industry..

is the place language comes to die.

Metal Carpet

Here -

Where...knotted metal carpet rolls lean on concrete window salesroom..

Where...reflected sleep is caught shuffling across bridged river..

Where...drained smiles remain confused..

Where...doctored papers shield gridded nylon building..

Where...ordered talk is wooden ..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

* Add ons - random choice[s] from 2023 - Stretched Bone (An 11.59 Publication)

Steve Coel - Wire Horizons

 

Documentary Fiction Photography - Steve Coel

Wire Horizons

Here -

Where...truck loaded panel shelters are fragile and small minded..

Where...bird wire horizons become tortured tree reminders of industry..

Where...casual uniform is formal authority threat to liquid thought..

Where...lamp post stickers appeal to irrational voted thinking..

Where...empty towers crumble into bottled grass memory of a good better time..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel - Tin Canal

Documentary Fiction Photography - Steve Coel

Tin Canal

Here -

Where...alarmed rent money is silently spent..

Where...hi-rise wind flows between tin canal and secretly painted terrace..

Where...glued actions bustle into map markets..

Where...electric fear spreads from street to newspaper columned whisper..

Where...window shadow warnings are ignored..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel - Board Yards

Documentary Fiction Photography - Steve Coel

Board Yards

Here -

Where...shuffled animal recycled pathways stay unused and ignored..

Where...newly painted rail station gallery is haunted by plastic discipline..

Where...cryptic commands rattle through tight van streets into twisted board yards..

Where...key-ring novelty is blown into punctured building machinery..

Where...boxed reminders become land-fill..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel - Tickertape Blossom

Documentary Fiction Photography - Steve Coel

Tickertape Blossom

Here -

Where...blanket river scene is reflected on forged interest brick and cemented error..

 

Where...empty windowed business shields broad shouldered silence..

Where...tidal courses are banished..

Where...apple tree blossom tickertapes sullen grass verge..

Where...beat box music, early morning bird and shrill delivery van collide...

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel - Begged Scandal

Documentary Fiction Photography - Steve Coel

Begged Scandal

Here -

Where...old parking is pavement rumour and small stone guttered..

Where...eclipsed views remain splintered with caged scissor precision..

Where...begged scandal is threatened..

Where...24 hour slowness is eyed suspiciously through boarded shop window..

Where...young shoes shoulder new passages on to industry dust covered machinery..

is the place language come to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel - Hedged Whisper

Documentary Fiction Photography - Steve Coel

Hedged Whisper

Here -

Where...misled concrete steps shape movement towards shuttered corner stall..

Where...brittle smiles are forced reminders of drafted opportunity..

Where...roomed time is measured through medication and juiced meal..

Where...coated weather is blossomed and publicly stooped by hedged symphony..

Where...trip wire walking forces cloudy watered decision..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel - Tight Lips

Documentary Fiction Photography - Steve Coel

Tight Lips

Here -

Where...muscled acting falls into stolen mosaic underpass..

Where...plastic bag bicycles negotiate pot holed routes to plotted work space..

Where...music is sprayed on to tin wall..

Where...flat motors echo across dry beer yard roof..

Where...fly-tipped sell by dates mischievously clutter loiter behind fenced in side-street..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Open Mic: Y De, May 2025 - Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography - Steve Coel

Iron Shelter

Here -

Where...pavement shy funeral cars are smokey..

Where...mapped walking is silenced by small group gossip..

Where...sleeping iron sided shelters are brick piled into bulldozed walls..

Where...music is daytime dead..

Where...beaten up fenced trees strangle the air..

is the place language comes to die.

Cupped Smoke

Here -

Where...recycled gloves spill glassed ale in corner seat of damp pop-up..

Where...grey cigarette stained trackies stand broken in cement bank shelter..

Where...midnight football is supported by passing runaways heading to early morning meal..

Where..cupped smoke and industrial strength poison cans work full-time to keep the cold out..

Where...sharp light slices into puddled indoor short-cut..

is the place language comes to die.

Solo Rooms

Here -

Where...plastic fairground jewelry lies chewed up..

Where...kerbstone wheels dawdle in tune with open door security..

Where..words spoken in jest between strangers are echoes of threat to local trade..

Where...shuttered industry is impatient and bolted into fabric of labour..

Where...failure becomes habit..

is the place language comes to die.

Illegal Fragrance

Here -

Where...dining room corners are secretly guarded..

Where...tightly held anonymous bottles conceal early morning agenda..

Where...rusted chainsaw vans clutter side-street rubbled warehouse..

Where...cheap illegal fragrances batter muted steel trimmed trolley romance..

Where...unseen walking is never invisible..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Open Mic: Y Gogledd, May 2025 - Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography - Steve Coel

Sleeping Path

Here -

Where...youth stubble walk across butchered sleeping path..

Where...hills consume history and memory is wiped out by nature..

Where...half gloved hands rap on steel plate and small window..

Where...slow of foot shadow wooden shovel..

Where...boasting is frowned upon..

is the place language comes to die.

Steel Mesh

Here -

Where...shaded front windows blank out screamed memory..

Where...watered gravel road hides handshake meeting..

Where...cheap endeavour is forced..

Where...emotion is mid-air and blank eyed..

Where...coat collar romance is early evening and drunk..

is the place language comes to die.

Fallen Brick

Here - 

Where...stubs of paper shape tomorrows nightmare..

Where...fussy overcoats and woolen carpet shape grassed up valley roadway..

Where...modern memory is glazed with empty cans of blood..

Where...fallen brick slices postered railing..

Where...bottom shelf goods are swallowed by small pockets..

is the place language comes to die.

Machine Winnings

Here -

Where...failure becomes habit..

Where...values are challenged and always disputed..

Where...machine winnings replace job prospects..

Where...happiness is solitary, forgotten and distant..

Where...teenage angst lasts long into retirement..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel - Sharp Cement

Documentary Fiction Photography - Steve Coel

Oiled Pavement

Here -

Where...sharp cement spaces hurdles are guidelines for hooded meeting..

Where...energy is mimed into chalk board reminder..

Where...cladded hostel debris lies tattered stranded and broken inside blistered berry bush..

Where...lunchtime windows open on to oiled pavement..

Where...shadowed running is urgent..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel - Chop Shop

Documentary Fiction Photography - Steve Coel

Chop Shop

Here -

Where...hidden alley way problems remain unspoken..

Where...broken woodland studded guards mock nature behind bladed 

hands..

Where...silent animals pursue the sleepless old under canal side 

bridge towards the dreamless forgotten city..

Where...stunted authority is doorway suited..

Where...cloned cob-web window warnings are nightly reminders from 

chop shop vehicle..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel - Crow Time Feeding

Documentary Fiction Photography - Steve Coel

Crow Time Feeding

Here -

Where...recycled memory daytime hiding is scripted into knifed tree bark..

Where...reckless noise making is brutal and metal knuckled..

Where...vape bloodied cafe gardens groan beneath rusted leather footstep and betrayed seating..

Where...crow time feeding is weed killer gravelled..

Where...small group silence reflect rejects courtyard posters and charity reclaimed allotment..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel