Tidal Movements

Mono / Tidal Movements [ 2013 ]

steve coel

 Tidal movements

Walking across the field that afternoon the man and his daughter had come across the young man picking mushrooms. They greeted him simply, commented about the chill, damp day and continued on their walk. The younger man returned to his now shattered day dreaming while the man and his daughter continued on their way, concluding a queer conversation about the animals they had carefully placed on the opposite side of the valley that morning. Later that week, in the local newspaper, the man and his daughter spotted a picture of the young man and a short report about his tragic accident at sea. They smiled at each other with relief, recalling the conversation they’d had with him.  They also spoke briefly, and secretly, about his sad ending and then continued constructing their models for the valley.

From Stubborn Lines c. Steve Coel 2013

An 11.59 Publication

steve coel

An 11.59 Publication

The House

The House.

South London - 1988

                                                
                                                Row after row after row

                                                all completely empty.

                                                Once they had people living in them,

                                                they don't any more.

                                                They're not very nice houses.

                                                Rooms small,

                                                stairs 

                                                narrow

                                                and walls

                                                too thin.

                                                The garden is tiny

                                                the road that passes the front door 

                                                is very busy and dangerous.

                                                This house is cold and damp

                                                window frames rotted

                                                water drips everywhere

                                                floorboards warp and sag.

                                                This house is twenty years old.

The House - The Fingers Give Lace [ 1997 ]: c. Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

c. SBUKARTIST - Happy Valley Series [ 2013 ]

Always Raining

[1]

It always rained.

It never stopped.

It rained so hard that umbrellas curled and died and young boys disappeared into puddles so deep that monsters lurked in the depths and rivers broke their banks and washed away innocent villages.

So memorials were built and from shallow pockets coins and notes were found. 

Erected outside pubs and parks, market places and banks, needles of granite reminded people of the guilt and waste, of young men, wise before their years torn from bosom and coal fire.

And years passed, and young men died, old.

[2]

The wide open, free spaces of childhood when everything and everyone is big and breezy.

The long grass, the hollow tree that becomes a castle and fortress, the ocean of  pond and its wild animals.

And then; narrow streets, noisy with old women washing and gossiping, and old men coughing and smoking and staring.

Brown and grey, memories frizzle and fry with bacon and eggs on open fires and rain that never stops.

Crack, crack, pain and metal and blood.

Dyfyniad - Mud On A Plate

An 11.59 Publication.

c. Steve Coel 2010

Say That Again.

Say That Again.

steve coel

steve coel

Penarth to Lavernock [ For Terry Setch ]
c. Steve Coel / Two Voices

[ Book Cover Abstracts - Weekend Pass [1998] c. Steve Coel ]

An 11.59 Publication

Microflashfiction - Steve Coel

leather jackets and holy shoes

PAGE 1

Cracking bodies lying on wet grass and cider bottles in hand and 

pocket.

Dotted around the church benches and full bins, brown anoraks, knee 

length leather jackets and holy shoes.

Busses queue as gasping pedestrians run with full shopping bags and 

buskers blow and sing. Builders shout, machines grind and grunt as 

dust falls on sheets and skips fill with metal.

Rucksacks on backs - young girls wander into shops as stylish 

haircuts argue with boyfriends in doorways.

brasluniau

Hay on Wye

steve coel

PAGE 2

Sleeping in the city library young men hide from the rain. Coffee 

and sandwiches, buskers juggling with fire.

In cellars and high places newspapers and books new suits, broken 

heels, bus passes.

Movement around the inner city, dictated by jostling crowds and 

pushchairs. Nobody shouts, yet the noise is relentless - 

consistent, persistent and painful. No cars. Where are the sharp 

sounds? The clutter and cluster of metal and music.

All style and posing - small groups and men rifling through bins 

throwing new found bread to the pigeons.

People like ants in corridors and alleys, frightened animals, 

glimpsed in corners.

Light fades and night settles quickly.

brasluniau

Hay on Wye

steve coel

PAGE 3

Closing down sales.

Empty offices crying out to be filled and young workers walking the 

streets at mid-day trying to think of something to do.

The scene repeated - day in, day out. Year in, year out.

Relentless like a cold stream down a mountainside.

But a stream always ends in a dirty pool. The pool never deepens it 

just thickens like pea soup. Salt is added, then too much pepper 

and the taste is bitter, sour and scours the roof of the mouth. It 

discolours teeth, staining them and finally gums bleed. Blood pours 

out of the mouth and spills onto shirt fronts and carpet.

And still the pool thickens - until it dries and becomes a solid, 

immovable mass.

Without veins.

Without organs.

Without feeling.

Without movement.

steve coel

brasluniau

Hay on Wye

steve coel

An 11.59 Publication

Microflashfiction - Steve Coel

 pranks of young men and young women who play together.

PAGE 1.

In a dimly lit brown bar, a blues band plays. The bar, wooden and dusty, with memories etched into the joints, as beer pulled and drunk, men shout and smoke.

Tattoos on arms and short, long haircuts fringe eyes that miss nothing and see a blur of beards and stubble. 

Conversations reveal the occasional lie, particularly about the past.

Concern for self image, egos colliding - coldly and brutally through oil, leather and sweat.

Eye contact is scarce. The city look and feel.

Small fishes in little ponds - the larger pond spreading its protective wing around the boundaries - taste is required and teased out persistently - relentlessly prizing open the cage that people hide in.

PAGE 2.

The body starts to shake - bones rattling against tightening skin.

Straightening your back against the wall, slumped on a dirty carpet, music scraping around the edges - clear and tentative.

Smiling faces - plain and without joy - not real joy yet not forced.

Separate conversations and frail feelings but still no delight, only clinical, boastful remarks about the glory days.

Tomorrow.

The city streets reflect pathetic yellow lights, buildings sticky with grime and smoke, windows and tatty curtains and stripped doors.

Shop windows.

The air, fragile and hard.

Atmosphere - a city centre convulsing after a day of speed. Shattering grinds of taxi cabs, erratic driving and the fearful stabs of cigar smoke clogging lungs.

And then the walk home.

A church yard, noisy party and drunk drivers.

PAGE 3.

Conversation not forced, humorous and laid back.

So you see it can be done, even fleetingly. 

The stillness of bodies lying side by side. 

Sleep.

Steve Coel
An 11.59 Publication

Empty Corners [ v.5 ] - Steve Coel

Arfordir Byw

steve coel

Empty Corners
Steve Coel

Stepping away
from the street
through a broken
broad open
two door,
you painfully walk
into a high congregation
of brown paper
and leather.

Once inside
along each damp tired wall
you discover annointed paint
peeling quietly,
and unclean fragile carpet,
frayed by disappointment,
falling into gloomy
empty corners stacked high
with rotting chairs.

steve coel
An 11.59 Publication

The Other Day - Part 4.

Clear your mind, listen carefully and...

Made of Diamonds - Shades of Silk

Urban Gale - Hidden Gold

Rainbow Rock - Artful Artist

Fell The Heat - Saucy Mix

Puppet Theatre - Luna Mission

Dusty Blue - Tale of Milan

Jazz Master - Central Zone

Laughing Jack - Fountain of Youth

Apricot Sky - Hard Run

Coastal Storm - Scarlet Plum

Romantic Bliss - Long Cross

Admirable Art - Water Thief

New Angel - Escape To Glory

Sea of Heaven - Magic Shoes

Beautiful Stranger - Outlaw Country

don't stop breathing.

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