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