This Ringing in the Ears - Steve Coel

 Documentary Fiction Photography

Signs. Notions.

Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography

Signs. Notions.

Steve Coel

Signs. Notions. [ v.2 ]

Steve Coel

Always 

just above the speed limit.

Always.

Is the way

around here.

And you notices

when you stares forward

just how much you sees

what's going on

behind you.

You's taught early

by those who decides

they needs you.

And you listens

with your eyes.

Has too.

Is sometimes

just a shadow,

a movement across the light,

a click, 

simplest thing

cannot go unnoticed, ever.

When you

touches your sleeve like,

a flick of ash.

Signs, notions,suggestions, 

suspicions, feelings,

you becomes hypersensitive to it -

does your head in.

Time gets to be blurry.

You's seriously

in the moment,

every moment.

And sleep.

Real sleep

is tempting

but too dangerous.

You gets minutes only.

But you makes sure

you's being checked.

Because

as you know,

recreation isn't always

for exercise.

Rust on Cloth

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Empty Corners - Steve Coel

High Congregation

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 anointed paint

quietly peeling,

and unclean fragile carpet

frayed by disappointment,

falling into

gloomy empty corners

stacked high with rotting chairs.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

The Proposal - Steve Coel

heb deitl

Steve Coel

The Proposal

Steve Coel

Cut

into bitter wet stone

by masters of dead trades,

your life story.

Brief like you

words torn from broken parents

target the elders,

who created your passing.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Heavy Locks - Steve Coel

Arbrofion gweledol / lliw

Steve Coel

Heavy Locks

Steve Coel

Quarrels echo

across the yard

toward

a large watery gate.

Grey

figures turn

hiding their hands

and run,

as animals scatter

with the wind

that howls.

Down the hill

women gather

and men glare

behind vast whiskers

in photographs

of heavy locks,

that fasten decisions

from the outside.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Middle Lane Birds - Steve Coel

The Mercy Path

Steve Coel

Middle Lane Birds

Steve Coel

Along hidden

grassed up middle lane

birds swoop as insects

skirt and skit.

Time here is held in place

by bells

distant with summer

brown and crinkled blue.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

The Mercy Path - Steve Coel

Croft - Solva: The Mercy Path

Steve Coel

The Mercy Path [v.3 ]

Steve Coel

Once you bypass

the last starched lightning tree

you enter a hillside world 

of midnight stream 

and border wire music.

Here, across shilling debris, 
early shadow 

and blisters of high mist,

nature composes movement

from iron and broken bone.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Pretend Hats - Steve Coel

heb deitl [ 2019 ]

Steve Coel

Walking Notes [ November 2019 ]

Sand slipstreams

Ugly water washes up dead fish

Sharp grass holds the broken fence

Spindles of cold web frame the splintered window

The slippery path creaks with unearthed memories

Unaccustomed smells, stale with twisted intent

Padlocks protect broken fields from broken people

Arcades brimming with pretend hats and spiteful games

Debt plagues you like two coins rubbed clear

These hills are consuming their history 

as the past is slowly wiped out by nature

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Rust on Cloth - Steve Coel

Rust on Cloth [ 2019 ]

Steve Coel

Rust On Cloth
Steve Coel

The Right Shadow

Daytime Hideaways [ v.2 ]

Owl Eye Brown

Rust on Cloth

Spare Change for Twisted Feet

Cracked Smile

No Paths

The Right Shadow

Grey, when you's staying

at Clink Hotel.

Black, when you returns home

to no fixed address.

Each casts

the right shadow,

makes you invisible.

Makes you useful.

Daytime Hideaways [ v.2 ]

In back spaces

unseen from roads

and rear view mirrors,

between rubble

and broken glass,

shaking hands

are being shaken.

Here 

tracksuits are worn

to hide shape,

weapons,

sex.

And trade

is invisible,

unknown.

Owl Eye Brown

With stick on smiles

all owl eye brown

girls look down

long avenues

of car metal

gutter full

with wish and dream,

as;in hastily bought clothes;

their tattered boyfriends

hustle shadow money

from grey figures

in barely lit parks.

This place,

a simple place

empty of mirth,

hope and future.

Rust on Cloth

You walks along

striding lengths

of vacant brick

where even today

you never sees

new cars.

And sliding pass

pub windows

that shield

sun and rain

and bad dreams

you gets 

the full

yeasty blast

of damp cloth

and old men

sharing lies

over warm beer

and brown fingers.

Spare Change for Twisted Feet

People 

you wants,

needs,

is every time

busy.

Is why

you's

visiting

Clink Hotel.

Is truth.

Cracked Smile

Like

two coins

rubbed clear

your cracked smile

is a daily reminder

of the

last fight

30 years ago.

No Paths

Here,

where young people

never return

and there are no paths,

is the place

language comes to die

and old people

stop to watch

lost cars 

race past.

Rust on Cloth: available on request from An 11.59 Publication

Rust on Cloth

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Half Stolen Buildings - Steve Coel

Trading Places

Steve Coel

Half Stolen Buildings [ v.7 ]

Steve Coel

In regulation daytime armour

cracking with coarse whispers

and yesterdays broken promise,

the young girl pushes

her vape shadowed carrier

past steamed up pub windows.

Her world is the High Street,

where each day

a bitter grey tide

shambles downhill

towards abandoned blue churches

and disappearing city light.

And it is here

plastic shoes will slap 

into one off needles

that litter fishless gutters

and where even on dry days,

the pavement is damp.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

No Paths - Steve Coel

Trading Places

Steve Coel

No Paths

Steve Coel

Here,

where young people

never return

and there

are no paths,

is the place
language goes to die
and old people
stop to watch
lost cars 
drive pass.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication