City Trilogy [ Part 1 ] - Steve Coel

City Trilogy [ Part 1 ]

Steve Coel

Dead Air into Warm Harp
Half Stolen Buildings
Smells of Time

Dead Air into Warm Harp

Steve Coel

Since I bust my legs down The Works
I's 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 I has.
Still; once I's got enough coin
I has a mild and Clark's pie
down The Vulcan.
And; often or not, I ends up
talking to the old girls
warming themselves up,
before they goes and shelters
under the bridge by The Glastonbury.

Clink Hotel across the road
gets noisy in the afternoon
so I wanders back into town
for a bit of a stretch and goes
cadge a cup of tea from Astey's
before heading back down Bute
to the Sally 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 you knows.
Need change of shoes mind.
Guess I'll find some in box
by side door sunday morning.

Half Stolen Buildings

Steve Coel

In her regulation daytime armour
cracking with coarse whispers
and yesterdays broken promise,
the young girl pushes
a vape shadowed carrier
past steamed up pub windows.

Her world is the High Street
where each day
a bitter grey tide
shambles downhill
toward 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.

Smells of Time [ v.3 ]

Steve Coel

In you comes -
in your sad seven year old
ironic tracksuit
and pair of box fresh.

In you comes -
looking for deals
on the board
behind the counter
which we knows show
same best day
as last time, last week, last month.

In you comes -
doing quick sums
and ordering a dozen shots
with your release money
which you quickly shares out
to punters who isn't interested.

In you comes -
barely missed
and completely blitzed
just another forgotten
madman.

In you comes -
a madman bent by routine;
a madman twisted by addiction;
a madman caught in the to and fro
of the outside which has turned its back;
and good riddance.

In you comes -
a madman smelling of time.

Sunday Morning

Steve Coel

City Trilogy [ Part 1 ]

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

The Proposal / Empty Corners - 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.

Single Thread*

[ The Proposal / Empty Corners ]

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 damp tired walls

you discover anointed paint

quietly peeling,

and unclean fragile carpet

frayed by disappointment,

falling into

gloomy empty corners.

High Congregation

[ The Proposal / Empty Corners ]

Steve Coel

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

* Footnote:

Our life hangs on a single thread

It soon is out and we are dead.

Just like a flower I was up at dawn

A day passed by and I was gone.

Then boast not reader of thy might,

Alive at noon and dead at night.

The Mercy Path - Up at the Knock [ Unpublished ]

Discarded Extracts / Notes.

Up at the Knock
Steve Coel

You isn't different really from everyone else, you's just a bit more intense is what it is.

Up here in the hidden places you's always seen wandering round the velvet lanes, where cold suede banks hide barren stoney fields, and where geese guard tin roof shacks and frightened children.

In windowless buildings, haunted by the black hair of the missing, geese guard woollen hands.

Cars always come from somewhere else not here. Not here, where horses roam wild and beer is drunk and apples are still being grown in secret orchards.

heb deitl

Steve Coel

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Rust on Cloth / Owl Eye Brown - Steve Coel

Rust on Cloth

Steve Coel

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

you gets the full

yeasty blast

of damp cloth

and old men

sharing lies

over warm beer

and brown fingers.

heb deitl

Steve Coel

Owl Eye Brown

Steve Coel

With stick on smiles

all owl eye brown

young girls look down

long avenues

of car metal 

gutter full

with wish and dream. As,

in hastily bought clothes

tattered boyfriends

hustle shadow money

from grey figures

in barely lit parks.

This place

is their place,

a simple place

empty of mirth

hope and future.

heb deitl

Steve Coel

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Welcome Back / Docks Museum - Steve Coel

Welcome Back [ Customs House ]

Steve Coel

Standing in the doorway

to the closed Custom House

you silently mouth

a plea for small change.

It's not one of your

regular spots.

Not today.

Looking like you needs

another close shave

your shoes

seem broken

and too loose for comfort.

Busy down waterside.

You, are not.

Slowly...you are becoming invisible.

Eventually, you too will disappear

leaving only a shadow

in each doorway

of this street.

[ The shadow of a man...each day up from the Sally...into town...

in the doors of The Western and Echo. ]

Docks Museum

Steve Coel

Today.

Dry docks glisten

with salty channel rain

as woollen old men

sit on a favourite bench.

Each is smiling

as together they remember

their songs and laughter

as young, hard welders.

Today.

Visitors will glance at walls 

of dismal grey photographs.

Some show weary men

and women waving small 

half empty beer glasses in the air.

Others are of car empty streets 

clogged with leather boots 

being dragged to early shifts. 

And some are of boys playing

scrappy football with tight balls 

of Western and Echo

in muddy parks

bordered with adverts

for cheap beer and bread.

Tomorrow.

Young men grown old 
will return, sit

and see it all again.

Departing visitors 
will not see them.

heb deitl

Steve Coel

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Middle Lane Birds / Heavy Locks - 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.

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

from behind vast whiskers

in photographs

of heavy locks

that fasten decisions

from outside.

Actual Size: 80cms x 80cms

Arfordir Byw
Steve Coel

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Smells of Time - Steve Coel

Scratches jotted on car door handles

Steve Coel

You always walks ahead

so you can 

keep eyes

on his back.

Even now,

now when you's

both been outside 

six months.

And you's still both wearing

trademark greys 

with parallel pockets

that hide your newest shanks

which, like all bad habits,

is difficult to break.

Of course we sees

your interesting walk

straightaway.

Looks like

you's both walking

at the same pace.

But you isn't.

Is trick

you needs to learn

and practice.

Brings unneeded attention

if you looks 

like you's running.

Which you is really.

Even so, you's brave.

Got to be round this way.

Thing is

you's both got to try

harder to stop

being this stupid.

Although, fair does,

everyone knows

two heads is better than one.

So well done there.

Is clear peoples got

to break you up

if they's going

to get better deal

than you.

And that's 

how it always starts.

Always.

Takes three

to break two

and four

to break three

and so on.

Is how wars start.

So: twos

easier to deal with.

Trust like.

Smells of Time [ v.2 ]

Steve Coel

In you comes -

in your sad seven year old

ironic tracksuit

and pair of box fresh.

In you comes -

looking up deals

on the board

behind the counter

which, we knows, show

same best day

as last time, last week, last month.

In you comes -

doing quick sums

and ordering a dozen shots

with your release money

before giving each away

to punters who ain't interested.

In you comes -

barely missed
and completely blitzed

just another forgotten

madman.

In you comes -

...a madman bent by routine

...a madman twisted by addiction

...a madman caught in the to and fro 

   of the outside which has turned its back

   and good riddance.

In you comes-

...a madman smelling of time.

Notes:

...just talking to you. You smells of time, 

cork floors and small town county court rooms.

#abstractphotography2020

heb deitl

Steve Coel

Actual Size: 80cms x 80cms

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

The Wet Shift - Steve Coel

The Wet Shift

Steve Coel

Extract.

Time was he'd be with the other workers heading south after another all night wet shift.
But not today.
Today, he's still invisible in his toasted brickwork hat and waking up after a nights sleep on the butchers slab that rests buried in the dark silted low tide beach alongside the gravy.

Extract.

Busy checking that the hidden key and twist are still in his deadman's waistcoat he will slowly begin his own journey south of the river to his cardboard hostel room, electric sheets, liquid breakfast and another brown day full of grey moods, careless thought and burnt cake.

[ V.4 ]

#documentaryfictionphotography2020

#abstractphotography2020

The Wet Shift

An 11.59 Publication

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Thin Whistle at Dusk - Steve Coel

Thin Whistle at Dusk

Steve Coel

Mystery man, shadow man

is what they used to call him.

 Him, the latest three day 
thin whistle at dusk millionaire

returning from sea, 

to die like his father again

over and over.

Shallower sea back then

better cut cloth, broader smiles.

Now, after too many

rope marks and twisted bone 

life comes mixed still

with drink, sharp curses

and dark corners.

#documentaryfictionphotography2020

Three Day Millionaire

Steve Coel

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

No Paths - 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

still stop to watch

lost cars

drive pass.

#documentaryfictionphotography2020

Mercy Path

Steve Coel

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication