The Proposal

Cut

into bitter grey stone

by masters of dead trades,

is your complete life story.

Brief like you,

words from broken parents

target the elders,

who created your passing.

heb deitl

Steve Coel

Walking Notes

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

So many things around me, in the local and wider community, seem broken, fractured...

Paper Towns

 

Paper Towns

All along the Mercy Road 

in six month empty paper towns,

elderly people in torn slippers

walk painfully down rusty nail footpaths.

Their cotton bags : half full

hold forgotten out of date tins of meat and dried fruit,

as they chat to each other about childhood, romance 

and warm hands.

Life is ending here

these places once called home

and memories will soon be forgotten

as nature wipes away all marks of living.

Mercy Road

Steve Coel

Mercy Road

Steve Coel

Walking Notes

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Half Stolen Buildings

 In regulation daytime armour

cracking with coarse whispers

and yesterdays broken promise,

the young girl pushes

her vape shadowed baby carrier

past steamed up shop 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

her plastic shoes slap

into one off needles

that litter fishless gutters

and where even on dry days

the pavement is damp.

High Street

Steve Coel

Walking Notes

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Rub of Hand

There is a singular peace to be found in spaces where nature is busy removing memory.

Walking Notes

Steve Coel

Walking Notes

Steve Coel

Because here, where rusty wire gravy becomes encrusted in cement and everything is always broken, the rub of hand and mark of machine have all gone and time is now taking another stumble into unseen swollen puddles of oil, urine and bottled music.

Walking Notes

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Shadows

In the nick of time power station reflection

you upgrade yet another dog end

and once again check the hidden shank 

in your Clink Hotel grey.

A long time is short here,

because outside nobody stands still. 

And routines are dictated by the coded message 

of engine, animal and whistle

and by shadows that appear 

and disappear on park borders.

Walking Notes

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Wired Woods

Day Time

The crump of ancient motor and distant shriek of bird split open the clipped hedges and gate of curved fields and cupped minds.

Here, where brown water fallen from rusty pipe clings to chipped rock, is where sweaty paths lead up into singing overgrown wired woods that close in on long forgotten cylindered reminders of hard labour and childhood.

Night Time

Stepping inside the broken windowed shopfront, you walk in silence, smoke in hand, through ankle cement, wooden glue, canal wire and rusty nail.

Walking Notes

   Steve Coel 

An 11.59 Publication   

Truth is...

Truth is...

you's defined by what you is...

by what you does...

by what you wears...

way you acts or reacts...

way; way before what you says...

so...

you's on the downside corner

smoking a newly picked clean

switchblade butt end 

left for you

in local park overnight...

this is not ever nice...

you two, we sees 

sticks too close

to each other,

is the general 

local give away,

didn't listen to 

instructions see,

did you

so...

no respect will be forthcoming...

you's trying too hard

to impress

the 

wrong people.

Walking Notes

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

The Adult Corner

Clipped metal

drunken cars clutter 

the broken citadel

at the head

of the illegal 

van garaged highway.

...the coffee blast

from the 

shuttered arch

is matched

with snatches

of whispered vaped chatter...

A stubble walk

across butchered

sleeping paths

..and loose change

on the blind side

of the adult corner ..

As Seen*

Walking Notes

Steve Coel

One Previous Owner*

Walking Notes

Steve Coel

Low Mileage*

Walking Notes

Steve Coel

Walking Notes

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

* Print / Poster

The Mercy Path

Once you bypass

the last lightning tree

you enter a hillside world

of midnight stream

and border wire music.

Here, across shilling debris

and early shadow,

blisters of high mist

compose movement

from iron and broken bone.

The Mercy Path

Walking Notes

Steve Coel

Clog Street

Walking Notes

Steve Coel

The place I was born, is not the place I grew up in...

Walking Notes

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Heavy Locks / Middle Lane Birds / No Paths

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 the outside.

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.

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.

Walking Notes

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication