Detour

It's the duty of the blind man to show us all the way and daughters of the richer man to make us want to stay, the seeker of the truth who fights against his will, it's a great leap into darkness for us all.

A Memory for Bukowski

I watch you throw your legs out of the car, on the passenger side, on to the sidewalk. Straight into the path of the local blind beggar I watch you kick away his stick, steal his money and take a dig with your shank. I watch you step back into the car and drive away the poorer man.

Steve Coel

Steve Coel

Heavenly Session

Extract1

See the old guy in corner; Doghead is what we calls him because Doghead is what he likes being called. Main reason being he's always on about times either had dogs or raced them or something like that. Was coming here before I took over like, so could be different reason. Anyway. Always in corner spot, always drinks steady like; for an old timer...no problem...

Extract 2

Been watching it all go down, not seen it this bad before. Somebody is going to win, somebody always does. But; if you has winners you has losers too, just natural like. I ain't a loser. Will always win me. Always.

Steve Coel

About four characters and their responses to the same threat.

From Tin Collector

Steve Coel

Owl Eye Brown / Shadows

With a stick on smile all owl eye brown, the young girl looks down long avenues of car metal gutter full with wish and dream. Meantimes, her tattered boyfriend ( in his hastily bought clothes ) hustles shadow money from grey figures in barely lit parks. 

Steve Coel

In the nick of time power station reflection you upgrade another dog end and once again check the hidden shank in your Clink Hotel grey. Long times are short here, because outside nobody stands still and your daily routine is now dictated by the coded message of engine, animal and whistle and by shadows that appear and disappear on park borders.

Steve Coel

Steve Coel

Thin Whistle at Dusk

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 seas back then, better cut cloth, broader smiles. Now, after too many rope marks and twisted bone accidents, life comes mixed to stillness with drink, sharp curses and dark corners.

Steve Coel

National Flash Fiction Day 2021

Footfall in Albany

1. Morning

Is all about frail, weightless, frightened older men who come into cafe for daily three hour coffees, game of cards and who all talk endless bollocks about non existent winning horses.

2. Afternoon

Is mainly about shapeless local smackheads and hard core druggies who come into cafe to settle small debts and to boast about knowing where next deal is going to happen.

3. Evenings

End of the day for some, sees cheap fatty meals and shelter from the pain of the street.

4. Late Nights

Is all about 'real money' being made in busy stockrooms of empty shops.

Steve Coel

National Flash Fiction Day 2021

Steve Coel

2021

Wired Woods

Day Time

The crump of ancient motor and distant shriek of bird, splits open the clipped hedges and curved field of gate cupped harvest.

Here, when 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 broken windowed shopfronts, you walk in silence through ankle cement, wooden glue, canal wire and rusty nail.

Steve Coel

Steve Coel

Half Stolen Buildings

In her regulation daytime armour

still cracking with coarse whispers

and yesterdays broken promise,

the young girl pushes

her vape shadowed baby carrier

past boarded 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

Steve Coel

Smells of Time

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 all knows

show same best day

as last time, last week, last year.

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.

Steve Coel

The Mercy Path

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

No Paths

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.

Steve Coel