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

Severed Road

3 Extracts -

The severed road blankets the grey undemanding hill as it reluctantly inclines towards the sea.

Here, regimented lines of steel, brown with rust, envelop the park where lovers argue and kiss and where young men drink as children play.

And from the sea comes the smell and spell of promises with stones rattling on concrete and flesh.

Steve Coel

In Severed Road, the narrative centre is replaced by observation of landscape and character is being marginalised.

Steve Coel

2021

Tall Ships

Extracts...

In many honest pursuits of dishonesty

views of broader realities emerge.

( Community Commentary )

It's found up along cobbled visions of forgotten towns in times disputed by all who lived them.

In places where small children are seen, and then caught by Pentax and Olympus, playing on empty streets near to crumbling demolished homes and where trains full of people are  always leaving for somewhere better.

Tall ships, hanging over brick wall, skulk in this broken vision. Tall ships made by small people whose dreams, daily smashed, mirror the horror of this passing time.

Crisp tied visitors arrive and leave. As they always have, and always will. Quick decisions made over ignored pie and cake shaping the stockpile land laid bare by scheme.

Windowless empty youth painted buildings scatter to wind and sudden downpour.

In large open working spaces; in tired, dormant, feral communities, few people gather each morning for early shift. The vacancy of thinking is foremost in time spent here. Labour too is vague, mechanical and undisputed. There is no choice or imagination taking place here. Daily life is held in the pursuit of something that always happens somewhere else and the routine is undertaken without thought or emotion. Tiredness is instant and contagious. Jokes are few, clumsy and dulled by lack of echo.

Here, uniforms cheap and ill fitting, signify nothing but cowardice and lack of respect.

Draft #3 - The Wasted Land(scape) : A Noticeboard of Dishonesty      ( 2021 )

Steve Coel

Steve Coel

Sweetest Pill

To the listener:

My mind falls apart every time I hear that someone's just been knifed / Or gunned down by a stranger whose now running for their life / If you see anyone that you desire just trying to be free / ( crowd noise ).

( crowd noise )/ The cries of pain come through again as the marksman hits the spot / ( crowd noise ). 

Because I don't want no arguing no butchery or spite / ( crowd noise )/ As I look in your eyes I can see a fire I can feel you burning still / As the heart of the matter comes home to me ( Shouting ) you are my sweetest pill.

Steve Coel

Cycling For Happiness

In all fairness she'd expected the water to be pretty cold. After all it was November and Summer hadn't turned out like she'd hoped and she knew well enough that what her family needed, really needed, was to get some sun on their bones. But there you goes, what you gonna do about it? So, even being short of money and that, she'd taken them all away for a weekend treat, a break she reckoned would do them all  a bit of good. It being out of season though, most houses were boarded up, yet she'd somehow managed to get themselves into a side street B and B. Trouble is rides on front is all boarded up for the winter too. As a result kids were generally pretty miserable. But they says change of scenery is good for the soul. So they says. Like I've heard if car runs on to your foot adrenalin gives you strength to pick car up and move your foot out. So I've heard. Still, no-one's really sure where she got strength to take all her kids into the water like she did.

Steve Coel

Running woman with small child

Steve Coel

Shopping Trolley

Like a dream it was just now. You barefoot and unconcerned across this wet road and it being early morning and all. I'm guessing you must have started the evening with shoes. But there you go. No CCTV following you, not here, not yet. But you're being watched my friend, trust me, you're being watched. Yes it's quiet around here. Well apart from the water from the broken guttering and occasional gun fire. Odd that. Guns usually start later, at a more sociable time. No real point this time of day. No-one to frighten see. This time of day is just showing off. So what the fucks you doing around here is beyond me. Thing is, I'm not being paid to worry about stupid little fucks like you am I? Better get on then. Now, if I can just get this knife in a bit further I'll be on my own way as well. Shit, was that gunfire again?

Steve Coel

Steve Coel

Carry on Waiting

Sunny day. Bad atmosphere. Looks being passed between people trying too hard not to know each other. Failing badly they is. Should do better. So what's the story then?

Suppose story starts on the street. Outside like. Always a good place to start a story I reckons. Begins with police searching a car. Wrong car as it happens. Other footies is holding some guy against a wall, while others check his jacket in doorway of the adult store. I understands they won't find nothing.

Morning. Early for some. Late for others. Someone, it seems, is clearly not making it through the day, is getting desperate and is needing some action pretty quick. Like right away. So. Quick snatch job is all. Bad call is what it is. Being watched see. Being watched quite closely as it happens. Decision time. For me. Do I let it go and carry on waiting? Or do I move in, blow cover? Luckily, for all involved, uniformed footie steps in. Very lucky.

Bit of a chase. Laugh that. Likes a good chase, who doesn't? Security joined in too. Laugh that also. Though twats they is for joining in because peoples quick round here when opportunity arises. So it is. Quick in and out, even though they knows cameras sees them all. And they knows security will be having words with them later. Poor bastards. But hey, what you going to do? I'll have a word prior like, it's what I does, my job. Like I tells you, my street. 

Steve Coel

Steve Coel

Q + A

Who? Where? When?

Them. There. Then.

Steve Coel

 

Crippled Landscape

' No good ever comes from doing no good. '

' A great song, sung badly, is still a great song. '

' The crippled landscape is holding the sky in place. '

' Knowing when too much is not enough. '

' Too old to rock the boat, but young enough to hide the paddles. '

' We are all prisoners to the language of children. '

Steve Coel: 2020 - 2021

 

Steve Coel

The Wet Shift

Extracts.

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 late after a nights sleep on the butchers slab that rests buried in the dark silted low tide beach alongside the gravy.

***

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.

Wet Shift

Steve Coel

..(the disturbing ) return of city lightning..

 

Too many daytime hideaways

are in backspaces

unseen from roads

and rear view mirrors.

Here, torn feral shoes

will once more be shredded

by rubble and broken glass

and shaking hands

will again be shaken

between tracksuits,

worn to hide

shape, weapons and sex.

But tomorrow you will return

because it is the place

where real trade

remains invisible

and ignored.

[ Previously published : Torn Shoes - Steve Coel ]

Walking Notes

..you catches snatches of stoned smiles floating through smoked out windows of passing stolen number plates. Everyone knows the cliches and seems to love them round here. And not ironically, ironically..

..( always ) seen wearing cheap clothes they's always got expensive rings and expensive boxfresh. Go figure. Seems weird to most, but is accepted down the street because knowledge is learnt early round here. Everyone knows, you don't learn, you's a loser. And that's where you don't ever want to be - reputations is made early and lasts. Everyone knows this, don't they? Is fucking first lesson for fucks sake!

Steve Coel