The Mercy Path - Lowland Feather

The Mercy Path - Lowland Feather

Steve Coel

...after days years spent on the Mercy Path listening absorbing to wire sharp whistled song, last farewells are (still) given free through tufted grass brick work house window and muddied wall...

...close by, ripple stone water stumbles against into tired grass bank as baited lowland feather slaps its muted surface...and through gaps in low tree tired stone walls, wild horses fret and gather as rutted horizons shadow mountain passage valley....

...(here)out on the scarab pathed moor where lonely birds pleat their song into ferned memory, old feet, leisured by a lifetime of pain, shuffle slowly homewards...

Documentary Fiction Photography

Steve Coel

Extracts from Lowland Feather - The Mercy Path Project, An 11.59 Publication

(2018 - Present). 

Various Images and Text have featured in Folios since 2020.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Ceramics: K. Andrews

Birmingham

MicroFlashFiction - Set#1: Rock Pockets, Honest Footstep, Etched Arm

Rock Pockets - Steve Coel

Here -

Where...small feet carry heavy living..

Where...polluted idle engines blow rust water into lipped gutter..

Where...emergency words remain anonymous..

Where...stone roof collapse haunts drunken memory..

Where...rock pocket begging is sandwiched between road crossing and loose fingers..

is the place language comes to die.

Honest Footstep - Steve Coel

Here -

Where...weather growls at footsteps and distant noise is ancient and honest..

Where...rain drills fluent bitter nightmare into supple iron smile..

Where...broken machinery sits proudly inside dusty windowed derelict shelter..

Where...silent voices speak empty values to woolen walls..

Where...cold slab chipped rock fountain is smiling and love struck..

is the place language comes to die.

Etched Arm - Steve Coel

Here -

Where...ripped memory is etched into electric wall..

Where...enveloped escape payments lie forgotten..

Where...plastic shopping bag purchase is photographed and questioned..

Where...traffic stamps impatiently along ditched street..

Where...broken fence literature is sprayed on machined older arm..

is the place language comes to die.

Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel

MicroFlashFiction - Machine Winnings

Machine Winnings - Steve Coel

Here -

Where...failure becomes a habit..

Where...values are challenged and always disputed..

Where...machine winnings replace job prospects..

Where...happiness is solitary, forgotten and distant..

Where...teenage anger lasts long into retirement..

is the place language comes to die.

Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography, Steve Coel

MicroFlashFiction - Brick Bank

Brick Bank - Steve Coel

Here - 

Where...disguised water shudders beneath road corrosive tar.. and abandoned metal escape door..

Where...daylight hides behind abandoned metal escape door..

Where...brambled adventure is signposted with late last nights left overs..

Where...baited brick memory foot step becomes rudderless..

Where...gloved fingers pick apart wooden slatted slatted wooden wire protest barrier..

is the place language comes to die.

Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography, Steve Coel

MicroFlashFiction - Secret Keys

Secret Keys - Steve Coel

Here -

Where...angry muted back street conversation is hidden..

Where...illegal music gags unlicensed holder of secret keys..

Where...push chair convention is ignored..

Where...teenage defence is tightly held to deaf ear..

Where...skin is scissored..

is the place language comes to die. 

Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography, Steve Coel

MicroFlashFiction - Broken Light

Broken Light - Steve Coel

Here -

Where...tacky metal emblems cling to half shredded walls of commerce..

Where...fractured gang lines decide night time movement..

Where...waistcoat watches lie trapped in muddied brickwork..

Where...shallow drunk opinion dominates afternoon decision making..

Where...beauty is hooded..

is the place language comes to die.

Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography, Steve Coel

MicroFlashFiction - Small Fish

Small Fish - Steve Coel

Here -

Where...gilded barks sink into wild animal muddied path..

Where...small fish paper local canal..

Where...plastic scaffolding is blown off derelict shelter..

Where...threatened glance reveals suspicion of the new..

Where...bad health is assumed..

is the place language comes to die.

Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography

Steve Coel

MicroFlashFiction - In the Corner

In the Corner - Steve Coel

In the corner of the local cafe sits the neighbourhood's old lady. She's here every day, her cups never empty and she's never charged. 

Around midnight she'll often prowl out pointing and swearing at the passing cars as staff take it in turns, from a distance, to see her home safely.

Early morning they clear her corner, waiting for her inevitable return.

Documentary Fiction Photography

Steve Coel

MicroFlashFiction - Glum Dance

Glum Dance - Steve Coel

Here -

Where...slim concrete staircase funnels nervous jealous glance..

Where...starched wrinkled skin sticks to stretched bone..

Where...young people die old..

Where...unopened doors fade into peeling brick and small bottle yards..

Where...glum dance patters aggressively on fractured acre..

is the place language comes to die.

Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography

Steve Coel

MicroFlashFiction: Traded Memory

Traded Memory - Steve Coel

Here -

Where...dull flowers pilfer hedgerow litter..

Where...skin is scissored..

Where...memory is traded..

Where...new work jackets have missing buttons and broken zips..

Where...angry shadows are nailed on to walled in wasteland..

is the place language comes to die.

Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography

Steve Coel

Rust on Cloth (2023) - Experimental Narratives, An 11.59 Publication

Rust on Cloth (2023)

Steve Coel

The Right Shadow

Grey when you're staying at Clink Hotel. Black when you returns home to no fixed address. Each casts the right shadow, makes you invisible. Makes you useful.

Spare Change for Twisted Feet

People you want, need, are always busy. That's why you end up in Clink Hotel. Every time.

Cracked Smile

Like two coins rubbed clear your cracked smile is a daily reminder of that last fight 30 years ago.

No Paths

Here; where young people never return and there are no paths and where old people still stop to watch lost cars, is the place language comes to die.

Rust on Cloth (2023), An 11.59 Publication

Documentary Fiction Photography

Steve Coel

MicroFlashFiction: Grilled Walls

Grilled Walls - Steve Coel

Here -

Where...saw dust machine driving is echoed across water and back yard..

Where...rusting district wires hang bird mirage nested along defined grid route..

Where...illegal paper is scratched from power grilled wall and street light post..

Where...stained half lit drinking rooms spill simple ideas on to wooden floor..

Where...dry air cycle pavement dealing is fence chain bagged..

is the place language comes to die.

Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography

Steve Coel

MicroFlashFiction: Grey Sky Weeping

Grey Sky Weeping - Steve Coel

Here -

Where...isolation is frequently park benched behind littered garden..

Where...sweet song is car windowed..

Where...sprayed agenda becomes wire caged in overgrown broken side street..

Where...twisted knuckle bus stop waiting is grey sky weeping..

Where...gated steel business doors welcome alien van sacks..

is the place language comes to die.

Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography

Steve Coel

MicroFlashFiction: Apple Canal

Apple Canal - Steve Coel

Here -

Where...surface anger is scheduled for evening cycle ride..

Where...delivery boxed vandalism is slow hand clapped on coin free street corner..

Where...carded empty building sites play daytime tunes to passing tin drunk..

Where...scooters litter appled canal space..

Where...walking dogs is compulsory..

is the place language comes to die.

Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography

Steve Coel

MicroFlashFiction: Cycling for Happiness

Cycling for Happiness - Steve Coel

In all fairness she must have expected the water to be pretty cold. It was early November after all and a long damp summer couldn't have been helping her to think clearly. But there you go, what can any of us do about it now?

Anyway, being short of money haddidn't stopped her taking them all away for the weekend, and I suppose she thought the break would do them all a bit of good. In what way though I'll never really be sure now I think about it.

She'd booked a side street B and B. So no thrills there then.

Thing is at that time of year all the rides on the front are boarded up for the winter and even the caffs are empty, so I guess the children must have been pretty miserable about it all. But as they say a change of scenery can put a lot out of your mind, even briefly.

Like I've heard that if a car were to drive on to your foot the adrenaline will give you the strength to pick the car up and save yourself. So I've heard.

Even so, no one's really sure where she got the strength from to disappear into water with her kids like that.

Born in the WorkHouse, An 11.59 Publication

Documentary Fiction Photography

Steve Coel

MicroFlashFiction: Tin Meals

Tin Meals - Steve Coel

Here -

Where...plastic council flags hang from disaster bins on forgotten streets..

Where...flakey advertising masks scripted brick..

Where...simple waves of the hand alert broken smiles..

Where...beggared tin meals are lined up as prizes outside filmed doorways..

Where...booted foot steps quickly retreat behind bottle sharp lunch time escape route..

is the place language comes to die.

Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography

Steve Coel

MicroFlashFiction: Stretched Bone - Parts 1 + 2

Stretched Bone - Part 1

Here -

Where...voices falter and fingers strip lace and metal..

Where...oily shapes are squandered along collapsed kerb shopfront..

Where...dreams begin and life ends..

Where...old smiles are reflected in rust..

Where...ugly water washes up dead fish..

is the place language comes to die.

Stretched Bone - Part 2

Here -

Where...faded memory eats up roofless factory space..

Where...damp cloth pulled tight obscures fading gossip..

Where...cluttered twisted ornaments stride down sparrow allotment fenced path..

Where...for the cloth eared, movement is ghostly..

Where...warehouse beams trap steel smile and welded arm..

is the place language comes to die.

Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel

Documentary Fiction Photography

Steve Coel

MicroFlashFiction: Rings on her Fingers

Rings on her Fingers - Steve Coel

And so it starts...

Two chases. At the same time..

Words spoken out of turn. Causes offence..

Everyone seeing signs that aren't really there. 

First kiss of the day..

Protection. Hiding away is not an option..

Sitting next to the fire escape door facing the entrance..

Threats; the bad kind.

More to follow. Lots more..

The fight..

Looking the other way..

The arrests.

Bad debt, bad deals..

The rumours..

The quiet word..

Secret meetings.

A major disagreement..

Bloody hands and tip offs..

A one night stand..

Random warnings.

Documentary Fiction Photography

Steve Coel

MicroFlashFiction: Smells of Time

Smells of Time - 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 bar board behind the counter.

In you comes -

doing quick sums and ordering a dozen shots with your release money which you quickly shares out to punters who aren'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 -

smelling of time.

Documentary Fiction Photography

Steve Coel

MicroFlashFiction: Adult Hands

Adult Hands - Steve Coel

Here -

Where...sponsored imagination drains away through rusting pipe..

Where...illegal plastic high releases urgent stammered step..

Where...solitary private glass is windowed in shoddy single drinking room..

Where...stolen adult hands are nailed..

Where...blown factory wall rags by-pass toughened water..

is the place language comes to die.

Half Stolen Buildings, An 11.59 Publication

Documentary Fiction Photography

Steve Coel