Steve Coel = Short Fiction + Experimental Narratives + Documentary Fiction Photography
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
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
2021
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
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
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.
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
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
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.
2021
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
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.
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
Steve Coel
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
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
' 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
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.
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
In her regulation daytime armour
cracking with coarse whispers
and yesterdays broken promise,
the young girl pushes
a vape shadowed carrier
past boarded 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.
From City Trilogy ( Part 1 ), 2020
Steve Coel
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 best same 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.
From City Trilogy ( Part 1 ), 2020
Steve Coel
And so it starts..
Two chases. At the same time. The novelty of poverty..
Words spoken out of turn. Causes offence..
Everyone's seeing signs that ain't really there..
First kiss of the day..
Protection. Hiding away is not an option..
Next to the fire escape door. Corner seat facing the entrance..
Threats; the bad kind..
A last major offence of the day. More to follow. Lots more..
Discarded
You's got the twist..
Secrets shared for information..
Truth shredded in a moment..
The silent bombshell suited beggar..
Notes
In your spring hat, tied with lost string, you search the free paper for clues for which day you now find yourself..Waiting. Waiting on the corner beat today for the next delivery in the rain..Disturbing the glances from local windows and trolley men..the clump of wet shoe against cracked kerbstone drunks..a high street roars with the anger of closure and debt..even the most fucked up has memories when called upon. Is called survival so it is..
Rings on her fingers..
First Draft - Steve Coel
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..
burnt out cars..
random warnings..
scratches on working cars..
meetings in shopping mall car parks..
people go missing..
a public celebration.
Clear your mind, listen carefully and don't stop breathing.
Blue Slate..Waiting Patiently..Perfect Outing..King of Stars..Big Impact..Love Your Work..Straight Ash..Some Nightmare..Star Ascending..Born To Reason..Deadly Accurate..Hurricane Alert..Save A Forest..Universal Effect..Final Attack..First Voyage..Wild Water..Leave Me Alone..Some Can Sing..Midnight Glance.
Clear you mind, listen carefully and don't stop breathing.
Simple rules..Bass Rock..Orient Sunset..Palm Beach..Brides Hill..You Say Nothing..Pure Genius..Court Blaze..Winged Blaze..Little Red Lion..Ring The Moon..SeaSearch..Hit The Rocks..Temple Man..Golden Town..Strong Team..Instant Replay..Hit The Beat..Secret Victory..Harbour Storm.
Clear your mind, listen carefully and don't stop breathing.
Pure Bliss..Dock Road..Indian Harbour..Blue Monday..Big Picture..Control Me..Keep Rolling..Everything Now..Red River..Rootless Tree..Winged Isle..Lockdown Lady..Tide Times..Third Wind..Main Fact..Not So Sleepy..Beat the Storm..Afraid of Nothing..Pirate King..Famous Dynasty.
Clear your mind, listen carefully and don't stop breathing.
Butcher King..Like the Sound..Get the Appeal..Western Starlet..Atlantic Storm..Real Dude..Free Dancer..Melody of Life..Global Art..Perfect Rose..Poetry and Art..Fun Light..Hungry Tiger..You Say Nothing..Union Gap..Like a Demon..Enduring Love..Stand Up and Fight..Walk to Freedom..The Big Story.
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.
heb deitl
Steve Coel
Walking Notes
Steve Coel
An 11.59 Publication
Time has no future along forgotten paths. So be it.
The Mercy Path can appear to be grim, tired, depressing. It is however, often beautiful.
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.
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...
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.
There is a singular peace to be found in spaces where nature is busy removing memory.
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
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...
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
