...Her friend Cat seemed to be in love, and, boringly, to be in love with someone else, and Daisy herself felt isolated, surplus to need and ready for recycling, grey as the compound walls; colourless...
Kitchen Garden
Author: Pam Swanborough
writing and other occupations
A Prologue
Rain slants across the valley. The sky black as a valley floor, weighty as valley walls...
Kinked in broad daylight
I’m developing a kink for Thin old men in grey cardigans Who lean on country fences And watch the wind. Not the gaunt of ill mind or waning body. Not the narrow of a too-small mouth and a too-big religion. But the shape of someone easily distracted By words, or birds, or maps, or pebbles.… Continue reading Kinked in broad daylight
A Kallikantzaros’s First Christmas
‘I love Christmas!’ Cyst was angrily untangling some tinsel...
Sometimes I think
Is everything shit? Sometimes I think everything's shit. Do you want me to fuq off? Sometimes I think you want me to fuq off. Should I stop breathing? Sometimes I think I should stop breathing.
Finding Under Difficult Circumstances
Finding Under Difficult Circumstances by Pam Swanborough By the time you read this anything might have happened. She might have fallen in love by the time you read this. By the time you read this she might be dead. For that’s just how it works. Don’t feel bad for reading. It’s just how things work.… Continue reading Finding Under Difficult Circumstances
Rain
This building is being waterboarded. I live inside the sound of water, falling down a dozen long galvanized throats as it sheds off a roof the size of two tennis courts. Giggles, sighs, shouts of rain or coughs of hail that can last for hours. The sound is variously deafening, overwhelming, comforting: a maelstrom, a… Continue reading Rain
Iseult Bonne-Âme
Iseult lived by the water. She lived by the wide brown river. Her eyes were brown and her skin was brown. Iseult lived by the water and she didn’t know she was drowning.
Gold
I am so sick of me today, so when the sun finally drops below the spring rainclouds and fills the house with a sudden brightness I look up from my work-desk with anticipation...
Seasoned
Uncurls the fern in spring’s dawny damp; unfurls the shawling wind across the falling heights of winter’s decay.
P A Swanborough 
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