Harry B. Sanderford: Sugar, Them's Ears Not Handles

Harry B. Sanderford: Sugar, Them's Ears Not Handles

NEW RELEASE: Pen 10 Compendium

For the price of a poem or a story, Pen 10 will publish and market your talent.  You get to share links of your other books or projects in the Pen 10 Anthology.  A very reasonable price since you were going to sound your barbaric yawp anyway.  We put you in paper back and eBook format available on Amazon and Kindle devices. We expose you to readers and readers, as you know, buy books.  What can you say in 10 sentences?  100 words? 1 Chapter?  Send submissions to Olive.Rosehips@Yahoo.com.  Include a brief, one paragraph biograpy with your work.

A 100...

The Little Match Girl

by Katie Brown

Her heart beat hard against her. It was bitterly cold and she had little left in the way of warmth. Save her matches. 

Her grandmother had died some years before, she had only the memories of her words and smile. Staring in the window of where the others with money sat feasting, she tried to recall her. 

Looking into the deep velvet, watching a star shower mark the imminent death, she took out her matches. 

Next morning, when they found her amongst the ashes of the dead feasters she was warm and had eaten very well.

*

BIO: Katie Brown ** coming **

Taste by Diane Jardel

Cutting the courgettes 

Snap, snap, snap

Glossy green skill.

Dicing the purple aubergine,

Sweating it with salt

Drain the bitter juice

Eating together

the lemon flavour coming 

punching through

the underlying spice

of mustard and cardamom seeds;

next the earthy taste

of the potato

Embracing the gently sweet taste

Of the spinach

Still with its vital

life giving audacity.

The rice is the tender

and savoury, setting 

off  the moderate heat

pleasure as she swallows it slowly

They dip the fresh

sweet strawberries

into  hot chocolate fondue

laced with brandy

and taste its sensuality;

and bite into the rich tangy

exotic fruit

She looks into his eyes

And asks for water.

*

BIO: DIANE JARDEL - a published author of poems and stories; a vegan gourmet and  I love to capture the wonder of nature on camera.  I am also a writing group addict.

My poem 'The Mirror' is published in 'The Poetic Bond' by Trevor Maynard
I was featured poet of the month for December on www.muttonline.com
I started Fermanagh Creative Writing Group here in Enniskillen and registered it as an educational charity.

I post my stories and poems regularly on Stories Space.

by Diane Jardel

Spittle falls

Mother, you screamed

And raged

And spit fell

From your lips

I cowered before you

helpless

And afraid

I could not run.

One day 

you might 

transform

 my fragile stability

by some miracle.

And I would love you.

*

BIO: DIANE JARDEL - a published author of poems and stories; a vegan gourmet and  I love to capture the wonder of nature on camera.  I am also a writing group addict.

My poem 'The Mirror' is published in 'The Poetic Bond' by Trevor Maynard
I was featured poet of the month for December on www.muttonline.com
I started Fermanagh Creative Writing Group here in Enniskillen and registered it as an educational charity.

I post my stories and poems regularly on Stories Space.

Family by Michelle

“Well, of course my family likes you, dear.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I get the feeling that I’m an outsider; no one talks to me, really.”

“Come on, what gives you that impression?”

“Well, last year at the dinner table while I was telling a story I caught your sisters rolling their eyes.”

“Nah, probably something in the air, of course they like you, it’s nothing.”

“And your mother didn’t have a chair for me at the table; she squeezed your place setting between the neighbor’s daughters.”

“You came in a little late behind a big crowd at the door, just a little oversight, I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Everyone laughed a little too hard when I dropped deviled egg on my dress, for like 5 minutes.” 

“Spills can be funny, it’s nothing, dear.”

“SWEETIE, there was a magnet covering my face in the family photo on the fridge!”

*

BIO: Michelle ** coming **

FEATHERS by Rosalind Kim Nazilli

Her last remark. The final slur on his already destroyed character.
He took himself away. For her sake as much as his own.
He lay on the wet sand, stretched star shaped, staring up into a black sky.
As he prayed that something would take him, release him from the torment of his unacceptable love for innocence he felt a soft fluttering against his face.
He reached up, feathers from some invisible bird.
His feet were wet. The tide was in, channelling a moat around him.
The sudden flapping of wings did not scare him. He knew they would come.

*

BIO: Rosalind Kim Nazilli ** coming **