The Occasional Masthead

Mr Johnson goes down to the crossroad, guitar case in hand, a midnight meeting to set the price of the colours to load his six string brush: a heart too brief beating. And Vincent sits beneath the stars, drinking whisky and singing his blue lonely song. He sees the clouds dance with the moon, singing […]

Too quiet the house today for you are gone. Now all the rooms are larger, and empty, and echo to my heartbeat going on. I seldom heard, you lived so quietly, your soft songs that made a home from this house. Now all the rooms are larger, and empty. Fools will protest that you were […]