A Wall in Naplesby Andrew MotionI have forgotten whatever it was I wanted to say. Also the way I wanted to say it. Form and Music. Perhaps it had something to do with - no, that's not it. More likely, I should just look at whatever there is and fix m...
The Birth of a Starby Chris Rose June 5th 2006 Henry looks carefully into the telescope which lets him see far, far away, as far away as the distant nebulae on the far edges of the Milky Way. Henry is an astronomer. He looks at the sky, and at stars...
Starshine and Non-Beingby Chuang-TzuStarshine asked Non-Being, Master, do you exist? Or do you not exist? Since he received no answer at all, Starshine set himself to watch for Non-Being. He waited to see if Non-Being would appear. He kept his eyes f...
A Visitor to The Starby Chris RoseAnna Winter pulled on her Gucci sunglasses and sprayed herself with the extra-strength mosquito repellent she had bought in the airport. That was the biggest problem about her work, she thought. Mosquitoes and things...
The White RoomI am now feeling like a lost camel in the Sahara Desert. I am very young and I've got a lot of things to learn. Sometimes I think: I don't know anything I should go to my house and begin to study. But, then, I think Why? A lot of the ti...
The Dinosaur in Jakes Garageby Chris Rose Dad he said, Theres a dinosaur living in the garage. Is there really, Jake? said his dad. Thats interesting. Now go and away and play. Daddys busy at the moment. Jakes dad went back to reading his newspaper....
The Flatulence Taxby John O'Neill A flatulence tax on cattle and sheep, Another rip-off to make us all weep. Preserving the ozone at any expense, It's all propaganda that doesn't make sense. Abandon the flock and abolish the herd, When it comes to su...
The Flatulence Taxby John O'Neill A flatulence tax on cattle and sheep, Another rip-off to make us all weep. Preserving the ozone at any expense, It's all propaganda that doesn't make sense. Abandon the flock and abolish the herd, When it comes to su...
The Golden Boysby Chris RoseEvery August. Every August for twelve years. Every August for twelve years we went to the same small town on holiday. Every August for twelve years we went to the same beach. Every August for twelve years my parents rented...
The sick childChild. O mother, lay your hand on my brow! O mother, mother, where am I now? Why is the room so gaunt and great? Why am I lying awake so late? Mother. Fear not at all: the night is still. Nothing is here that means you ill. Nothing but...
