Moray Sanders

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The Pavilion Gardens

Birdsong and Sirens The Pavilion Gardens are packed with people sprouting like multicolouredbushes undisciplined on scorched grass, or lying entwined likebindweed on rugs of oblivious bliss. A babble of sound rises from them toengulf the warm air. Birdsong ruffles the breeze and is ripped away bythe severing scream of a siren. The café, celebrating seventy …

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Epiphany

I had an epiphany over a clove of garlic for my homework:Peel it.Chop it.Fry it.No. Stop it!. . . Rewind . . . Pause.Now look at the garlic bulb. Shaped like a domefrom the Royal Pavilion.It’s bone-coloured, paper thin skinLets inA shade of purple, delicate as a baby’s eyelid.Then I checked the homework brief and …

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A Weekend of Pleasure

A weekend of pleasure unrolling like a scroll at my feet. Not hurriedly with breathless anticipation, excitement, expectation But lazily, languidly uncurling, showing, in part, the way the hours will Sweetly pass.  Then, pausing with almost agonising teasing, Before slowly revealing more of the delights to come.

The Spark

This is the Platinum Winner of the Creative Future Literary award 2013 Flash Fiction I saw the whole of the universe erupt when I was seven and three quarters.  I still see the electric blues and vivid greens and some colours I’d never seen before.  The shapes and the sounds and the smells have seared …

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