Short Stories

Please post your stories here.

This month, August, anything goes. Post your short story here and I`ll air it on The Writers Bookshelf


Hugs `n` Kisses Special Places

As we approach the time when we can finally hug another human once more, maybe we will be able to kiss them. We will also be able to visit our special places, laugh, joke, talk, enjoy good food and drink inside. Please share.

I love a glass of red wine, I also love a pint. Mmm, fish n` chips, steak and ale pie in a pub sounds wonderful. Tables and chairs filled, chatter, that buzz, that good old British pub. Whitby is my escape and the family can also visit Cornwall without cemented memories we do not wish to remember; it shall remain as we love in our minds. A cuddle, a kiss, sounds wonderful. We love it as humans and there are so many beautiful people in the world I wish to kiss and cuddle.


Your stories

Fact or fiction, post here


Post more poems

Share your words here



I have a love for owls and in particular the barn owl. Please post your pictures, stories and poems here.



Share your wonderful work here.

Sonnets are one-stanza, 14-line poems, written in iambic pentameter. The sonnet derives from the Italian word sonetto, meaning “a little sound or song.”

A little guidance;

  • Fourteen lines: Sonnets have 14 lines, which can be broken down into four sections called quatrains.
  • Rhyme scheme: The rhyme scheme of a Shakespearean sonnet is ABAB / CDCD / EFEF / GG
  • Written in iambic pentameter: Sonnets are written in iambic pentameter, a poetic meter with 10 beats per line made up of alternating unstressed and stressed syllables.

A sonnet can be broken into four sections called quatrains.

  1. First quatrain: Establishes the subject of the sonnet.Number of lines: four; rhyme scheme: ABAB
  2. Second quatrain: Develops the sonnet’s theme.Number of lines: four; rhyme scheme: CDCD
  3. Third quatrain: Rounds off the sonnet’s theme.Number of lines: four; rhyme scheme: EFEF
  4. Fourth quatrain: Concludes the sonnet.Number of lines: two; rhyme scheme: GG

I`m looking forward to reading them.


Share a short story

Post your wonderful stories here.

Rejected, Redundant, Non Returnable

      Seashell Jack enjoyed a warm cup of coffee as he looked out across the bay. Lighting a couple of candles he sparked up a conversation with his best friend Diesel Boy. The conversation went one way, with Diesel just sat on the couch listening; but Seashell didn`t really want a reply, he was letting off a little steam about better times.

      His eyes looked at the usual, the rusty bikes and other half buried monuments of rotting iron, tyres, TV`s and endless bags of discarded household waste that were equal to a king`s ransom if you were a beggar, tramp or outcast; Seashell considered himself a mixture of all three.

      Another slurp of coffee was taken and the sixth day marked down in the little note book he`d found about a week ago. It was the sixth day that the birds hadn`t come; there was nothing left on the bones to pick and there were plenty of bones to pick from.

      Whale bones, shark, dolphin you name it, it was here; all here lying on a floor of giant, dry mud tiles. When the sea had decided to disappear, the seagulls had followed suit. Where are the seagulls? Jack thought, just one please.

      The weather was getting warmer and he had a whole wardrobe for that. Shorts in every colour, T-shirts with I love London, I love New York and just about every I Love Whatever City emblazoned across the front. Flip flops, sandals, sunglasses, sun cream and baseball caps sat in little plastic crates all waiting to be worn.

      Seashell Jack wasted nothing, everything had a use, everything was recycled. Batteries were more common than the pebbles, so he had a constant supply for the CD player along with his very strange collection of CD`s that had been discarded.

       Those bastards up there, as he fondly referred to them, discarded most things, even humans. That`s how he`d ended up down here, he was past his sell by date and therefore of no use.

      “Who`s going to recycle me and you?” Seashell looked at his friend and continued, “Who? I ask you. Maybe they could melt us both down and remould us both in to something else. Who knows, eh, who knows?”

      With that he blew out the candles and they both fell asleep; but Seashell didn`t sleep for long, he never did when he wound himself up like this. He thought about the day society had cast him out because his business had failed. Was that his fault? He hadn`t caused the climate change, he hadn`t put a price and purpose on everything. They were supposed to recycle and look what they throw out! He found more tinned food down here than in any supermarket.


      “LOOK! LOOK DIESEL, A SEAGULL.” Seashell Jack couldn`t contain himself and the two looked out of the window at the sight that the morning had brought. His heart nearly stopped as water, sea water began to swirl and fill the bay.

      Five years work would be put to the test; the knowledge from the no longer needed books. He`d welded the hull, repaired the engine, painted, polished and prepared. He`d even painted SS Seashell Jack on the side; the name the brat kids had shouted at him over the years and he`d adopted.

      Water rose rapidly, they were seaworthy. Without hesitation he fired up the engine; crying when it purred, Seashell wiped away the tears. He heard shouting and screaming, could smell burning and then saw flames leap and lick the City. The water had destroyed the generators and fuel storage tanks.

      The seagull flew overhead. “Full ahead Captain Diesel Boy,” Seashell Jack`s voice trembled with joy. His best friend barked, jumped in to his lap, licked his face and the pair sailed off in to the sunset.


Post a poem

Please share your work here.


Candles flicker.
Shadows dance over naked, seductive curves.
Eyes possess no words, but say all.
Hands gently glide,
Warm thighs,
hips, buttocks, breasts, neck line.
Touch, tease, tantalize.
Lipstick of red wine.
Taste your body,
taste your lips,
taste your breasts,
taste your flesh.
Sexual desires,
love making, open fires.
Shadows dance once more,
to the rhythm of two playing as one,
but do not bear the hot soaked sweat of satisfaction.
Flames dance wild and naked whilst we lay bare and beautiful; holding hands as eyes speak.


Books `n` Beats

Please let me know what your five favourite books are, along with your five favourite songs. They might get a mention on The Writers Bookshelf.


Inspirational music

What tunes do you like to listen to when weaving your wonderful words?