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Dead Relics
A book by Leon James Gratton
 
 
God Speaks - No - God SHOUTS In This Book
Written by B.Houghton
 
 
A Different Perspective
by Donna Parkinson
 
 
Chatting To The Driver
by entrants to our Poem Of The Week
 
 
Shades Of Gray
by M E Steinhart
 
 
quickSilver
by Carolyn Brandt - Preview
 
 
Johnny Dupl'eau
by Paul McDermott
 
 
Warm Up The Winter
by Mary Merryweather Travis
 
 
Who Needs Einstein
by Alan Peat - Preview
 
 
The Only Way Is UP
by Alfred Nestor - Preview
 
 
Reach Me Down The Moon
by Ron Grant - Preview
 
 
Smoky Mountain Musing
by Nancy Childers - Preview
 
 
One of Those Days
by Janet L Vick - Preview
 
 
Its Your Money
by Kenneth R. Wade Ph.D - Preview
 
 
Serious & Satirical
by Dr Karen J Stevens Ph.D - Preview
 
 
My Enemy - My Friend - My Father
by Alfred Nestor - Preview
 
 
Inspired
by Angela Edgar - Preview
 
 
The Project
by John Hope - Preview
 
 
'Memories of you' and other poems
by Carl Harris - Preview
 
 
The Baggy Trousered Philanderer
by Rols Sperling - Preview
 
 
The Shaman's Drum
by Jean Marie Feddercke - Preview
 
 
'Live 'til I die'
by Mary Merryweather Travis - Preview
 
 
Poems of Love & Seduction
by Curtis Gould - Preview
 
 
Silver Pearls
by Henriette - Preview
 
 
Mummy's Naughty Knot
Breast Cancer - a book for children
 
 
Pot of Gold
by Bruce Bartling - Preview
 
 
Do It To It
by Gungalo - Preview
 
 
Toward the Heliopause
by Joan Michelson - Preview
 
 
Poetry from my Heart
by Char - Preview
 
 
The Fruit of My Pen
by Michael Schuh - Preview
 
 
More Words
by Geoff Collier, Eddie Lundon, Rols Sperling, Paul Jevons and Maura Mc Creave
 
 
The Inkwell Anthology - Preview
 
 
How Loud Can I Shout? by Lin Priest - Preview
 
 
Tandem Hearts by Allen Brady - Preview
 
 
Home verses Away by Dennis Harrison - Preview
 
 
Arc of Dazzling Golden Light by Lin Priest - Preview
 
 
Words by Rols Sperling - Preview
 
 
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Poetry Anthology
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Herbert had no idea what might be waiting for them when they reached the surface, so before they began their rendezvous with the mine he ordered his torpedo officers to load their torpedoes, open the outer doors and make ready to fire on his command. The first explosion threw the officers around like the proverbial rag dolls and as the aft end of the submarine completed its upward arc and the submarine began to dive like a spear towards the seabed, the mechaniker in charge of number one bow torpedo was thrown forwards against his control panel and hit the fire button.

‘I can tell you John,’ said Alex as he downed his scotch in one, ‘that the bell-bottoms of those poor men from the Rountree are all now a uniform shade of brown. I know you well enough by now to have no serious doubt that you meant to do whatever it is you just did, but you could have shared your vision with me, damn it. I was re-writing my will out there and was cutting you out.’

The second bush to have spoken then said ‘Imeacht gan teacht ort’ which Alex recognised as another fairly unfriendly greeting. Roughly translated it means “piss off and don’t come back” so he said very slowly and deliberately ‘please, we are armed British sailors but mean our Irish friends no harm whatsoever. It would help however if the German bush can give an indication of what it proposes to do.’

The sailor knew, and he was very certain of this, that there couldn’t possibly be any one behind him unless they were walking on water so at first he ignored the feeling [that he was being watched]. It didn’t however go away and however silly it was he just had to look over his shoulder to check. He turned his head and there in the water just behind him was a long snout with a large mouth, a full set of teeth and some bulging staring eyes.

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