Category Archives: David Rollason

David Rollason’s writing

Meeting Report 20 July 2016

The Community Room was a hot bed of crime today as we learnt the intricacies of planning and writing a crime story. Lead by our very own Karen Cochrane, an in-depth analysis of the planning and execution of a crime … Continue reading

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Life – Long

Prose Poetry “A literary work which exhibits poetic quality using emotional effects and heightened imagery but is written in prose instead of verse.” Life, long idyllic days, large loving family where generations share the work in a busy home, vibrant … Continue reading

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A New Creation

The afternoon sun dappled itself through broad leaves against the rich, olive coloured skin stretched to cover the soft contours, rolling seamlessly into each other to create an exercised, beautiful but naked body. Adam expanded his ample chest with a … Continue reading

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For a love that dare not speak its name

In this world there’s a love that still dares not speak its chill name yet is still spoken freely by those glinting in dull or dubious fame, yes there’s renting of cloth and the odd muffled cry but it’s mostly … Continue reading

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Seasons – Spring

With winters tailcoats flicking their last as they can, warmth bathes the earth from an ever higher sun, its rays angle obtusely so not penetrate deep, to those hidden safe since the solstice, mostly still asleep. Heads poke out through … Continue reading

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Seasons – Summer

With the bright delight of spring now out full in bloom, the seasons move unstoppably as water down a flume, and a more sedate, subtle, acquiescence somehow settles, as longer, lingering days fill with hope perhaps clattering camping kettles. Ever … Continue reading

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Seasons – Autumn

Bright blooms turn slowly more dark, full and rich, into every corner, across expanse, in hollow, crag and ditch, Summer’s now slid away to its older, more sumptuous bother, in the rich family of earth’s seasons, where nature is its … Continue reading

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Season – Winter

White wastelands arrive that glisten like chocolate box tops, for most, these are things of memory where the fantasy lives on, in our hopes. But Autumn’s detritus stays on soaked now by dew and more often frost, which means the … Continue reading

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The Cross

Rough hewn now old wood, battered, blood soaked, splintered, punctured with holes, stained rotting sinew, foul stinking and sintered. Now thrown to the ground after being dragged stuttering up the hill… where a scourged arm is stretched full length, soldiers … Continue reading

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Inside the Walls

From a quiet without peace in a box without exits, sky barred from the inside, in a world with no light. Hard bedding, hard seating, hard walls, floors and ceiling, hard luck for your freedom locked safely away. A pad … Continue reading

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