Seaside Earthquake

Sick of what’s called progress, Earth opened up its shell,

And street cameras, clamps and wardens slithered into hell.

The exorbitant super-loos, the supersonic tucker,

All plastic kissed away with Earth’s tectonic pucker.

The ground feasted fully – topped with a cop car relish –

Then burped up its previous meal, seismically squeamish.

Back came old-style fish and chips, street-sellers’ stirring calls,

Sandcastles with ancient flags, well-tempered herring gulls.

You ask – what of today’s things left deep inside the earth?

They’ll fetch up in the future as tomorrow’s things of worth.

Stuart Larner

This poem was first published by Everydaypoets.com 2014

 fantastic drama at Scarborough

My new play, "How My Partner Killed Me" was given a much appreciated public reading at Script York on Monday 9th May.2016.
It is a black comedy set in a luxury holiday resort in Thailand, and involves apparent murder and blackmail.

out today!

my new book, written under the nom-de-plume Rosy Stewart. co-authored with Rosie Larner.


Hope: Stories from a Women's Refuge

The story of three women who track down perpetrators of domestic violence. A series of their cases.

Does psychology help writing?

see my views on whether psychology has helped or hindered my life as a writer: 

go to:

anne goodwin's website

"Diaoraphragm"

The storyteller recounts the titanic struggle between arch enemies Fred Glover and John Loggarforth in a "Call My Bluff" pub quiz. A thrilling tale of psychological insight.

read my story in
"Making Waves"
2015 anthology by
Scarborough Writers Circle.

A compendium of fiction, flash fiction, and poetry from the members.

Diaoraphragm

Let’s sit here in the corner, out of the way of the darts board. I like a nice log fire in a pub, don’t you? Faint smell of smoke, like campfires of the past. Feel the warmth on you on a winter’s night like this. Dark beer with bitter hops. Cheers. Ah, that hits the spot. Beautiful.

So, you’re writing an obituary on Fred Glover for the paper, and you want a personal angle. What can I tell you about him? I suppose you’ve got all that stuff about him being a champion fell-runner, his services to charity, and his medal? That’s why it came as a shock to us all. Fit bloke like that. Sudden, just as he was breasting the tape. Makes you think.

Fred was a freelance survival expert, trained in the army. He had appeared on TV a few times. Shaven-headed, extremely fit. Forty-eight years old. He was away for long periods leading training courses, and his motto was ‘Always to the end.’

I went out for a short walk in the country with him once, just from one pub down to the next. By goodness, he had a fast stride on him. After only a dozen yards, I was struggling to keep up. He said, ‘There’s probably a mountain rescue jeep round this bend that can give you a lift.’

I thought he was joking. I asked him how he knew, and whether it was a usual parking space for them.

‘No. Something’s just run over a rabbit round there and it’s probably the rescue jeep.’

 I was amazed. How did he know there was a dead rabbit round a bend a hundred yards away out of sight? Had he been there earlier this morning? 

..........................................

read the whole of my story in
"Making Waves"
2015 anthology by
Scarborough Writers Circle.

A compendium of fiction, flash fiction, and poetry from the members.

Visiting Time 

‘LIFT CALL’ pressed, an arrow tings.

A patient on a trolley is manoeuvred out.

I step in. Doors slice me off from outside

as if they want to give me secret news.

Going up, but I’m weighed down.

Floors flash past the tiny window and ask:

How much of this might we find in you?

How much of this best not to know?

Is this my visiting time, or is time

visiting me? Perhaps the answer’s here

where the lift aligns the chosen floor,

and gravity slips off me like a coat.

Arrows lead me to your bed.

From some deeper level you stir.

Eyelids flicker, then fall back asleep:

Like a lift coming, but going past.

  

Stuart Larner

this poem first appeared in the anthology "A Pocketful of Windows" edited by Felix Hodcroft, Valley Press 2014.