Dispatches From The Coast: Quick Scribbles

There is nough so fair or ought so glum as word in print, prose or poetry,

Nothing harder won or bitter swon as a pill laced with poison.

The writer knows that his work carries less weight than the ink of his print,

Poison pen be it, subsistence by thought alone a long gone dream.

Oft gang aft aglay, even as we pray, wish and hope.

Wry smiles and token gestures seal naught but the contract,

empty of pennies as thy purse brims with hope.

Be here men and women, the thoughts of the many,

Dashed upon the rock of modern prose poetry.

Sinking further into a cold hearted coffin, nay thought spared for the writer.

Indifference strikes the many as disease did carry,

Those weakest, those first that voiced their opinion, on their shoulders be it.

Even as we swim, current against tide, sway even as we may

Dream –

Hold our heads high –

Even as our murky scribblings and manuscripts –

Sink beneath the wave of indolence, of innocence, of ignorant hearted bliss. (Try not).

I type these words with blood between my fingers,

Flowing over knuckle, bone and skin.

We have denied the value of the writer even as we write ourselves,

We have paid a penny more for our open grave.

Individual we stand,

But communal we fall.

All my Friends Are Hermits & Other Such Tales

The contents of a book never published.  Drafted and edited for publishing in 1967 but never printed, this work remains lost among the vast swathes of literature produce year upon year.


Everyone should get crustaceans: views on the value of hermits by R. P. Hunter.

All My Friends Are Hermits

Chapter 1: A bottomless deep

Chapter 2: A seagull stole my dignity

Chapter 3: Homeless

Chapter 4: Stolen!

Chapter 5: Stollen!

Chapter 6: All my friends are dead

Chapter 7: The shell re-union

Other Such Tales

A Sea Shore Svengali

Deep Blue Yonder

Your Plaice or Mine?

The Best Catch

Wailing About Nuthin’

Those Catfish Eyes


A reverse view of the world: from sea to land and land to sea by W. L. Rimmington.