JOHN IRVING CLARKE Chapter One Cassandra Jackson I love him to bits. Of course, I do. He’s absolutely gorgeous. Sometimes when he’s asleep I look at those lovely long eyelashes curling up and I watch his gentle breathing, the soft…
AGBRIGG WRITERS By four we’ve closed the shutters By four we’ve closed the shutters Light’s fled the skies Throughout the ailing autumn We watched it go sadly and painfully. Now blessed solstice dawns Not just the shortest day But life’s…
JOHN IRVING CLARKE Every hour, as regular as the muezzin calling the faithful, the ferry rumbles in a wide arc across the bay. The engines grumble and the propellers expel a wash which slops loudly against the quayside walls. The…
JOHN IRVING CLARKE When he woke, the woman was standing over him. He took in his surroundings – the scrubby bushes under which he’d thrown himself, the wind barging through the paltry shelter, the darkening sky – and he would…
VIV LONGLEY Agbrigg Writers, a creative writing group in Wakefield, West Yorkshire, UK, has held together for nearly a decade now with six of the initial core membership still attending most of the time. It is defined by several characteristics…
POEMS BY JOHN IRVING CLARKE WITH THE ITALIAN TRANSLATION BY SILVIA PIO READING OF THE POEMS BY THE AUTHOR HIMSELF John Irving Clarke’ s poetry is a sharp blow to the reader’s conscience and goes straight to the point. There…
JOHN IRVING CLARKE Let us go back to Piazza One day let us go back to Piazza where sun peers through mist and its brazen ascent is tolled by bells. One day let us go back to Piazza where racing…
