Chumley & Pepys On Books

Jerome van Starke stretched out upon the antique wicker chaise lounge, his head upon the large brown corded sofa pillow, images of the day...

The rosewood mantel clock seemed to tick louder, or was it only, he thought, because his good ear was towards the fireplace. He was looking ...

Faltering at the corner of Dark and Light, he stepped back into the shadows, the distant shimmering of an asphalt mirage reflected in his ...

“I guess it all started with a dumbwaiter," Amelia said. Jacqueline raised her eyebrows, turning her head slightly to the right. ...

Emerging from Simons department store, each carrying a bag with a new sweater, Jacqueline and Amelia stood at the corner waiting to cross t...

As Mrs. Shimoda held a piece of a jigsaw puzzle, a portion of a woman's pale hand outstretched and pointing towards the distant pros...

Dust motes rose in the morning sun from the faux-fur slipper--a sacrifice of Amelia's--which Hugh grappled with on the kitchen floor. He...

"What about Hugh ?" "What about Hugh?" Before his wife could respond to his laconic parry to her initial questio...

I have been working on a long poem sequence which may go on for some time.  Some poetry comes quickly. These poems feel like sculpture to me...

While re-reading a compilation of Ford Madox Ford's various books of memoirs and reminiscences he found himself periodically interrup...