Pat Barnett

Pat Barnett

The Fabled Origin of Pickering Town

(When the Folksinger David Swann asked us to write lyrics for a new song depicting the origins of Pickering’s name – the idea lingered. So later, when we began to dabble with writing Fairy Tales, this popped into my head.) …

Lupine

His ears prick up and rouse him from his sleep. She is singing. The last survivor of the clever ones surmises she is alone. The tip of his nose moves from side to side – sensing the air, collecting information as to how…

The Clinic

Laura tried not to succumb to the kneading of the masseuse’ deft fingers but it was increasingly difficult not to relax – to keep on guard – to prevent that sensual blissful lull that threatened to engulf her. Her mind’s…

Frozen in Time

Liz tried to shake off the weird feeling that was edging into her psyche. It made no sense. The reunion with Katie had been wonderful. In all these years, her old college mate was still fun, leaving Liz rejuvenated with…

Friday 13th

Reginald Titmouse had his life planned out. He was one of those men who needed to know where the next day would take him – what the next year or decade would have in store for him. He had even…

February 29th

Mum was always adamant that the date was meant to be. And William and myself have felt it was right and proper that we celebrate our birthdays every four years. We’ve had such fun. We’ve watched bemused faces when we…

Musings

Musings… I wonder if we humans belong to certain very ancient families, like whether all those with blood group O originated from one particular swamp: yet those elite types, say of the AB variety, evolved in an exotic lake set…

Fallen Angel

There – my work complete. I will be forgiven and the Master will take me back. See how the moon’s pale glow falls onto your wings? How wonderfully translucent is the indigo of the night sky, as it hangs between…

Names

We give names to almost everything we see, hear, touch and feel. We also change them into what we call Pet Names, why, I really don’t know. Perhaps it is our nature to label things. Maybe it gives colour to…

Forbidden Playground

The smell of the mud along the banks of the Vulcan Brook should have been warning enough: not to play there. Our mothers threatened the severest of beatings if we should be caught wandering near to it – let alone…