Foxgloves and Nylon Heart Strings

Foxgloves and Nylon Heart Strings

By Chris FitzmauriceFictionDrama
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Foxgloves and Nylon Heart Strings episodes

  • 大澳

    Short poem with sound effects



    大澳


    Who knows a love not tinged with tragedy?


    Who knows a voice not quenched with tears?


    Who knows a reservoir not scarred by tools and mechanical claws?


    Who knows a beauty undamaged by the years?


    Who knows a melancholy not doused by streetlife and booze?


    There is a flame that twinkles in the most unlikely places


    A flame that dares to dance


    A sincerity that dares not hide beneath pearls and trinkets


    A tune that rings true in all its joy and pain


    An ocean that roars and rests


    A life that dares to be lived.

    2 min
  • Museum of No Importance: Episode 6 - Last Week's Tomorrow
    Last Week's tomorrow:
    The halls are vast and calm,
    And the sounds are mostly empty, ignorable.
    I've not seen another person in a couple of hours
    And the only way I remember their existence
    is the occasional cough
    or sneeze leaking
    down the long broad corridors.
    Here in this room I can be whomever I wish.
    Nobody will ever tell me any differently.
    In these two hours, I crafted a whole persona.
    Who Am I really? It is immaterial.
    I am who I decide to be
    until the nurse returns
    to tell me differently.
    I am a wounded soldier of the Glameri Empire,
    Wounded in person and in mind
    And now this sterile palace is my place of healing.
    It's not a lie. It's my best guess.
    I don't remember where these bullet wounds came from,
    But I remember the nurse telling me stories about the war.
    We defeated them, the Empire of the market towns,
    the merchants who can never have enough
    The ones who insist and insist on how to live.
    We won, and now I'm here with my fractured memories.
    I do remember the war, but it comes here and there, now and then,
    in a shower of gunsmoke and a hail of shrapnel.
    I remember the booming explosions that came from above
    like the sneezes that echo around
    these cavernous passageways.
    I look at the shadow my hand casts beneath this spotlight,
    And I see the shapes of soldiers
    stumbling through the mist towards us.
    I see these high cream walls,
    and I remember a hospital with streaks of blood.
    I look at my bandaged leg,
    and I see a defeated army dragging itself to safety.
    But the nurses tell me we are the winners.
    I hear the high insistent whine of the alarm,
    And I hear the enemy
    I hear bells in a market town.
    I hear familiar voices laughing and chatting.
    I hear
    I hear you calling to me
    I smell your perfume and feel your kiss on my cheek
    I feel your soft hands squeezing hard on my army jacket.
    I feel you slipping away from me
    into a valley of fire and fear
    into a viscous immeasurable sleep
    Into a general anaesthetic
    I hear the bells, the bells of my hometown
    The bells of my real hometown.
    I look around me at the prison of these walls
    And the stale air
    And the trolley that seemed mundane
    Now malign and alien
    Enemies all around
    I miss the bells of a former life
    A life that I can hear when I am alone
    And a life that no longer exists,
    A life they have taken
    A life they have erased from my mind
    And replaced with a new life
    A sterile life of whining klaxons
    And cream walls
    And irresolute dreams
    And unknown faces
    And indistinct memories
    And stolen memories
    And new memories fading into the void of a vanquished foe.
    Let me out
    Let me out
    Let me out! I want to go home!
    5 min
  • Museum of No Importance: Episode 5 - Call Upon a Wave
    Another anecdote from the galaxy in the Museum of No Importance.
    Science fiction audio poem with musical and sound effects.
    As a cruiser reaches a new world, what is there but to call upon a wave?
    Call Upon a Wave
    Fate's deathly grip loosens as
    our ship slows its mighty descent and
    glides to a hovering halt over the crimson carpet that quivers below.
    Lather gathers in a Bevy of hairs that stir
    in the sticky waves that lash and congeal
    and seemingly beckon us down,
    before collapsing back into chaos.
    We're safe now. Safe to watch
    the waves of treacle that roll beneath our cruiser.
    But creamy echoes beguile us,
    bouncing from our shimmering hull
    and out into this unexplored world.
    The air is thin. Lifeless.
    Yet, something draws me to watch from the obs deck.
    Drunken faces curdle in the slow, glutinous maroon-lashing waves.
    They’re calling, calling to me. I can see their siren faces.
    Singularly, I’m pulled towards an abyss of tempting eternity.
    Flickering shadows of doubt pulse and meet something
    shimmering intelligently On our hull,
    probing and pressing, pressing on some old instinct.
    Finally, into the ocean I fall,
    Helmet cracked and I gasp.
    Sinking, struggling, drowning,
    until I gulp a mouth of nothing.
    I am nowhere, below what I thought were waves.
    Nothing stirs and nothing is real.
    A sickly silence spreads. I scream in broken time, nowhere.
    The scream is devoured as it falls upwards.
    Three provisions of sense are granted to me,
    A smell, a taste, a contradictory texture of gel and ice
    They alleviate my malaise while leaving me none the wiser.
    I look down or up?
    I grasp for the phantom shadows
    that swirl outside the vortex that now surrounds me.
    Another world awaits me.
    Another world awaits.
    4 min

About Foxgloves and Nylon Heart Strings

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Spoken word, short stories, dreams, poetry, documentary and science fiction episodes with sound design.