PF detail from Pierre-Auguste Renoir - Beach Scene, Guernsey (Children by the Sea in Guernsey) - 1883;


Copyright © 2009 Pirene's Fountain.

All Rights Reserved.

Last updated:
May 2009


Laura Solomon was born in New Zealand. She has an honours degree in English Literature (Victoria University, NZ, 1997) and a Masters degree in Computer Science (University of London, 2003) and currently works in IT.  She has published two novels in New Zealand with Tandem Press: 'Black Light' (1996) and 'Nothing Lasting' (1997).  Her first play, 'The Dummy Bride', was produced as part of the Wellington Fringe Festival, and her second, based on her short story, 'Sprout', was part of the 2004 Edinburgh Fringe Festival.  Short stories published in the UK include: 'Sprout' (2004 Bridport International Short Story competition anthology), 'The Most Ordinary Man in the World' (2005 Bridport International Short Story competition anthology), ‘Alternative Medicine’, (Willesden Herald International Short Story competition, 2007) and 'The Killing Jar', (The Edinburgh Review, August 2007).  Her poem ‘The Latest Lighthouse Keeper’ was commended in the Ware Poets Competition, 2007.  Her short story collection ‘Alternative Medicine’ was published in early 2008 by Flame Books, UK.  Her poem ‘You Will Know When You Leave’ was shortlisted in the Bridgeport 2008 Poetry competition.


The Latest Lighthouse Keeper

The lamp no longer shines.  It’s been disconnected since time immemorial.  Cut off. 
This place has been long abandoned.  Only an idiot would take up residence here. 
We choose, of course.  We are not forced. 

There could’ve been another way.  Rust coats my stained fingers as I climb the iron stairs.   
Some come for the view – me, I’m here for the ghosts. 

On this first night, at midnight they show up;
As predictable as clichés – the pale ones in billowing white nightgowns,
The multi-coloured guys - green, purple with green rings, green with yellow rings,
Any combination, in fact, of ring and base colour, you might care to dream up. 

So strange.  The lovely ancient lace, browning now at the edges,
The beads that hem the garments.  The fancier ones sport feathers. 

They are from all the centuries.  They come marching in, like saints –
An invisible orchestra keeps the beat.  Ghostly music enchants the air –
Like the scent of flowers from some other-worldly garden.   

Anybody else would run screaming. 
Me, I keep very silent.  Me, I keep very still.
I have always loved a parade. 

This is the most excitement I’ve had in decades. 

Even before they depart, I’m down on my knees, praying, saying,
O when will you return?

But they have other visits to make –
It’s over, now, my turn.

"Deserted Light" by Andrew Wyeth