Where the olive trees ache loves lesions bleed into milky trees where the silver tinder cracks at my every footfall – where the flies flit excited at my attention you scrubbed my wounds when the soldiers left the priest, the bastard, burnbranding dust into trodden sweat sodden souls that scratch cruciform late you said he’d… Continue reading Where the olive trees ache
I wrote this for my son about 10 years ago. Crocus 1 I threw you high and laughed at your delight, and higher still, till fear, sleek in it’s disguise, stole time in handfuls and we stopped. Or I did. Heading for home our Spitfires, all pencil ‘tash and lady killers, flew raids into head-on… Continue reading Crocus
Grey Horizon A thousand angels would quiet that deep demon roar if she would heed that sense, that embarrassment. Oh grey horizon, of all landscapes and none, where centuries of sailors packed fears in sail, bow to bough, and sailed for endless grey horizons. Why, moon’s constant? Why so constant? Lest we ignore your beauty,… Continue reading Grey Horizon
What will I do with the flowers you left ? What will I do with the flowers you left now the windows have stopped shaking ? I punched the dimple from your cushion hours ago with a soothing smoothing wave loosed now Pushing my fist deep into the muddy well of my soul I grabbed… Continue reading What will I do with the flowers you left?
As part of London 2012 Festival, the cultural side of having lots of people run around a track as fast as they can, renowned theatre director Deborah Warner has been commissioned to create an installation encircling the coast of Britain. There will be a series of tented encampments set at some of our most beautiful… Continue reading Donne and dusted.
Just thought I would have a go at the 100 Word Challenge that is really 50 this time. Here’s my effort – the prompt being “the autumn leaves“ “Dig?” Harry tweaked a tuning peg to ease his irritation. Flute looked across and grinned. She knew he hated that. Harry smirked and raised his eyebrows.… Continue reading “Dig?”
Back from holiday with friends in Almeria with some lovely memories and stories to tell. Paintings to work on. Grandson Thom born whilst away. The only creative project completed whilst away was my first poem for a long while. So, I hope you like it, more details to follow. Lo que yace por dentro (what… Continue reading Lo que yace por dentro