He’s Back -Ginge Take Two

Something’s gone wrong, something’s changed. My heart breaks. He’s back. I’m so, so sad for him, I’m gutted to find him once again in the same situation, it’s not fair. Since June last year, all through the summer he was a regular visitor, part of our tribe. He turned up suddenly, simply appeared one day,...

Ghosts

He’s there. Glimpses, then gone, but I see you. Sneaking through the shadows, dodging the open spaces, peering from hidey holes, running for cover. I see you. I feel you. Survivor, street scuttler, night walker, hidden crier, bony wanderer. All weathers, alone, you wander the streets, round and round but will not trust. Your gaunt...

Nightmares

                A nightmare. Stirring in the night, disorientated, fearful, states of being overlapping, one thing, another, consciousness swimming between places, spaces, melting and moulding, there are no limits, no borders; am I still dreaming, am I awake? Is the horrible figure there or not? Is it real or not? Not moving but listening. A strange...

Last Days of Autumn

I had these done a while ago, but as ever life got in the way. It was the most beautiful autumnal morning and I just wanted to capture it, the moment, the presence. There were more but I struggled to get this as well as it is, still getting used to the new editor and...

You’re Not Alone

This is ginge, just one of the many solitary wanderers, who survive alone, out there somewhere, much of the time invisibly. They all have stories we’ll never know, you only have to look at their faces, look into their eyes, to see they have carried a lot. This poor boy turned up in the garden...

The Power Of Words

I love poetry and don’t read it enough and while browsing some second hand books today I came across a book with the simple title ‘Cat Poems’, loving both I naturally picked it up, but expecting it would most likely be many of the same poems I have already, in other collections, many times over;...

Strange Days Have Found Us

I sit down to try and get back to my writing, so much waiting to be finished, waiting to be released and realized, but the workmen at the bottom of the street fill the air with their perpetual racket as they rape some other piece of wild land, pile-driving their way through the ground, disturbing...

Step Into A Strange, Wonderful World

Step into strangeness Sitting in the grey, misty damp, the horizon a dream-like blur, the still, cold air, a feeling of being out of time, the light never changing from morning through afternoon, just a continual, eternal grey, insubstantial moment; what better atmosphere to be diving into the writing of Bruno Schulz. I have wanted...

After The Rain

After the rain, light; after the rain, peace, the land takes a breath, drinks, breathes. After the rain the blades of grass show off their jewels, rich green adorned by perfect drops, tiny pools of water shine, their Round sparkle globes glint a whole row down the stalk, precious gathered perfect circles of light energy...

Night Dreaming

Night is peace, freedom, it has a magic that opens up once the sun sets; the last ray of sun ignites imagination as the dark hours replace the light. Everything fires up as distractions cease to be a torment in the soft unfolding of night. It only increases as the darkness sinks deeper, bolder as...