Thursday Poem: Each Season Brings its Own Days

Each Season Brings its Own Days Each season brings its own days,the small dark days of cold winter,the growing young days of spring promise,the mature long days of confident summerand the ripe colourful days of aging autumn. These are the days we walk throughwatching the bare trees grow budsthat leaf and then there are theContinue reading “Thursday Poem: Each Season Brings its Own Days”

Where the Ground ought to Be

When you wonder if there is any reason why the sky is always there, remember that sometimes it is far too easy to forget where the ground ought to be.” We were standing up on the headland when she turned and said this to me. She turned, holding her headscarf on her head as theContinue reading “Where the Ground ought to Be”

Ideological Compliance

This is what becomes of those who would throw rainbows at the earnestly correct and eat peas in a manner likely to cause undue distress to the humourlessly obsessive ideologically-involved. Let us not tarry here where the dread dead hand of those who would want to see their own tight correctness burned deep into theContinue reading “Ideological Compliance”

Thursday Poem: A Beach for Mornings

A Beach for Mornings We saw then all the seas we could and walked along all their long shores.Each day a beach for our slow morningsand time the tide that turned again. Each pebble found became a planetsurrounded by the depths of spaceand every shell held a sea and whisperedits secret stories to our ears.Continue reading “Thursday Poem: A Beach for Mornings”

Pigeons

[….] ‘I think you may be right,’ I said. ‘But I don’t really feel any connection with what I’m doing any more, there’s none of that intensity of experience I was expecting from university. I used to think literature really mattered, was really important. But who really cares about T.S. Eliot, D.H. Lawrence and allContinue reading “Pigeons”

Monday Poem: Disturbances of Air

Disturbances of Air The song is over, now the singer has goneand no-one will remember all the words.For what are words? Mere air disturbed and losta moment silence takes away, the soundit keeps all for itself, away from here. We wait for words to tell us how to act,how to behave. We wait for songsContinue reading “Monday Poem: Disturbances of Air”

Thursday Poem: Moments like Water

  Moments like Water That tiny movement of the headleaves eddies in its wake as thoughthis air is water flowing pastas though this moment could run down into the pool of memoriesalready forming all around us. The pearl of this one moment grows on from the single grain of timea possibility that runsbetween these momentsContinue reading “Thursday Poem: Moments like Water”

The Early Morning Mists

It held there in the silence of the early morning mists, like some ghost of a wood, like some foggy silhouette of what it could become. The ground was wet and the grass, bracken and other scrubby plants hung heavy with moisture. It was as though the clouds had become too heavy with rain andContinue reading “The Early Morning Mists”

Monday Poem: The Space that Lies Between Us

The Space that Lies Between Us It begins, and there is silence.Then there is an end to silencewhen the moment starts as movement. Shapes form in the air, dissolvingfading into loss and darknessmemory is left recallingvague disturbances of past times. We have words to shape memoriesconjured  from empty spacesdancing them across distanceslying here between us,Continue reading “Monday Poem: The Space that Lies Between Us”

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