Tuesday, 30 June 2009

What Will Happen?

Recently I have been getting several references to my first year here in Cornwall, things people [and other beings] have been saying and questions they have posed. Looking for a poem to add here, I chose the year 1984 at random and the second poem I looked at, though written nearly six years prior to the move from London, did show the way my mind was working and some of the fears that were beginning to surface, the "pot-bound" reference was actually from a friend who said that if I didn't move fairly soon then I probably never would. Thinking back, I feel that Frances was one of my guardian angels - gently encouraging my move out of London. If she ever reads this blog and recognises herself, I would like to say - Thank you, Frances you really helped me to do what was right for me, bless you. Please get in touch, add a reply to this post.

Now, on with the poem...

What Will Happen? 29 Oct 84

Sitting in the gathering gloom
I feel a twinge of fear
At the thought of leaving
I've been here most of my life
So I don't know if the feelings I have
Are due to the fact
That the roots go deep
Or if I'm pot-bound

At the same time as the fear
I feel hope
I would like to move to Sennen Cove
The sea, the sand, the open spaces
The loneliness - maybe

What will happen?

Sennen Cove at dusk, from the cliffs of Pedn-m...Image via Wikipedia

Now I know 'what will happen' and I am really glad it did. Didn't actually move to Sennen Cove but only four miles north of there - but it is still home.

Thank you for reading and putting up with my memories ☺

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Sunday, 28 June 2009

Easter 1984

This was written to commemorate [if that is the right word to use] a visit to my in-laws in the middle of Dartmoor in Devon. It took the form of a series of linked Senryū and was actually composed over that weekend, almost as the events unfolded.

Easter 1984 27 Apr & 02 May 84

Arrival : Thursday

Clothed within night's cloak
The stars barely dimmed by the
Light from the kitchen

The stay

I : Friday

The morning chorus;
The cock'rel, the sheep and a
Dog who sings to friends

II : Saturday

Dry. The tinderbox
Moor catches easily. Flames
In the evening sky

III : Sunday

Guarding against dogs
We walk the Mariners Way
And watch a swallow

Return : Monday

The open road! Though
Trapped behind a caravan
We still caught the bus

The Mariner's Way is a fairly long distance path linking north and south coasts of Devon and passing through Dartmoor. The only part of this path I have any real knowledge of is the length that passes just outside the border of what used to be my father-in-law's land and for a few miles beyond in both directions, north and south from there.

I contemplated adding an image here but felt that the mind can provide better than the offerings from other places.

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Saturday, 27 June 2009

Small new poem from 2009

If it was not for the fact that I attended the Mazey Day event in Penzance this poem would have appeared a lot earlier in the day. It is also an excuse for there only being one poem here today, it is only little but well formed and I feel quite pleased with it...

Evening Vision 25 Jun 09

Fractured cloud
Letting random streams
Of sunlight
Onto the world

fractured cloudsImage by julian- via Flickr

The link above takes you to information on the Golowan Festival of which Mazey Day is but one part.

More poems, new and some from my history, to come soon...

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Thursday, 25 June 2009

A few from 1990

Just a few short poems from 1990 this time, two of them seem to indicate that it may have been rather damp that year - I cannot recall whether it was or not but my weather inspired poems are a guide, possibly inaccurate, or may just indicate the mood of the author.

Kestrel 28 Aug 90

Whisper soft, against
A sky drawn grey with cloud,
Hunter seeks his prey
Winged death

A male Common Kestrel in England.Image via Wikipedia

25 Feb 90

Seagulls soaring, cry
Tell of storms, wind, rain to come
Fly on, messengers

A Dark Night 26 Aug 90

A dark night
Cloud bound,
A day
With rainbows
On a dark sky
Street lamps
Woke on
A dark day

Dark RainbowImage by Lost Archetype via Flickr

I don't think my mood was all that damp, dark and gloomy.

Other poems - for another day - may show differently.

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Wednesday, 24 June 2009

Mulberry Fair

A little explanation here before the poem; Mulberry Fair is a name I use to represent the Horn Fair that used to take place [I don't know if it still does, I shall try to verify this soon] in October every year in Charlton. The Mulberry tree of the title was planted in 1608 by order of King James in an effort to cultivate silkworms. I remember 'harvesting' a few of the berries each year, delicious they were too.

Mulberry Fair 18 Dec 81

I went down to Mulberry Fair
For to wed My Lady whom I left there
But I found she'd married somebody else
---- that she met at Mulberry Fair

So I said to My Lady is this really true
That you have left me for somebody new
For I only left you a short while ago
--- right here at Mulberry Fair

Then she answered me sadly with tears in her eyes
I waited for you - oh nightly I would cry
But you never returned - two years you were gone
--- from me and Mulberry Fair

So go young man and find another girl
Whose heart, with your lies, you can set in a whirl
But leave me alone, I no longer love you
--- be gone from Mulberry Fair
--- be gone from Mulberry Fair

Then with no backward glance she was gone from my side
Then in vain I attempted, my tears for to hide
As My Lady she left me standing there
--- alone at Mulberry Fair

Why sir, a voice said, why do you sigh?
For the Fair is a time to laugh not to cry
Come with me and I'll give you a reason to smile
--- and she led me from Mulberry Fair

Fickle or what?

Black Mulberry (Fruit)Image by Jeff Van Campen via Flickr

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Tuesday, 23 June 2009


It is only because I am re-reading these poems in what is essentially random order that I realise that I have an obsession with; the sea, dreams, dawn, the list goes on.

Do you really think that I care? I am having far too much fun playing with words.

Today's offering comes from 1997 and continues some of these themes.

Landscapes 20 Sep 97

The landscapes of our souls
Where we are bound
I do not know
But though I cannot see

We dream
In the darkest night
A vision forms

The landscape
While dark
Holds our nightmare thoughts
The phantom dreams
Where night
Meets the half formed dawn
Before the sun can wake the day

Flee before the sun
Try to hide in the shadows
Within the landscapes
Of our souls

We travel on
To an unknown future
Dreams unfulfilled
Some of our dreams
We sleep
And let the dawn
Illuminate the landscapes
Of our souls

Reflection in landscapes collectionImage by neeZhom ~ away ~ via Flickr

I feel that this one poem is enough for this time, I like it, hope you did too.

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Monday, 22 June 2009

Seasons - 1985

This first poem today is strongly related to "Annua" to be seen elsewhere in this blog, once again it was only when re-reading the poem for inclusion into this page that I actually noticed the similarity in feel.

I should add here that the views on incarnation and lack of re-incarnation held by the storyteller are not my own.

I offer...

Seasons 02 Mar 85


In seasons moving,
Swimming, dreaming
Sleep, the strongest motive


Water born
From man and woman
In a moment
Of white heat
In that time
When everything is new
You live;
Finding words,
Singing songs
Your ancestors wrote
And were new a hundred years
Imagining future worlds
And wondering
What the years will bring;
Bright eyes beneath
The Christmas tree,
Blowing out candles
On the cake,
Wearing your first
School uniform
Travelling on
In hope


Growing cynical, you work
You carve your niche
In the cliff face
That you see before you
Knowing it can
Make or break;
Keeping the same
Face on.
Wearing a mask
That only others
Can see


Watching your children
Eventually they fly the nest
And leave you
Where the years went


Grey skies, grey hair
Your memories
Are all
The dreams of yesterday,
Rather than tomorrow,
Are more important
To you


The year is done
The dream is revealed
As fiction.
Now motionless
You sleep.

Now, just to change the mood slightly, I offer two short poems...

Gossamer Wings 25 Oct 85

On gossamer wings, in the pale light of dawn, I fly.
Riding the wind from the sun
Into the west over cold mist shadows
To the welcoming arms of the moon

And finally - for this time - another Senryū, entitled...

A Song of Summer Winds 29 May 85

Summer wind; warmed by
Distant Dragons, slumbering;
Gently stirring leaves

Thanks for reading hope you enjoyed.

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Sunday, 21 June 2009

Thank You

Sometimes it takes a long time to complete a poem; when I was browsing through the potential offerings I came across one which had a mark asking me "what is this word?" Reading it made me realise that two words were actually missing from the space - I added them and now present it for your reading pleasure.

Thank You 10 Feb 01

You sang your songs for me
And danced through my heart
The words you gave
To the world
To say
That you love me
I will treasure
Thank you for your song
For me
Thank you for the words of love
That will remain
Within my mind and
Within my heart
Until the day
When we can walk together again
Under eternity's skies

Heart CandleImage by Bob.Fornal via Flickr

Thank you for reading my works - Love

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Saturday, 20 June 2009


I was looking at something on television the other night and caught a glimpse of something that triggered a memory in me and this poem just flowed.

13 Jun 09

I recall
The white cardboard shoebox
I kept under my bed
Hidden from the world

In it were the mementoes
Of the little events
Which meant so much
At the time

The little scrap
Of paper, slightly drunk she
Tied round my finger and said
"Now we are engaged"

Older still the Valentine's Day card
Presented by two girls
In school, to much amusement
From my friends

The ticket stubs
From the many concerts
I attended, with my friends

The passport to that long-vanished land
Of my youth
I have not returned
But I still remember that country

I actually wanted to put an image of a shoebox here but couldn't find one - no matter, you know what one looks like.

Don't you?

Thursday, 18 June 2009

The early years

This posting comes from a point near the beginning of my adult writings, the period when I actually started to collect and collate my works. This concept sounds rather grandiose but all it really means is that I started to type them up - two fingered at first but gradually more fingers started to join the game.

Although the writing style is different in these poems to the current ones, some of the themes are still evident, like this...

The Seeds of Time 09 Jul 96

Through parted fingers slowly slip
The purple petals of time's flower
Her seeds already scattered far
Beyond the grasp of man.
Fleeting through the boundless canopy
The stars faintly show their path
As parasols driven by the coursing wind
They tumble endlessly toward their goal
Then falling through the midnight sky
Of some forgotten Earth, they grow
And start the ancient mosaic again

Life upon the desert sand does grow
A parody of the floating forms within the sea
Wind, sea and sand caress the seed
And soon the purple painted fields
Breathe in the sun, bask in the light.
Time enough to grow and sleep to rest to play.
Then frantic flowers fertilised, they fruit.
Wind takes the seeds up to the dark
Where journeys end; begin
And deep within the eternal night, adrift they fly
The seeds of time, once scattered, never end
Their flight between the worlds of fate

Summer Passing 26 Jul 76

Time pass. The summer days slip
In orchestrated simple melodies
Cascading floral emblematic themes
Symphonic echoes of a distant place.
Now southward fly the geese.
In arrow formation, melancholy cry,
Away from the louring grey, fly.
Mourning has come again, enshrouding snow.

And from a bit later in the year, with a similar internal theme I offer...

Autumn Fugue 03 Sep 76

Autumn draws the shadows across the land
As the sun dips further to the south,
The geese are moving on, and,
Soon the painted leaves will fall.

Evenings draw close about my mind,
Clothe my thoughts in sombre brown
To match the darkening day, and
Rippling flame, like fingers, plays within the grate.

Night falls and the stars shine out in undimmed majesty
Frost falls and the walls are rimed with white;
Morning comes and the leaves are gone
In whispering streams along the road.

How soon the summer passed;
How short the autumn.
Winter's dragon breath clouds the sky
And fills the day with grey.

That's all for now, I'll be back soon with more to delight you. Peace my friends.

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Wednesday, 17 June 2009

Two from 1995 and a bit of fun

Starting today with a poem I wrote near the end of the 1995, a lot of my poems are from that time of the year and must be connected with the feelings involved around the change period.

Transformation 27 Dec 95

Dark books of forgotten lore
Upon a grimy floor
I read
Forbidden words.

A knock upon the worm-gouged door
Inviting me to open
And so I do
Only to find myself
Staring at myself
Past flaking paint.

I pass within

The second poem also comes from the end-of-year period...

The Moon Bridge 19 Nov 95

The Moon Bridge
Dreaming of a time
The light
Faded into the mists.
Upon a midnight clear
Frosted breath dragon time
The Moon Bridge

And now a total change of mood; many years ago 'The New Statesman' used to run a regular competition, often based on some kind of poetical theme, one week they challenged the readers to provide a Clerihew or two. For those who don't know a Clerihew has a rather specific structure as can be seen from my examples.

I didn't enter the competition but the competition inspired to create some for my own entertainment.

Four Clerihews Nov 95

Johnnie Django
Loves to dance the tango
Prancing around the living room
Sucking on a mango

Mongo pongo
Floating up the Congo
Sitting in a little boat
Playing with his Bongo

Rungy Pungy
Green and gungy
Tripped and fell
On his bathroom spongy


Huffety pufferty
Great aunt Pam
Loves to dance
On a slice of Spam

I make no apologies whatsoever. [Said he grinning broadly]

Till next time - peace.

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Tuesday, 16 June 2009

Fairly random selection from '88

I have selected these poems for today without really knowing why I chose them. There must have been some reason but I know not what.

All I ask is that you read and try to understand what was going through my mind at the time and what may be in there now, for me to bring these poems to light at this time - suggestions will be considered, he said - smiling,

The first two are further Senryū, one from my old home and the other from my spiritual home here in Cornwall.

Autumn : Charlton 30 Sep 88

Black Poplar leaves, gilt
Eccentric parachutes fly
From wind-struck branches

Sennen Senryū IV 24 Sep 88

Evening Primrose lamps
Glowing in the twilight. Light
The path to Carn Keys

If you know anything about the Evening Primrose, you will recall that the flowers are a very bright yellow and in the twilight really do seem to glow and can be used to highlight a footpath down the coast path. Carn Keys is that little black studio in the picture of Whitesand Bay below.

Evening, PrimroseImage by Adrian Midgley via Flickr

Silent Footsteps
04 Oct 88

With silent footsteps
Tread the streets
Beneath the day-star
Walk the alleys
Around the town
Under the maiden moon's
Thin crescent.
And dark of night
Shall cloak your moves
As dance you must
Across the new-sown fields

She Waits 16 Feb 88

I close my eyes to find her.
In the crimson darkness
She stands waiting for my presence

These last two are a bit of a mystery to me, I don't know the relevance but the imagery is still rather powerful.

I will leave it there and wait for the next time.

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Monday, 15 June 2009


Another change of mood, slightly - at any rate, or more accurately a change in spirituality. These wonderful beings have featured in many meditations and often in workshops too.

Unicorn 08 Sep 01

And the Unicorn said
"You can follow
In the dance.
Your wings, in triumph,
You can see
You can dance
You can"

And the Unicorn
Led the way
The beauty
And the truth
Of the eternal dance

Dream journey
Dance on
In a magical circle
Touching only fleetingly
Yet leaving a lasting memory

Mark the way you have passed
Drift across the land
And all shall be
In the dance

And the Unicorn
"Let us fly"

An old Welsh statue of a unicornImage via Wikipedia

Didn't feel that I wanted to have two poems sharing the post this time, this one means quite a lot for me personally and I wanted to give it room.

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Sunday, 14 June 2009

A couple from 2000

The first poem doesn't need explanation - just read it and see how it makes you feel...

Lady of the Night, Lady of the Day 24 Sep 2000

That beautiful lady,
Draws her shawl around my shoulders

Her gentle hand
Caresses my brow
Her voice
Bids me close my eyes
Surrender to the night
And let the dreams
Surround my soul
Encase my mind
And wrap my thoughts
In gossamer
Floating free

The midnight stream
Carries me
Onward, through the darkness
Toward the waiting dawn
When my lady will rest
And permit the golden lady
Of the day
To take me by the hand
To lead me on
To experience vistas new

Until the time shall come
That beautiful lady,
Draws her shawl round my shoulders.

This second poem could, if desired, be sung to the tune of "Harry's Game" by Clannad rather than just being read. It was that song that inspired me, though I have no idea what the original lyrics mean - not having any experience or understanding of the Gaelic language. I just felt the music and let the words flow.

Dance Round the Dawn (Version II) 06 Nov 2000

In the halls
Of our dreams
The mirror mocks our thoughts and schemes

Dance round the dawn of the day
Round the dawn
Round the day

In the hearth
Awaits the flames
The firelight flickering in our memory

Dance round the dawn of the day
Round the dawn
Round the day

Dance round the dawn of the day
Round the dawn
Round the day

In the dreams
The pyre of of the night
Embers fade to ash, fade away

Dance round the dawn of the day
Round the dawn
Round the day

That's all this time - hope you enjoyed these poems.

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Saturday, 13 June 2009

A Vanished Land

A new offering today, it grew out of seeing a shoebox and suddenly the memories came flooding back, I would love to know where the original box is now.

A Vanished Land 13 Jun 09

I recall
The white cardboard shoebox
I kept under my bed
Hidden from the world

In it were the memories
Of the little events
Which meant so much
At the time

The little scrap
Of paper, slightly drunk she
Tied round my finger and said
"Now we are engaged"

Older still, the Valentine's Day card
Presented by two girls
In school, much to the amusement
From my friends

The ticket stubs
From the many concerts
I attended, with my friends

The passport to that long vanished land
Of my youth
I have not returned
But I still remember that country

This poem may trigger similar thought and images for you, I hope they are as pleasant as mine.

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Thursday, 11 June 2009

02 from 02

A couple of poems from 2002, I may show a few more at some time in the future but for now...

Racing the Illusions 01 Nov 02

The illusions are
Slipping away

Your dreams
Are stronger than
Their reality

Drifting through
The mid-morn sun
The dew is just a memory
On your feet
Like cobwebs
Across your face
Gossamer threads
Weaving through
Your dreams
Caressing your memories

So smile...
Watch the illusions

Smile again
Spread your wings
And soar beyond them

Afternoon, Going Home 19 Oct 02

In the still
Of a slow autumn day
We sat
And we played
Our little, gentle games
And our music
Filled the afternoon
Drifting slow
With the clouds
Gently playing with the sun
As slowly he goes to his
Place of rest.

Comes slowly,
Adagio movement
As the moon slowly rises
And Venus slowly sets
With the sun

Our song is sung
The words are now
The music
In the afterglow
The stars are shining
In the night
And dancing
With the fireflies

Candles burn
In the window
To call us home
To welcome us
To light our way back
To the place
We belong

Hope you liked the offering for today, I enjoyed re-reading them. Sometimes I find that it is almost like reading something that someone else wrote - given the time differential, I suppose it was someone else.
Farewell from all versions of me then, till next time.

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Wednesday, 10 June 2009

Two from 1983

Going back in time for a look at what seemed to be my state of mind then, I'm not certain that it was a pretty sight but this does show where I was and it may show how I got where I am now.

The Real World 24 Feb 83


I see it; through the window
Flyspecked, dirt from the windblown rain
Fails to disguise the grey street
Littered with patchwork cars,
Peopled with the faceless people
Passing eternally


I see it; there, through the window
In the door. Yellowed frostbitten grass,
Too long, from my failure to cut it.
Lying flat across the ground.
Hopeful blackbirds and starlings
Scrape at the ground, peck at the pond
Both ice hard, ungiving


I see it; there through the window
In the box in the corner of the room
The gaudy Technicolor™ happenings
Happen in the comfort of my own room
Watch the forest fires without the smell of smoke
Watch the people work without the smell of sweat
Watch the bullets fly without the smell of fear
Safe in my well insulated home
In my well insulated mind

Winter of the Year 28 Dec 83

The winter of the year
Though warm
And dry and faintly welcoming
Still holds the death
And torment.
Sunset tears the day in half
Before; the light
And then the darkness
Living through the darkness
Living through the night
Praying that the dawn will come
To relieve the loneliness

It was a strange time in my life, I was still living in Charlton [London, UK] and it shows. I think that the next posting will have to be somewhat lighter - if only to cheer me up.

Once again no illustrations because I don't feel that any are necessary.

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Tuesday, 9 June 2009

Another couple from 2003

I found these when I was searching for something to add a couple of days ago but didn't want to put too much in for that post.

Sorrows 11 Jun 03

Dark songs
Flowing on a stream
Past my window
Dark thoughts
The memories
Of the empty past
Carrying songs
Of forgotten singers
The memories

In the moonless
The unbidden memories
Return unwanted

Memories flow
Dance in the dark
Spurred on by the songs
Dragged, screaming and crying
To the surface
Why did you wake them?
They were better left
For dead
Among the midnight graves
Of past loves

Why? 11 Jun 03

Why did you turn away?
Why did you go?
I thought
That we
Would be - forever

But time moves on
And so do we all
And you turned
Away from me

You left me on that old deserted street
I was lost
My dreams broken
And I knew
You didn't care

I thought

But my dreams
Are all I have
And the empty space
Where you once were
Will never be filled

I thought
That we
Would be forever

I thought

I don't feel that it would be right to add any illustrations for this post, once again the mind can provide all the imagery that is required.

Monday, 8 June 2009

Todays Senryū

I have found the correct character to be able to spell Senryū properly, just needed the 'ū' to make it right. Sorry, that distracted me a little...on with the poems.

A couple of Senryū is the offering for today...

Summer 08 Jun 09

Seagull's cry mingling
With the sound of falling rain,
Summer's back again

Clouds 08 Jun 09

Cornwall. Touching clouds
Is too easy here because
They come to meet you

Just those two today, more soon.

The illustration I use today is the album cover of Joni Mitchell's Clouds - because it is apposite and I happen to like the early Joni songs.

Clouds album coverImage via Wikipedia

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Sunday, 7 June 2009

Beginings and Night

Just a couple of poems this time, from 2003, getting away from the water themes of the last few posts.

Together Once Before 29 Aug 03

In the æons past
We walked the spaces
Between the worlds
In the gaps in the times
That held the places together

We held each other
We held the worlds
We held the silences
Between the words
That held the words together

We talked
And time began
So we could sketch the space
That held
The us

Then we could be

Night Thoughts 12 Jan 03

In the second hour of the day
I sit and watch
The fireglow dance
Around the coals
In the night, outside
A quarter moon
Rides at anchor
Above the valley

The world around me
Dreams their
Private thoughts
As they slumber
Throughout the night
While I, awake, think
My night thoughts
And write these words

Not wanting to argue with the formatting, I am including just one image to reflect the second poem; I don't think the first one needs anything.

Peace to you.

Embers IIImage by The Joy Of The Mundane via Flickr

Saturday, 6 June 2009

Poems from 2005

A small selection of poems from '05, these have a slightly different feel to them...

The candle and the Dark 07 Mar 05

We sat in darkness
Watching the stars
Listening to the sea
Wash across the beach
Below the window
Of our dreams

On the table
Behind us
A single candle
Throws its beautiful light
Into the night
To play with the stars
That light the way
Into the dawn

Shores of Time 27 Jun 05

The unquiet waves of lost loves
Lap across the sands
Of the shores of time

I remember
Those days of our loves
When we said that we would never part

And then we did
Never to be together again
There are the dreams
In which we exist and live for each other

Now just another wave
Against the sands
Like all the others

Dream Love Song 17 May 05

Hearing your voice
In an unexpected dream
Took me to a place
I did not think I would
Ever see again

On those distant shores
Where we danced
And played with the sea
As he washed the sand
We dreamed our separate toghether thoughts

Now I am awake
And realise that nothing
Has really changed
And our dreams continue,
Into a new dawn

CandlesImage by magnuscanis via Flickr

It is only when re-reading these poems that I realise that I tended to be obsessed with the sea, beaches, dance, candles and love - actually this isn't such a bad thing, is it?
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Thursday, 4 June 2009


And now for a total change of mood, a little piece I wrote on 29 Sep 03 entitled;


"The room was dark."
That's a good melodramatic start; except that it isn't. The surprisingly warm autumn sunlight is streaming through the window and reflecting off the screen and I can barely see the scant quartet of words upon it.
I turn to face the window, listening to the horses passing, wondering if, maybe, someone I knew was going to ride on the moors. Knowing at the same time that this was a good excuse not to put finger to key.
"In the darkness something stirred."
--- Like a hot drink? ---
--- Please. Coffee would be nice. --- Where the hell is the story going?
'Something stirred'? What a cliché. Delete left - oops.
"ng" space "crawled"
Better. Crawled, more evocative. Now what?
"A soft susseration of breath sounded damp as though through wet nostrils. Gentle scratching of claws" --- thank you, can you put it there please? --- "across the granite slabs sent a shiver of alarm down his back."
Whose back? Where's the pen? Right...'thing'...'him' - name? Should I bother???
Slurp of coffee.
"He was beginning to wish that his hearing was as good as his sight at the moment. It didn't help that his sense of smell was beginning to show how good it could be. There was a fœtid odour in the room too, one that he couldn't escape.
"Suddenly stronger, the smell was overpowering, a rank blast of air washed across his face and assailed his nostrils, he winced sensing rather than seeing the evil face before him.
"There was a searing pain on his neck. He tried to reach up but his hands wouldn't move, pinned by a sudden, terrifying weight pressing down on his chest and arms.
"A warm wetness spread over his shoulder, then a tongue rasped across then up his neck lapping the blood silently streaming from the wound."
Oh great! I've just killed off my hero. Now what?
Coffee. Watch the starlings through the window. More horses.
Heigh ho.
Exit, cursor down, Abandon Edit, C, STORY.DOC
"The room was dark"
Déjà vu.
"He reached out and fumbled along the wall. There was a satisfying click as his fingers found the light switch but the room remained dark."

[No illustrations this time...I will let your mind fill in the details...]

Tuesday, 2 June 2009

A little lighter

The last posting was, I felt, a little heavy. So I offer these Senryu just to lighten the mood a bit.

For those who do not know, a Senryu has the same syllabic structure as a Haiku but doesn't have the spiritual content - though it can seem to have a deeper meaning at times.

Sennen Senryu 21 Sep 84


The sound of the sea
In the distance, dragging its
Feet across the sand


Painted patterns on
Still-wet sand, reflections from
The cove, mock the night


The music inside,
The wind and the rain outside.
Both ask to be heard

Looking due North over Sennen BayImage via Wikipedia

In the image above the small studio, [the black dot with white windows] at the right-hand edge of the picture - just a little way above the sand, was where I was staying when I wrote the Sennen Senryu. Spent many happy holidays there with lovely wife Liz. The link from the word Sennen takes you to a map of the area.

The rest of the Senryu here were written in my old home in London, specifically Charlton, where I spent most of my life till 1990.

October Senryu
05 Oct 84


Early October
The rains came and washed the sun
From the autumn sky


Thunder in the sky
All day long. Rain filled the butt
To overflowing


Darkness too early
In the day. Raindrops slipping
Down the windowpane


Too late, too short to
Be of any use. The sun
Shines for five minutes

Writing by Moonlight 06 Nov 84

Writing by moonlight
While all the ghosts of the day
Fade softly away

That's all for now, more works soon.

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Monday, 1 June 2009

A little selection from 1992

In order to choose something to post for today I opened a year at random and selected a poem, equally at random, I offer...

Annua 17 Jan 92


His dreams are barely formed
All he wants
Is comfort, warmth...and food.


Playing with his toys
And Dreaming
Imagining a time when all he does
Is real.


Reality has no meaning
When toys and play are all
But slowly the truth begins to dawn.


Toys behind him
He has to learn
The why, the wherefore and the what?
But the real "why" will elude him
For a long, long time.


In the world
Learning even more
About a world that's always changing
With a mind that's always changing.


Slowing down,
In the middle of his life
Knowing that he has so much more to learn
And wondering if there will be
Enough time.


Looking after children
Watching them grow and sensing
The wonderment in their minds
And wondering where the wonder went.


New places, new people
Mix in his mind
With old faces, old things
As he contemplates writing his memoirs.


But then again
Who would bother to read them.


"I remember" he says "I remember"
And tells a tale he has told before
A hundred times
And still they smile, to keep him happy.


He remembers his whole world
But no one wants to listen any more
He is old and he is tired
And his pride makes him try
To tell them.


Playing in his mind
And Dreaming
Remembering a time
When all he did was real
His dreams are now all he has
And all he wants
Is comfort, warmth...and rest.

lucid dreamingImage by !山 via Flickr

I think this one poem will be enough for the post. Sometime again...