(Mon 5th Nov 18, 18:28.) The second whiskey-laced homemade hot chocolate in three days: it is Bonfire Night, after all. I imagine scaling-down to Borrower size, the subject of rogue experimental science and diving into my dark lilac scalloped mug, the intricate embellishments of birds, botanicals and butterflies encircling the inside rim a lullaby mobile… Continue reading Velvet, Amber, Autumn, Umber.
Strange mix, lyrical contortion of Beaded blossom and blinking infant leaves, Ingenuous, green, Roused reluctant from downy slumber; Shafts of wheat mingled, proud with tender sprouted sprigs. Subdued, harvest light Muted ginger-orangeade, A tall herbal arrangement.
In a blink: I closed my eyes to a world of grey and awoke, open to scenes flecked in green, Like a latent flood, slow-soaked and rising through moss, The colour returned. Negative film cells etched with fine-line nib Pinprick viridity, stippled along wooden seams; Sun-stroked tapestry unfurling before me, The renaissance The Spring. Written… Continue reading “Enfin, Le Printemps.”
A night so dark, even the heights of trees are blacked-out. My eyes, hollow sockets sucked sore for a vacuum scene.
This moment's contemplation, the word 'hellebore'- Herbaceous, earthly, evocative, magickal; The name of a witch in woodland folklore.
Tall, lengthy, rigid, robust Core strength, standing to attention From flax-coloured furry foot to wild, but styled, salt-surfer tufts. The water drips upon your flesh And I run my hand along your extent Like a spine, Palming-off crushed grains of earth. Clad in fine pyjama-striped, feint and delicate green Bound together with close, sturdy seams… Continue reading Trois Poireaux.
I love the term 'veteran tree', It carries in it such gravity.
(I) It wasn't until I saw a cluster of these, Flowers vivid and vicious That I understood the physiology behind the name 'Narcissus'. Beloved Daffodil, Sultan of Spring, You, as a reverent beauty, I've always known; Yet, seeing your being overrunning in place, Your true nature, to me, has shown. Like ebullient fanfare in parade… Continue reading Narcissus.
There isn't anything, sonically, that connects me more to the outside world than birdsong. Winter can be desolate and deafening in its comparative silence: it is definitely not barren. Among the stillness, if you attune your ear, you can remark the life still abound in the season- and, some, that thrives only here- beyond the… Continue reading Spring, Ruminating.
An extract from an unfinished piece, written January 2018. The darkness doesn't linger too long. The birds see it- At four-thirty, they swoon melodies of rising, At half seven, Sun begins to break through the sleep-veil; It is still light at a quarter to five. The divine gradients of chalk blue, blackcurrant and peach return,… Continue reading The Prize of Paying Attention