Always she arrives with the deep frosts. The same marauder. This year, with a glare. HerĀ  curved breast cleaving the air, Swift as a Viking prow, with a swoop she beaches. Eye marked as with Kohl she cocks her gaze skyward. Black orbs scanning misty skies for a scrap. A stranger, in Winter’s last saloon,…

On Reflection

There are times, on reflection. Glimpsed when life is good. Of distant times that were anything but.   I see shadows of a swathed self, draped owl-like in downy blankets. Shuffling along with clipped wings. Hiding beneath a plumage of doubts and fears. Perched stock still amidst the working day. Poised for the dead of…

Screen Presence

Tumbled out of a Rockwell painting. Four freedoms etched on to a hatchet face. A watcher, him. Cast far and wide through space and time. Miner. Janitor. Father. Everyman. Eyes black as pitch, telling it how it is. Effortlessly. Every time. Copyright Tom Tide 2019


This Crossing Place. Stow Ford- Hidden Path. Earth turned in to itself People stroll out of the woodwork Old Bones hold this farm. Everywhere, the sound of water.   Copyright Tom Tide 2018

Sea Changed

We are the Sea changed. We yield our secrets slowly. Move at the tide’s whimsy- one whole inch in a Millenium; then miles, within one short tempest. We’ve true grit beneath our markings. Cast like ancient runes on the shore. For all the wide world to read.   Copyright Tom Tide 2018

Home Turf

Some are curved as Mammoth tusks. Others squared off in biscuits. Blade-hewn ochre rainbows. Steeped all. Brittle now, once wet forged. Rough on fingertips. Dying whorls as intricate as Kells books. Bleeding whisky-hued water- pooling in cracks dark as blood. Some riddled with gnarled roots. Others smooth-grained as coffee grounds. Now mere husks. Seasoning. Earth…

World Cup Haiku

Roads as quiet as a hearse- Television static crackles, all screens in sync; Deserted streets feel highly strung.   Copyright Tom Tide 2018

For Peter Firmin

A life spent spinning yarns. Conjuring stories to life. Bright magic, for young and old. Weaving entire worlds in kaleidoscopes of colour. All from one darkened barn. A life behind lenses, Lived for others.   Copyright Tom Tide 2018  

Slide Away

The sky felt smoky blue at the beginning of twilight. Just before closing, lingering visitors were clambering up the helter-skelters andĀ  tube rides for a last go. A long glimmering ribbon of headlights wound up from the car park, and two ride attendants were lighting up cigarettes to mark the end of their shift. As…

The Dew-flirt

A wall-eyed rascal,he. Drunk on stars and comets by night, Hunkered down by daybreak- peering in to dawn’s blue fog. Mottled with opals-dew’s blessings adorn his thick fur. Perch between two black holes for eyes. Beneath flexing paws the soft earth warms. This dusty mister feels moles scrapings beneath him, picks out scuttling beetles in…