It is good to come back to a bonfire at night, After smouldering all of the day; To go out in the dusk, relinquish the fight, To burn all annoyance away.   To breathe in the woodsmoke, stare deep at the flame; Through amber then scarlet then white; And think upon times past  no one…

Suspended agitation

  My eyes seek  moments of rising. Smooth turmoil after the concave, when all is Floating. It is milk on a snare drum beat- Lingering. Percussive in space Snow covering. Cream splashed in to an ochre bowl Reminiscent of other acts too private to name. Joyful release, observed. Partaken. Every act the very same yet…


The guard palmed him something as he stepped down to the melting  asphalt. Apart from the firm handshake, all he’d said was ‘Go to The Owl. You look like a goddam bum’, before stepping back up in to the bus. Any passers by would have seen a very tall, sun-marked man in a suit three sizes…

On being the beach

Today I am inland. I cannot visit the beach. So I will dress in its colours. If I cannot sit on the beach, I shall sit in it.


A portrait Of a landscape On a wall Within a landscape Of beauty Painting a portrait In the landscape of my imagination    


Wild and fused to the green earth; foundations gently warped by saplings. Every ledge and shelf colonized with life. Festooned. Trees thrust forth from chimney breasts, Gathering strength from ashes long-cooled. Stone reclaimed by its earthen home. Coming home.

To fare on-fusing the self that wakes and the self that dreams

Our world occasionally witnesses people who possess beautiful minds and souls. A combination of qualities that in a creative person yields masterpieces. Sometimes these gifted ones draw their admirers and afficianadoes.  Rarely, they become master craftspeople, and inspire generations. The architect Frank Lloyd Wright is one of these people for me. I know next to…