Pen to paper- a response

A friend of mine asked me to write a poem about writing, and how it made me feel. This is my response. I hope she reads it.   It is immersive. Every sense, every thing, everything submerged. A  plunging in to feeling. Underwater, free from intrusion, ink flows. Looping off with no filter. Suffusing space….

Out of Doors

Tantalising passageways going nowhere. All still, save for pirouetting feathers shed from lofty inhabitants. The whole place crying out to be made whole again.   © Tom Tide 2016  

Self Portrait

This is me. No grandiloquent celebration- Just a snapshot on a cold morning. Selfie? I loathe the word. No this is me making a record through a record through a mirror through a lens. This is me today. Right now. Hello.   © Tom Tide 2016  

Staffordshire Oatcakes

My cousin recently said that if he could only eat one thing for the rest of his life, it would be Staffordshire Oatcakes. I’m with him all the way. For the uninitiated, Staffs Oatcakes are something like a mix of pancakes, chappati’s and burrito wraps, but much better. They are unique. What really makes them…

Undulating

Little wonder they carved a horse. The earth cries out to be ridden and roved upon. Flowing curves flare contoured thighs and fetlocks. Beauties in sated repose breathing deeply. Lovely in the morning sun, but now, at twilight so Magical. As if the whole land aches to stretch and stand. © Tom Tide 2016  

Oh reader, where art thou?

Somebody in India reads my posts. I believe they do so regularly. Almost religiously. I believe that it may be the same one person. If my thoughts are correct then please make yourself known to me. I would dearly love to write something for you. Please tell me who you are, and why you read….

Cotswold Glow

Whoever describes the Cotswolds as ‘twee’ or ‘chocolate box pretty’ is doing this wonderful place a huge disservice. I spent two days there this week, and it is a deeply powerful and rugged part of Britain. Beautiful, yes. Atavistic certainly. Though it is so much more than that. The very stones of the place glow…

Mother Nature Makes a Seat

Mother Nature makes  seat, for the ones who search, Those who strive for green and air, and sometimes seek a perch. Somewhere to recline, breathing deep, to contemplate the day. Away from hubbub, strife and noise, away, so far away.   Searching brings such wondrous yields, tis truly worth a look, For my perch yielded…

Heavenly Glimpses

I was irresistibly drawn to the above words today. Not for their original, intended meaning, but in a deeply intense, personal manner. As my ‘About’ section suggests, I am a midnight writer, and begin writing usually after the witching hour has begun. My eyes often sting, and I have to flail my thoughts in to some…

Over and Over Again

Folks in Bath must have looked upwards in days gone by. Look up today, in 2016, and you will see faded, flaking murals. Murals over murals. Adverts skillfully painted by hand on to the corners of buildings. Flowing fonts and delicate pigments. So precise, and yet in their decay somehow reminiscent of Titian. Crumbling frescoes….

When Sculptures Converse

Said Bronze One to Bronze Two: “Where are you going”? Said Bronze Two to Bronze One: ” Fuck this shit, I’m going swimming”.   © Tom Tide 2016

Displacement-or finding oneself suddenly transported to another place.

It is the strangest of sensations to be transported. Away from one’s feet. One’s rationality. To another place entirely. To see Inca ruins within rural England. Yes, odd. I know. Yet I felt it. It was the deep, pure green. The presence of past Industry and civilisation all reclaimed by nature. Wildness. I thank the…