Beautiful Bath

A view across the river to the glowing, affluent side. © Tom Tide 2016    

Fire

A friend has asked me to write about Fire. As a subject, I immediately think of it as a double-edged sword. Beautiful and seductive if tamed, though evil and repulsive if left to its own devices. Heavenly or Satanic. Tantalising. I have always felt an affinity with the fellow who asked me to write this,…

Still Life

Not a work of Art. Yet full of artists textures; Thus, a masterpiece.   © Tom Tide 2016  

Aberystwyth

I lived on the seafront for two years. For two out of three years of my degree, my calendar was dictated by the waves and seasons. June sunbathing on the stony shore after lectures. November kitchen tea-sipping, whilst  gazing at waves battering Victoria Terrace bringing with them pebbles that strafed the road. Cycling down the…

Ralph Vaughan Williams

His music.  Lakeland fells. Inseperable, for me. Overwhelming both, as sunlight emerging from banked clouds. Transported. Once engaged always awed by the scale of rockface or score. To listen is to fly and soar like a bird. Spinning upwards. Turning over.   Pure daydreams. As intense as scaling a peak. Looking down at the world…

Book Barn exploration

There is a haven, a few scant miles from my abode. A time machine of text. Crammed rafter-high with both relics and rookies in paper and hardback form. ‘The Book Barn’. Sign emblazoned with the tagline ‘Over 1 Million Books.’  Quite a claim. One that is true. The place is vast. VAST. A warehouse of…

Sandhorse

His hands charmed Sparrows and beachfolk’s eyes alike. Stroked fine grains in to flowing yellow movement. Sheltered by the Sea wall with tanned skin and Dark eyes framed by kind lines. His back  warmed on kind days, chased away by cruel Cornish squalls. Surrounding him, families in hushed awe. Always, I felt with my wise…

Interweave

  A labour of love Built with offerings of those dearest to me.   The lining of my son’s abandoned toys has become bedding to warm the tender bellies of fledglings. The spun gold of my wife’s brushed  hair cast from the window for the birds now binds curving walls with a burnished strength. My frayed…

Night Sea

Porthgwidden, that most welcoming of sands. Blue in the sapphire moonlight. At moonrise, the waves are amplified. Becoming the soft breathing of sleeping giants. Gulls glide ghostly above the midnight black waters as the surf draws contoured hills on the sloping tideline.   Busy ships twinkle: stars in a velvet sky, with no horizon. All…

Squall

For the briefest of briefest of moments I felt I was swimming. So much fierce water, almost weightless in the wind, and submerged- surrounded by flowing water. It was bliss.   Copyright Tom Tide 2016