Wishing everybody a truly Happy New Year! May all your Castles in the Sky reveal themselves, whatever form they take. May your prayers be answered and dreams come true. © Tom Tide 2016
I look at me three decades ago. Or you, rather. I’m unrecognisable now. Every cell thrice renewed. I wish I could take your head between my hands, Look in to your eyes and say ‘Your mind is wired strangely. Talk to people about it, in all its frenzied energy’. I would say ‘Swim every day….
When Walking Sticks go feral, they disguise themselves as branches… Copyright Tom Tide 2016
My morning coffee teases me with glimpses of all the things I could write about today but cannot yet see they swirl and vanish all too fast in steam of consciousness way before I can capture them yet some meagre impressions remain like sunspots- here’s to inspiration! © Tom Tide 2016
Now here’s a room of requirement: Loft space, bedroom, storeroom (in that order). Murals turned in to hieroglyphs. Bedding for all, from babies to the aged. The whole slowly moving family museum as cluttered and muddled as my subconscious. Hermetically sealed, save for exploratory recce’s. As dusty yet expectant as Haversham’s gaff. …
How can a tiny room become a time machine? I was enveloped, no struck, by recollection. Incongruously, violently Immediately pitched back decades, to a place that I loved. Feeling memories I love. It was the smell foremost. As evocative as a voice. Whispering from the past. On this visit to my parents abode….
What follows is a Christmas story. I have written it for all of the lovely people who read my blog. Thank you all. Wholeheartedly. Tom Tide. ———————— They were all worn out and grumpy, and as if she had read his thoughts the stamping started. Glancing down at the drooping antlers and shuffling hooves in…
© Tom Tide 2016
Whole Archipelagos fanning out with flowing veins of currents surrounding them. © Tom Tide 2016
Throne fit for a King: Lichen soft beneath my cold finger-tips Yet I am a Jester. © Tom Tide 2016
This is the Violet Hour. Not yet morning, when half-remembered yearnings take shape. Unfinished business walks abroad, beconing slowly through the mist. Bringing past to present, However briefly. © Tom Tide 2016
Yesterday, a man I truly respect wished me a Happy Birthday. I received a text message from Mike Oldfield. To me, this is momentous. I have listened, with Joy, to his music since I was Twelve. It is no exaggeration to say that I call to mind his music every single day, and whenever I…