A place to rest my bones

I have discovered this nature-formed chair. It looks out over fields, and fits me perfectly. Such a wonderful place to sit back and let the world go by. A rich vein of writing inspiration, too. Happy Friday, all xx


Writing is a blessed curse, Imagination veils my sight; Transforming most mundane of things to figmentations of pure fright.   Winding creeper takes on fangs, Becoming Mowgli-seeking Carr, The jungle spreads beneath my feet With vipers seeking flesh to Mar.   Honey-tongued and forked mischief, Whispers of forbidden fruit Whilst over growing temples peep from…

When the bough breaks- to the tune of ‘Rockabye Baby’

For my son’s Guardian Angel   Make a rope swing, I thought, for my son: Fill sunny days with pendular fun, Thank God and all angels I tested the bough: To see if rough usage its strength would allow.   For down the bough came, my shoulders were struck: Although my blood flowed, I hold…

Dam you forever, my love?

You are life-giving and shockingly beautiful. You are water, my love. I would swim inside you, and you inside me Forever, yet would be drowned by my devotion. So I dam you up. Make myself in to strong walls to shield me from you. I could say it works. Yet the truth is, you already…

God moves in mysterious ways

With the birds and the bees and the telegraph trees in the foliage quivering like green seas.   © Tom Tide 2017

Room with a View

House of all seasons. All seasons, turned willy-nilly. Salt-mist crystalized one month: azure lenses the next. The entire curved ocean a stage to gaze upon. Storms were best, with their hiss and slap of surf. Sharp cracking strafe of current-honed pebbles. Bay window-watching, mug in hand. All topsy-turvy on the Buckled floor In this building slowly…


A beautiful print of many, many birds in flight hangs by my bedside. It is a perfect circle of airborne seabirds. A maelstrom of wings that swoop and soar. Countless, delicately drawn souls. The canvas is crowded and difficult to take in all at once, and yet it brings me a deep sense of calm….

Step Backwards

There’s no cold quite like it: Fingertips on whitewashed iron, early morning.   © Tom Tide 2017

Blue Dawn

The birds do it right, singing in each new day. Happy, regardless of what is planned (or unplanned). I am listening now, warm in my bed. Sleepy. There’s no contest between them: There are spaces and cues between each bar. Rippling together in a murmuration of sound. Setting themselves up for the day.   ©…


A curved canvas. Full of waves and clouds. Tide-shifted sands, spun by the elements. Horizons meet beneath the tide-line. An ironic composition, when paint rubs off to reveal beauty. Love- lacquered layers of paint incited, As praiseworthy as a Ruskin landscape or John Nash painting.   Yet brought to life without hands. No, rather The…