Heartstone for Helen

    When I am gone my love, hold this in your hands. It is full of all I hold dear. I give it all to you. Tossed, scoured shaped by waves. My heart, fashioned over millennia, to lie nestled now in to your cool palm. Brush its concentric circles with your thumb. Feel, at…

Back around

  If only my words could loop and turn with such utter ease and grace. A dextrous tongue! I would forge images to long outlast Iron and burn far hotter a their fierce bringing to life. Make emotions flare and spark; hammering out hot words. Leaving pulsating glowings. A broiling gush when eyes reach line end, and…

Brutalism

I love Brutalist Architecture. I love it. I love the size and the shape and the colours (or lack of colours) of it. I feel strongly about it. To me, it is anything but brutal. It is sublime and sculptural, and makes me feel immediately fascinated yet humbled whenever I see it. As an appreciator…

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…

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

Seas Of St Ives

Cerulean. Aquamarine. Cobalt. Sage. Sorrel. All undulating in shimmering bars. Matt and impenetrable in cloud, yet translucent and brilliant when brought to life by light. A spectrum of water colours swirling langorously and loyally around an achingly beautiful enclave. Surrounded almost entirely by tides, that have sulpted the deeply loved land as they do driftwood, all…

Self Portrait, by Constantin Brancusi

A carved face. Your chiselled features surrounded by heavenly curves. Hair whitened as if by flecks flung from your tools. In your chapel of marble, with slender legs Encased in linen, veined like purest Carrera. Arms folded, cradling your strong hands- The soul of your art. © Tom Tide 2016    

Divine

What a wondrous thing To wander through a garden. Deftly led by its creator. To watch those loving hands caress floral finery. See a place through another’s eyes. Bathe in coaxed colours and textures, Swaying branches bedecked by leaves, as if coral Deep within a reef. Finding pleasure in every twisting turn of treble clef…

Conducting Ripples

A gentle dragging cools the veins. Flexed feet carving the glassy surface; Eddying grainy dunes rise and fall beneath toes. Play of light on dazzling water. No beach here- The wide river bed channels clear waters Skimmed over by cobalt damsel flies, Reflected charcoal crow-wings flash past, Gone before upward glances seek them. Downward, always…

Chance Encounter

Currents surge and seethe, Sometimes strange bedfellows meet; Binding themselves fast.   © Tom Tide 2016  

Moon Rock

I found you rolling in the surf. You look more akin to the moon. A set piece from Thunderbirds. I hope that dainty shell chose to wedge itself. God only knows what you’ve been through. You were heavy and waterlogged at first. Now dried out, you rattle. Hiss, when submerged. How old are you? Your…

Mirage

The air shimmered with heat, rank with the sharp tang of cacti and dessicated earth. Shapes flowed and flourished everywhere, both in stone and plant. Not a garish hue in sight. All sage, sorrel, ochre and white. Above all white. Soothing, glowing, framing everything else. Pots, bricks, tiles- all took on a pleasure and life…