Poetry

Going to Ground II: Biting Winter’s Apple

It’s winter and my body is shrouded; My spark, I know, flickers thin beneath its cloak. As I ascend and wind up to the gallery, It is as though climbing a tree to get a view. And whilst damp shoppers cling in the marketplace, I am up here, peering on tip-toe into A row of…

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My Ekphrasis: Art as backdrop to a Poem

Hello, hello, hello Is there anybody there? The mobile line goes empty, Alive, then wincing to a buzz. There’s a mouth-shaped void In the gap between What’s native and what isn’t. I’m seeing San Francisco, But it could easily be Kent, Where, unlikely bright flashes Against the pencil-grey of England, A pandemonium of escaped parrots,…

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SPIRALS: Embodiment through Yoga and the Process of Turning

Quote from The Mystic Spiral: Journey of the Soul by Jill Purce – Thames and Hudson, London, 1974 “In a second, the faintest perfume may send us plummeting to the roots of our being, our whole life verticalized by a fleeting sensation: we have been connected by a mere smell to another place and another…

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Edge in the Nature of Things III

Sometimes the ground on which we’ve stood for years- That room, where objects we’ve known rest against its edges, Containing us like signposts on a pilgrimage- That place in nature, where spirit drops our feet So much closer to the grass… Sometimes the ground that has carried us Requires us to lean, fall over even,…

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Edge in the Nature of Things II

While once, perusing the life-lines of your face, Its landmarks of grace, failure; pathways of shadow, light, The question lingered, ‘What it is that has brought you salvation?’ I now see this as a telling for your rest bed, your death-bower, Where witness to the silence imbuing every life hangs… No, now what I want to know is this:…

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Stand Up and Be Counted

The day I saw these portraits I was, as often, head in sand Going about the day’s routine, Run-of-mill, far from grand. And the faces leapt out at me, Calling from the gallery wall, ‘That mediocrity you’re leaning on Could well be your downfall!’ Later, thoughts still jossling, I’m leafing through a pile, And out…

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Bones: A short Story

She came in search of her mother’s bones. By boat, ten days telling tales to the crew about her purpose. This morning she was up at dawn, breakfast bagged, blanketed against the chill, leaving nervously, peacefully the cheap seaside hotel. By seven she was traversing the cliff path across the headland. She remembered how her…

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the place of resource

  Seated here, crossed-legged, I am archaic sea creature Clamped fossil-like to a rock, Grafted on the sea’s dark floor. Tentacled, pocked by deep abysses, I am swaddled, spat, swayed Within the vast nowhere-cloud Around me. Clinging, forgotten. Forgetting. Since rippled womb-hole, Aloneness was my primal base; Reaching beyond flickering fear, And desires paddling the…

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Write at Night

Back in November last year I was travelling to Greece with my partner and our van was broken into outside a supermarket. It was midday, we were travel-worn and didn’t notice until half an hour down the road. The bags that were snatched contained both of our lap-tops. Symbolic of years of investment as a…

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Autumn Poem

by Emily Dickinson The morns are meeker than they were, The nuts are getting brown; The berry’s cheek is plumper, The rose is out of town. The maple wears a gayer scarf, The field a scarlet gown. Lest I should be old-fashioned, I’ll put a trinket on. I love this treasure of a poem I…

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