Journey of Words

Tag: Life

  • Day 15

    April already! My day is consumed with detailed work, but it is still light enough for me to set out walking just after six in the evening. Bard Hill is covered in hawthorn bushes glowing with white blossom – it looks as if it’s snowed. I stop halfway up the traffic-free lane to listen to →

  • Breaking Wave

    A gentle undulation swells Soon noticeable from land Catches eyes of pebbles That slowly turn, drawn to the scene Expectation of the burgeoning bump builds The ocean cannot contain the power moving within Pushing at its rounded surface A large, complacent gull senses his peaceful drift is ended Lifts up at a shift in form →

  • Day 13

    The rhythm of the day is beginning to lose its pattern. Middle of night interruptions to sleep come without pressure to return to dreamland. Distance from others is becoming accepted; is there any point going out there? Eschewing television as formulaic, lacking originality, dull, I choose to listen to music. Lyrics bore me. Orchestral compositions, →

  • Update on “Lions, Lionesses and The Clown

    29th March, 2020 and still health workers are not able to get the kit they need to stay safe and nurse the sick. Two NHS doctors die of Covid-19 Lions, Lionesses and the Clown can be read here. CLP 29/03/2020 →

  • Something

    Too much time on my hands Sorting out photos You came back into view From a time we shared focus . With vision now sharper Fog lifted from lens I see something was wrong Even back then . CLP 29/03/2020 →

  • Day 12

    British Summer Time, the forward shift of clocks by an hour, has blown in on a gale straight off the North Sea. Hailstones are spat at the window. Some of the ice pellets stick before slipping slowly; disintegrating as they slide, leaving a tear stain on the pane. The hazel bush flexes in the gusts, →

  • Day 10

    Unclouded skies of these past five days have stimulated rapid growth of shoots. What were twiggy branches, bushes, shrubs are now thick with green. So many variations of green unfold from so many buds. Here we have more greens than words for “green.” Perhaps, like the Inuit with all their words for snow, the English →

  • Day 9

    A quiet day. Sun. Blue sky. Birdsong. On the dusty road to the shop there are the car-flattened, leathery remains of toads. They have tried to cross from water where they have grown from eggs, to tadpoles, to toadlets to toads. They spread out from their birth pools and eventually take singular paths. This road →

  • Day 8

    Yellow, everywhere. Gorse, daffodils, primroses and by a flint wall, forthsythia, (the Easter Tree). Along the top road the dark oaks still lack any leaf-cover, so the setting sun bounces off the gorse on the heath through the gnarled woodland. The sky a celestial blue, the display of blooms pure gold. The pillows of colour →

  • On the Inside

    Thoughts held tight Multiply in solitude’s echo chamber These flies hatch from eggs laid deep Kept cool by winter Until Spring’s first warmth seeps in Here they are Buzzing, banging on glazing Repeating knock out blows Frenzied attempts to pass the glass Crashing time after time Despite concussive impacts Leaving sickness, giddiness Confusion. . See →