Tag Archives: LIFE

ANG

Ang “Marchon, the gate is wide open in the complex and I’m looking down a long, retreating corridor. Come over tonight and make me the happiest man in the valley.” The 1940’s Studebaker rolled effortlessly down Sondrick Lane purring like … Continue reading

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A DROP IN THE POND PRODUCES A RIPPLE!

A Drop In The Pond Produces A Ripple! The desolation of loneliness can dog you even as a child and follow you mangy and forlorn into adulthood. A bedraggled cur that slinks behind you – dirty, rain-soaked and unworthy, while … Continue reading

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I ACCEPT YOU AS YOU ARE …

I ACCEPT YOU AS YOU ARE … … … The avenue of true reconciliation is lined with olive trees … The oil of gladness is an anointing for the soul upon your head … My peace is caught up inside … Continue reading

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RUNNING TO RUNNYMEDE!

Running to Runnymede There was hardly time to gather sorbet moments Nor harness the power of life’s general circumstance I had spent my whole life crisscrossing rail-tracks Stumbled blind upon the important & the tall   Like a cryptic tale, you … Continue reading

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WHEN THE DATE RAN OUT IN THE MORNING RAIN …

When The Date Ran Out In The Morning Rain … .. .. I can’t believe that the date ran out in the morning rain The page had slipped, the sail had shipped, the needle skipped, the kipper flipped and the … Continue reading

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WILD HORSES

Wild Horses ..         And Engret, writing in the sand, wiping a tear from the corner of a bloodshot eye With the sound of waves crashing, like his heart pounding, relentless and broken The Arabian stallion, muzzled, silenced, … Continue reading

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THE WRITING PROCESS

‘The Day I Redrew Myself in Mine Own Eyes’ – an Essay .. I am a writer. I am concerned only with the writing experience. First and foremost I am not unduly worried about how you, the reader, may respond. … Continue reading

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THE POET

   The Poet     Yes, the poet knows solitude The hard side of the wood The rough side and callow, the bare and the rawhide splintered, sore and fallow .. He knows silent winters Honest earth, bitten raw Hooded … Continue reading

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CHRYSALID

CHRYSALID … The open wound healed and the taut, pale skin grew faintly over Foreign fingers still felt for that awkward pain like a summer lover Quiet amateurs, just sad explorers who never quite reach above Likened to madmen who … Continue reading

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MY 4 CHILDREN !

   My Four Children … .. .. I wrote a play once for my 4 children I gave them special names to match their characters Sarallius, Debradella, Warrickolius, and Michelangelo They were to be as Norsk Gods but more than … Continue reading

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