Walking, I discover
Hills I never knew in thirty years of passing;
Valleys, deserted, hidden in folds and time:
Mair says once there was a community here
Self contained, sufficient unto itself
Walking, I find
Landscapes we could have seen before, perhaps shared
Their riches, dreamed their past, known their present:
I'm told these Druid hills sing history itself
Wednesday 12th April 2017 2:00 pm
An Unexpected Ghost In The Yorkshire Post
She stares out at me from the page of white -
all pixels, paper, print and phantom eyes,
a child of contrasts under exposed skies
dancing somewhere between the dark and light.
I recognise the features well, despite
the brutal glare of histories disguise.
This archive feature caught me by surprise
for we are separated by times flight.
You are a g...
Saturday 1st November 2014 8:03 pm
Inspired by the cart on the patio at Carob Cottage, Ilgaz, North Cyprus
Broken down cart
Ornamental on patio.
Hay, grain, carob and olives.
Donkey or horse
Living engine, now dead.
Folk songs of old
Clip, clop beat the hooves.
Sunday 1st December 2013 3:12 am