The Traveller

The Traveller


“Oh no, I never think of it as 'travelling,' I replied

while pulling on my second Bass and considering an easesome lass

go striding around the bar. Its just an eccentricity, my dear Akira,

a foible if you will – still, it lets me wander bare-foot

through seasons past, when taller (and, I admit, of sounder mind).


Yes, I've certainly learnt more tolerance am...

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The Wake

The Wake

The white ship slides serene, wind-blown,

heedless of its human burthen

while laying wakes but swiftly flown.


Mile-on-mile the dance of heathen

sunbursts play on flashing waters

pretty as maids, or bonds that weaken


as the leaving fades. The snows that fought us

in winters past, tall drifts in proud array,

melt clear in spring before our youngest daugh...

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Faith is a Barren Garden

Faith is a Barren Garden


Faith is a barren garden

planted in hope

of hiding a soul's imperfect being.

Yet its weak and sickly saplings

avoid the sun, revealing

the acid glare of the cynic's soulless seeing.


Only Charity offers succour to the homeless.


Chris Hubbard



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Everything Must Go


Everything Must Go

The blue bicycle that arrived,

gleaming from the shop,

now leans crooked against the broken shed,

its faded paint and musty seat

forgotten within the muddy yard;

a relic of disregard.


“Everything Must Go”,

or so the big sign said.


The wild-eyed yearling steers,

corralled in the dusty stockyard,

bellow with the steady beat

of the...

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Sunrise Sea

For island nations there is always a magical tension between land and sea.

Sunrise Sea

From the clifftop I watched the blackness

absolute (or so I thought) as time

seemed endless. I swear, Celestine,

it might have gone on forever ….


The gale fairly whistled across my face,

cold as a second wife, while,

leaning exultantly forward, I prepared to fly.


Then, over t...

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Shakespeare's Flowers

I wrote this piece a couple of years ago while living near Stratford. On visiting the town I was surprised by the crass commercialism that had seeped in since my previous visit. I imagined the town as it might have been in the Bard's time - possibly just as busy with life and living as now! This tale is of course mere idle speculation.


Shakespeare's Flowers

In Stratford-upon-Avon, by a ...

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River Bells Ringing

River Bells Ringing


the moon behind clouds

confesses her place

her hiding space

till the clouds away

fly startled and fay

like a night bird sleeping

in a peppermint tree

and the river bells ringing

g major and clear

and ringing the changes

and plain bob minor

peals his ranges

deals truth from lies

and the river boat rocking

to the river bells ringi...

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Grace and Favour

Grace and Favour

For all that a life that's truly led

provides the anxious soul with balm,

yet a gentle breeze, invisible and calm,

precedes the storm where the meek have fled.


In Summer's graceful darkling glides the hawk

in flight over burnished grain, 'till late

a final stoop unearths its prey: its fate

the slashing shadows where the killers stalk.


Though se...

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