has audio files
ooh like the lucked out composition of this snap, nowt of import!
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a wraith like sea fret which serpent sways over the land, ocean belch, light which candy floss clings… to everything, incandescence
bird song all trill and arpeggio… sound as tho a bathe in soup, passive, absorbent… in contrast to gimlet eyes which rove, swivel, focus
‘bruise mottled mongst the purple sprouting broccoli’… snow day… sea dip … in bocca al lupo!
after, nestled within the fresh lurid-delic fronds of fractal sea kale
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the hillside and the hedgerows, flower splattered white… a wild cavort of blackthorn blossom
the sea, slate grey with a metallic ooze and sheen
spring leaves me breathless, don’t blink! a slow motion swallow dive through majesty.
on grey, cold rain days you can feel it stronger, as tho the cloak of green is wrapped even closer, everything a shimmer with this life patina, smells somehow swollen, colour enchanted by contrast
yesterday daughter and i invented a new circular walk around slaugham (‘low muddy place’), whilst searching for the near legendary source of the ouse …the river that, lazily, eventually, flows past my front door
ancient church, mill pond, moated ruins… nut hatch, clown faced gold finch, periwinkles galore, goose, goat willow
ha, mbe spring be: beep beep, huzzah! a fiat draped in the italian colours, driven at top speed around and around the fountain, italia 90, ecstatic cacophony of honking!
cold as brassica monkeys?
colours? yes! purple and green are a beautiful combination x
wood anemones, a carpet of them, spread throughout the wild wood
white flowers, tumbled down, fallen stars, each set to shiver beneath the gentle breeze
Sunday, i was out around sunset, the lilac hour, hurtle slap dash along the cuckoo trail on my bike, custard sunshine
the cuckoo trail is an old disused Rail Line, turned to a carefree (car free!) bike trail… hs2 we’re looking at youuu!
bluebells are, of course, the justly lauded, pinnacle of the spring…
yet wood anemones, a month earlier, are harbingers of wonder, daubed about with yellow clumps, posies of primroses, they flower just as the hornbeams and beeches quiver to leaf
it feels like the folk of the fae are nearby… apparently anemones are a sure sign of ancient woodland, as they spread at the laggardly, haste free, slug pace of six feet per hundred years!
the wild woods are the oldest beings in Britain, intricate, woven across the centuries, sacred… you can’t churn them up and replace with a sterile, orderly phalanx of conifers, bollox to that
anemone, wind flower, from the Greek god of gales, associated also with the gush splash of Aphrodite’s tears over the corpse of Adonis (gotta love wikipedia!)
conjure with the notion of sea anemones? bristled, fronds flung out, nibble feeding from the ocean current
cooking dinner, i practice my wood anemone shiver dance ™, clap trap of ambient rave from the radio… this the predictable lament… woe, woe, tis a long long time since i have been out dancing!
aw i miss the hot fug of bodies deep beneath the groove… ha, yes, i miss the applause! oh how i miss the applause
Flaps: 
There’go. Proves I read til the end too x
Ha! I’m impressed (and somewhat shocked) Such gruel and stamina! I relish and enjoy my bountiful bilge as I compose it, but tend to forget what I’ve said straight after! Xx
Rhonna: You are my only poetic pal,lovely! I saw just a photo on your f b page the other day , and I thought….where’s the prose?! Now you’re back to normal! 
ha! apols to disappoint! was probs just dumbstruck or ‘hey ho’ work busy… seldom silent for long (malheuresement!).. hope all good with family out west? … we should deffo have a cave-ie reunion this summer! i’m often out devon way at my sisters xx
miniscule, from but a mote, a forest of tomătoes!
first of this years seedlings… probably a smidgin late, but plenty of time!
season for the sowing of seeds
once i am swimming midst a lake, a glut of pomodoro, i will have forgotton the curious intricacy of process
‘create the right conditions’… here last years saved seeds, soil, water, light, warmth… simple serene
except that neglects the haphazard nature of the whole palaver…
the seedlings are up by my work computer in the loft, so i watch them eagerly whilst i work… benthams panopticon?
at first absolutely, bloody bolloxy, absolutely nothing happens! for days on end… is that a speck of an iota of jissom?
its like heisenbergs uncertainty principle, the ferocity of of my glower, seems to inhibit their growth?
so i have taken to pretending to be half interested in something else, focussing on the serene production of alpha waves in my brain
suddenly turning around, to catch them out … its like racing slime moulds
or when on vipassana, at sunset, when i could literally see the universe, every atom, breathing in and out of being… swayambhunath… the self arisen
oops i’m bored with my own words, even as i write them, sense slides away from anything i intended to say, which, i guess, is part of the fun?…
as ever i’ve been listening to several audio books at once, this week its ursula k le guin, john o’donohue and paddy leigh fermor… such fascinating writers! the richness of thought… a true blessing
also, quite a few lockdown babes being born this spring. fabulous!
who you calling ‘three eyes’…
its a super video… had forgotten how good it was
tantalising
early morning. spring. sunshine. rattling along on my bike, all lopsided enthusiasm and exorbitant pant.
for me, the epitome of freedom
today for a sea swim (well more but a genteel bob in the briney)… a broad smudge of endorphins… shriek, numb, bristle
yesterday flummoxed up the cliffs, hazel catkins, lichen, the mesmeric solemn chant of wood pigeons
of course, slumber back into this yoke, of thought, responsibilities
yet, world is always, unspoken, on the cusp of something.
tantalising
Hanna: You’re a true poet, enchanting it all
thanks lovely!
i enjoy jotting them down, and usually reading them back! in some moods they just flow, they usually feel beautiful, but seldom important
probs how it is with you and music?!
been meaning to reply for ages, a lull in the busy so will do in a day or so! xxx
Rhonna: You’re brave(swimming in the sea at this time of year…well,..any time of year!), and surviving! I thought about joining my pals for wild water swimming, but my body is protesting at even the thought of it!
do it! it’s not even that cold
tho truth be told i am protected by plumpness… so my advice is ‘eat more pies’ vegan ones pref, oh and listen to manu chao (no reason, just becoz)
most of the cold is over super quickly its just the far flung fingers and toes that really feel it
oh and blustery days are rubbish, cut to shreds by wind chill on emerging
i always think, oh i should listen to wim hoff or something (a cranked up dutch version of brian blessed) or get a dry robe… but totally never bother
old school, wooly swimming togs all you need! xx
equinox blessings… hail the harmonious equipoise of the sun disk (here represented by peanut butter on oat cake)
a zombie stumble out of winter, grateful for the balance of light and darkness, the glorious exuberance of spring. gosh gush x
bleaggh peanut butter on oat cake, a frugal, cupboards are bare, breakfast… possibly the driest substance known to man?
more desiccated than the surface of mars… which is supposedly reasonably soggy!
cheerfully bored, hence the likelihood of selfies… the tulips were a mothers day present for mum, but she sent them back with me, due to a glut from the other siblings
oh no ‘november rain’, guns and roses, has just come up on random shuffle. bilge! time to get up and out into the day
…it is in fairness a very very long playlist and i sporadically add a rubbish song, just because i can
tree of stars, tree of kisses, woven from bird song and delight
the humble blackthorn, its majestic explosion, through blossom, into glory
prunus, yes, hmm prunus what? latin genus neglected, for me it shall be: prunus flagrante!
five petalled, eternal symbol of venus aphrodite
the waft of almond and cyanide, underscored by the aroma of Ransoms from the island… fetid, fruity
a dangle-age of catkins, the riverbank is home to alder, hazel, willow
alders still stuck over with last years cones, chameleon prismatic tree, observed from most directions, it is sparrow brown, cheerful, yet something of the dowd
yet, walk close spun around, suddenly it catches the light – pouts purple… a soul which blinks indigo
by the river all is the fresh foam, bubbles, the drift of maya
hazel, quicksilver skittish, ever bright shining
whilst willow, the first in the race to leaf, grass snake medusa green
yes, but poke a willow wand somewhere in the earth, it will leap to leaf, such the regenerative potency
spring is a current, flowing, flowing through the land
and i? why, whilst washing up, mired in thought, my litany of sorrows, the ledgers of resentment, strictly tallied
and yet my body, a swift jitterbug staccato, gyrate, pirouette then body pop!… caught up by cadence and foible… the river of spring flows even here
if you could know music, you would whistle an unheralded tune…
but i glory more in dance … 3 times, i repeat the physical refrain… a spell in sinew, a postulation… this, the importance of acting out
a half smile, my mind dwells momentarily on it, as though following through a chess strategy ‘hoppety knight jostles reluctant bishop?’
then, well, shake it off… shake it off baby!
hunched over desk, mind quagmired in code
yet somewhere, i am walking, this pilgrim stride, onwards, onwards to avalon
brow turned upwards to the light
eyes of stars, eyes of kisses, woven from bird song and delight
it is spring
urbane. (kurt urbane? nevermind)
paste up, plenty of ganesha graffiti around town, the elephant schnozzed remover of obstacles… a face fit for the zeitgeist
i’ve been missing the urban environment, fun under most circumstances..
praha was often at its best, meandering home across karlov most, suprised at dawn, nights of bleary extravagance
freewheelin’ around town on my bike, custard sunshine, today… the place curiously half empty, lacking herds, hordes and throng… bikes down kensington gardens!
the first lockdown had the feel of zombie apocalypse, now after this long winter, more the ennui of enuff
cycled in from saltdean along the undercliff, astonishing the vocal range of the ocean … swoosh, gurgle, seethe, plop, splosh… sumptuous sunset light on the way home
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burbling ever on, a curious week of aunts funeral, work, sea swim and howell road zoom reunion… 36 years, crikey!
Finn… Lago di Garda April 2002
aw rummaging through old photos, always loved this one of Finn forlorn, a cold rainy day, on holiday in italy
of course, his expression sums up how many of us are feeling through this socially bereft, thin gruel of a winter, well me anyway!
yet nostalgia a more curious beast… remember…
the sun has set behind the looming hills, sky coaxes, then summons colours from the water, turquoise and tangerine
all is serene, a gentle, benign lapping, as a coast dweller i am so used to the qualms of restless water
Finn and I are down on the waters edge, showing him how to skim stones
owl hoots, rhymes and doggerel, building snow men… and stone skipping… a beauty to share fun things with our kids… reminds us, of course, of those who lovingly first taught us
the beach is littered with a myriad of plate smithereens! all blue willow pattern fragments, as tho there had been a frenzied exstasis of crockery smashing! that, or this the site of an old pottery factory?
picking some of the larger fragments, their soft heft, the way they sit, cocked, between finger and palm… surface, blue ink tattooed, super smooth, with a frazzle puzzled glaze
too beautiful to hurl? but we are mightier, more marvelous, by that which we throw away
flat stones. flat lake. perfect.
skip… skip… skip… skip… kersplosh
mind follows this stone weave, away, gentle, softening to this, the distance of memory
crikey, only a year ago, yet with all the yawn of lockdown glumness and isolation, feels like several lifetimes
i look so fresh faced and youthful!… well in contrast to gandhi anyway… better hair too, yeah ping pong ball head… there not be many folk i can say that to!
on my way to the giddy throng, the hubbub hullabaloo of sunset in the great shiva fire temple
tiruvannamalai, tamil nadu, i first learnt to pronounce the city by practising with tiramisu and timbuctu (too)
on this day i had loitered amongst the serenity of the Sri Ramana ashram… then followed the trail barefoot (no shoes holy mountain!) to his meditation cave perched part way up Arunachala…
when i got to the temple, no entry in shorts, so had the giggle of buying pyjama troosers in an indian department store, 10 amused staff at my beck and call… masala dosa with basha and some absurdly ornate ornamental goldfish
then finally to the inner sanctum… not much tops the thrill of a southern indian temple city!
today tho, a jaunt up the cliffs, all is mild and muchly waterlogged… birds starting to sing… they believe in the spring?