Category: Journal
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27 June: Calder’s Circus of Air
A choreography of shadow and balance. These poems trace the kinetic hush of Alexander Calder’s mobiles: laughter forged in wire, physics caught mid-lilt, and the unseen air that puppeteers grace from stillness. Best read with music that understands whimsy and weightlessness. Hit play, then read. Calder’s Circus of Air Imagine the shape of laughtercast in…
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23 June: Journal of Thoughts
Liturgy for a Southern Virginia Rain I. The Invocation of Rainit falls through the sieve of live oak,birch, and maple—not a baptism so much asa mending.Each drop stitches the airto the earthwith threads of warm silver. II. And Then the Chasea cursive argument betweentwo lizards, they dart acrossthe fence’s warped spine— they know what we…
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19 June: Journal of Thoughts
Baptism in Green Ink The forest pours itselfinto your lungs—petrichor sacrament,rain’s wet loom weavingyour hair with the oak’sslow, conspiratorial gossip. Cicadas drive golden nailsinto the hour’s spine.You, half-woman, half-wanting,let thunder tune your ribsto its grey-tongued timpani. And the green—oh, that vicious green—how it sculpts your mindinto a cathedral of moss,how shadows lick their teethbefore kneeling…
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17 June: Journal of Thoughts from Last Week
A few weeks ago, a flail mower came through the lane. This is what remains. And After the Flail Mower, the Wind Said … the earth knows grief—how it pools in your palms like rainwater,heavy with severed rootsand the startled silence of neststorn open too soon. You are allowed this sorrow—because the world tries to…
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14 June: Journal of Thoughts from Last Week
On the Drive Back We took a right off Mount Pleasant,onto Battlefield Boulevard—past Redeemer Church,the Stars-and-Stripes postboxtilted like it’s listening to ghosts,past the 45 signbent sometime in the nightby someone who didn’t quitemake the elbow turn. Two lefts and a right—past the woman mowingthe white heads off cloverlike she’s trimming memory,past the tree that refuses…
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23.05: Journal of Thoughts
Peripherals The centre dissolves—but the edges bloomwild and electric.A flicker of moth-wing,the sly grin of doorframesas the world reshufflesinto a deck of half-guesses. Vision now meanswatching the airdance with whatit won’t let you hold. There are memoriesstill tattooed on your lids.Let the periphery preachits gospel of shadows—each blur a velvet rebellionagainst the sun’s sharpness. And…
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15.05: Journal of Thoughts
A Journal of Thoughts from This Week 13 May – walking on Lower Lodge Gill, West Sussex The flail mower growls through the lane—it’s a starved thing,metal teeth gnashing cow parsley and nettles into pulp,spitting out splinters, limbs, stalks and petals—confetti—a wedding and war all at once. Casualties counted in flashes of sight—a shrew’s twitching…
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14 May: Journal of Thoughts
While Lightning Took Apart the Sky While lightning took apart the sky,and rain fell in muddy lustre—morning arrived. Pockets of light and clouds splitting their seams open, and even crows paused their voices,stuffed with static and an aftertaste of storm. I set the table—knives and forks,and plates with edges to the horizon—and tea and toast…
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A Few Hours with Joe Bonamassa
Where music lives not just in the ears, but in the bones—sometimes shattering boundaries to write new stories within. Joe Bonamassa — Brighton Centre (27 April/25) Second row; first two seats on the left of the centre block—we’re close enough to see a trickle of sweat. The lights search the room, then settle on the…
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23.04: A Letter to Yureth
FIVE SONGS FOR YURETH – Not Fire, But Forging Dawn licks the edges of what we almost know—brushstrokes and inkblots,the way a halo fractures—into 27 syllables. No Book ever taught us that. We are not making myths.We are peeling back the skyto find where we left them. FATE? (a quadrille of 44 words) To spin…
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