Category: music
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10.10: The Last Clear Map
To Avignon: The Last Clear Map 28 September (waiting in ferry queue at Newhaven)I.maps dream in the gloveboxthe sunrise is our compassour clocks are made of salt II.the sea pulls at usaway from white cliffs writinglove letters in chalk 29 SeptemberI.journey’s labyrinth —coins, a prayer, the bells ring,my soul leaves, fed by light. 30 SeptemberI.black…
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8 Oct: A Six – The Book of 27
22 of 27: Thundershade – a Colour once felt, not seen—Faith in resonance, sight through storm Thundershade — Faith in resonance, sight through storm The night was blind-thick with silence and hidden behind clouds — then came thunder crawling through the walls, low and certain, and she knew the storm was already standing on the…
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8.10: A Six Sentence Story
The Small Matter at the Aire de la Clermont-Ferrand Rest Stop The cubicle door springs open with a bang, and a woman emerges; our eyes meet in a flash of mutually accusatory side-eye, wads of loo roll fill both of her hands. “French toilets,” she drawls with a weary little heaven-tilt of the head, the…
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7.10: Journal of Thoughts
Credo at Chartres Cathedral I was the pilgrimwhose heart beats in time with the rose window.A woman with a student’s mind—always hungry,always questioning the authority of dust,turning history over in her palmlike a strange, worn coin. A woman with a memory—not just recalling, but re-weaving,feeling the roots beneath the cathedral,hearing the spring’s songthrough the stone.…
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25.09: A Six Sentence Story
Seven Seven: prime, indivisible, stubbornly herself. She is a parenthesis of grace, a question mark of sunlight — “Can you do this?” she asks as she unfolds into a perfect split on the kitchen tiles, a compass toward joy and impossibility. Her hair is a midnight river streaked with ribbons — not just purple, but…
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23 Sept: A Six – The Book of 27
21 of 27: Mourngale – The Colour of Unbroken Song Mapping the Riverbed Winter had settled into the seams of the house that morning—our quarrel lost to the iron’s hiss, as I pressed three shirts, their cotton wrinkling like elephant skin under my restless, riverless hands. Life was steady, yes — he worked, I worked…
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19 Sept: A Six Sentence Story
Crow A crow bows its head over a weathered day, hooked beak probing this, that, and memory. Its black ribs stitch the horizon as rain threads the air, dissolving the field beyond into a smudge of ash. Crow, pilot of the deepening gloom. Crow blackness of feathers drinking in greyness — a moving void against…
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19 Sept: Journal of Thoughts
The Sea Soft as a held breath, it speaks —pebbles learning rhythm,each stonea lifetime smoothedand given back. The sun rests behind a veil,its gentle mercy,not wanting to scorch. Wind and water barter secrets,a salt and hush trade in tides.And he stands listening,a child of this quiet moment, so let the sound wash your bones —those,…
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18 Sept: A Thursday Door
A Chinese Jueju poem * Door facing door—no path seems clear,One room holds grace, one room’s a mirror.I reach the hall to seek a way out,And open a door… to my former self. *Jueju means “cut-off verse” and is a very concise poetic form. It contains four lines (a quatrain). Each line typically has five…
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17 Sept: Journal of Thoughts
Verdict Wind Blink—and it’s raining cats and dogs,clouds inked in bruisesgallopingacross a sky. The crow shrieks —sparrows vanish mid-flight. It gives pause.A flutter.A missed beat. I count them on beads —knotted threads soakedwith intention. Was it us?Was it them?Why does this wind feel like a verdict? It pulls at the hem of the world,whispers under…
It's Still Life 