Category Archives: Creativity

i had spent years already in doing edges those neat pieces that line up so well. that sense of achievement and something quickly coming together. i’d sorted them so carefully. they fitted together beautifully and i was beginning to be … Continue reading →

if i sat every afternoon for two years in the same corner where you sat, i could not draw down such shapes as regularly visit you from the dark and turbulent air like the kettle of questions on the boil … Continue reading →

For years she sold cabbage. Red cabbage, green cabbage, Garlic and ginger, big white radishes, beetroot and celery – only certain kinds of vegetables – cut with a big knife on a board at the back of her stall. She … Continue reading →

I needed to know exactly where I was going. And then I remembered why. Always, going to new places, I gave you the grid-reference. You tracked me from base with your Daily Mail map. There is no longer any need. … Continue reading →

Days of long light, Here, between green hills, A place where water Names the stones and trees. Ancient harmonies sing from the rock – Keys of sparkling mica, quartz and schist. Opening out, the patterns of my mind Shift, slow … Continue reading →

The tide is running out on the beach of who I am. The sand is exposed to the sky. I feel the wind and the sun, the water and the cold. I am the ridges left my rippling water. 29 … Continue reading →

I want to know in my bones the earth I am. I want to pour myself into all the crevices like water. I want to be consumed by the fire, until only ashes remain. I want to be free, like … Continue reading →

Small steps climb high mountains. Eyebrows speak softly to storms 20 June 2002 (“What a poem leaves behind”, after William Stafford)

Twice I’d set out and turned back, afraid. I wanted to visit this god of the land. Town-bred timidity kept me on well-worn paths, but the third time I knew. I had to go on. Fascination drew me. Twisting and … Continue reading →

Nothing from the old – Is that what I’m to learn? That the old pages must be burned and I must step out new onto these harsh white spaces held only by the thin grey feint? Not held. But swinging … Continue reading →