while you slept, cradled for the night in this Universe- your precious breath watched over by Guardian Angels -dreams of your sleep were gathered together and stored forever.
they say they are going to clone a Mammoth, bring one back to life, because we were the reason for its extinction. We cannot look after the Elephants, what makes us think we will look after the Mammoth a second time around.
I really came close to not being here at all, several times, in fact, on my Earthly journey around the stars I very nearly gave up the Ghost of me into eternal realms, having experienced near fatal consequences at age four and also aged nineteen.
Winter has been seemingly longer this past season or perhaps I have entered a new experience of Winter that now will play out for who knows how long, how many long Winters yet to come, maybe something to do with me reaching the Earth age that I now am, maybe.
wishing to be gone from here comes around every now and then and I am not talking suicide but am talking the reality of things; made for something so much more, consequently wishing to be gone from this existence, is totally understandable.
this is at time of growing excitement having lived through another dark long Winter our small Island vast Summer is about to burst a kaleidoscope of light and new life
growing steadily older surrounded by the waters of a Sea and Ocean that meet where our archipelago sits you are never deprived of sheer simple beauty in a myriad of forms.
living like clockwork in a digital world 39 years of last centuries baggage hauled around a history in a different skin, a muddled mind counting on the abacus chasing the decimal point now relying on a co-pilot known as personal AI
patchwork fields heavy with lambs kicking up their heels and the gambolling calves all in a creche watched over by aunts all new born this spring all from the wellspring all from the deeps of mystery brand new to the skies of the World and of the Universe.
its not to everybody that to write is 'life' finding a degree of belonging within 'words' a happy equilibrium when penning verse or any such writings presenting themselves almost daily.
idyll when the Sun is shining sea flat calm blue- sister of endless blue skies. Sounds of bird song- Gulls returning from the hunt, Oyster catchers sing out- orange beaked, Curlews endless calling. All waiting now Summers unfolding wings; her bounteous free giving.
it is never pleasant to be persecuted especially by a well practised charlatan- for their own insecurities. All one can do is offer it up- and hope for deliverance in Gods own good time.