Snow fed spring streams,
between granite peaks,
Coniferous forest,
Illuminated,
the early morning earth,
Awoken slowly,  
Sun rising.

Upland where deer roam;
Between forests and rock face.
The morning air is in warming,
and the light frost
is in rapid retreat

time  a lone stone mason
wind willed,
the dunes retreat,
wave on wave eternal.

let nothing be lost upon you,
Keep your plans a secret.
Save yourself for someone else.

My rules obscure of course,
I waited patiently.
Doe eyed admiration.
Two months or eight weeks,
At ease within your orbit.

Beneath a milky pearl          
For those who live away from this, it may be hard to picture the open ocean at night as a place of solace. With underlying  currents and precious little hope of salvation, it's understandable people are confused by my claim. But deep        
into the evening, when the only natural night is reflected                                                  
like a milky pearl in the murky waters a veil is lifted.                                            
Where as upon dry land, all manner of thoughts serve to                                      
distract upon the water it is remarkably different. Life is distilled significantly,
hauling in lobster pots becomes all important other
wise pressing issues are relegated, into mere trivialities.
The distant shimmer of porch lights serves to subtly remind
of why exactly,  your alone in a boat three hundred meters
atleast out to sea. In my opinion atleast there is has been  
no conflict of interest so great it could not find an                                  
amicable conclusion after a period spent discussing it upon                              
the silent ocean.                              
                       It is always worth keeping in mind,                    
exactly how liable to change the scene is. When viewed from                                  
afar on wind smeared winter evenings, from the comfort of a living                          
living room with loved one it's beauty laid bare for all to appreciate,
it's potential for malice concealed.


As swallows swoop skyward, and the temperature creeps ever higher
the green August fields feel
furthest, from the diminished days of winter.
For me atleast this highlights well how much things are liable to
change given time. In life as well as nature nothing is set in stone,
for even mountains overtime will retract or rise albeit far to slowly for us
mere mortals to truly appreciate. This is always best bared in mind when faced with
great adversity or personal heartache, that eventually even though
it may seem implausible things will change.

I have often heard from all manner of                                    
people that they are envious of us, those whom make a            
living from the ocean. Although I've always thought there romantic
image holds far more allure than reality, which at times
can be far worse than a busy day at the office.
I've heard before how those with jobs relating to the land,
seem a little more at peace with it all.
More willing to understand maybe
this has always always made me think                          
Clearly those who say such  have spent little time with nature,
Or just not long enough to appreciate the subtle changes which slip landscapes new seasons. The first arrival of seasonal visitors, they                                          
do not smile secretly at the sight of springs first solitary                                  
swallow, arrived from deepest Kenya.

Coming up for air

All manner of characters congregate in airport terminals, there's simply no scene sweeter than a lovesick twenty something staring intently at the door arrivals stroll through. A dozen red roses in hand, and a palatable sense of anticipation and to think, they say romance is dead. I would sit at my desk and watch the same stories play out at least a dozen times a week. The international student, the hopelessly devoted and but of course the people bound by babies and obligation. The spectrum of human emotions on display is by far the most attractive aspect of my occupation, I use the term occupation loosely. I enjoyed talking and asking and watching the smiling faces. If anyone tells you airports are depressing places they've clearly never spent too much time seated outside arrivals it's impossible (for me at least) to not feel lifted by another's joy, call it osmosis.



To most ambitiously minded young people, there is little sense of anticipation for a life lived ordinarily, who dreams of excel spreadsheets? Who tells themselves that in fifteen years time they will pass the same faces from school in shopping centres or swimming pools without batting an eye lid. Though for the lucky few born where they can stay without fear of hunger, persecution or poverty it is hard to appreciate properly the advantages they are born with. It's easy to look past the place you call home. You spend forever thinking of distant lands with foreign food without ever really giving any time to appreciate the place you were born, the satellite town off an anonymous motorway people have traversed continents to call there new home.  It always amazes me how as the people, living with the fruit of centuries worth of social progress, still yearn and complain incessantly. I suppose it's a collective cross to bare for all concerned, we who were lucky enough to be born here, take for granted the things people leave lives behind for. Technological advances have created an almost impossible situation to anyone who happened to live and did before the Internets inception. The almost instantaneous access to news and information has not expanded intelligence or fuelled fires of deep interest, a constant access to news has only served to harden us significantly to the world in which we inhabit. I think it would be short sighted and remarkably naive to say we are the first of human kind to grow complacent, admittedly it's not great but it's a lot closer than it was for anyone before us.  For some it takes a flirtation with disaster, or the loss of a loved one to realise exactly how little we appreciate exactly what we have, for me at least it was a few months working in an airport.

all fingers and thumbs as always,
I minding myself and staring,
watching other people dancing.

the Arabian Sea spread out,
like a table,
beneath a thousand tiny tea lights
shimmering distant invitations.

we wade in wide eyed,
the waves lapping at thighs,
the scene set the cliche continued
all salt water and mystery,
you kissed me.

wading graceful,
hand wrapped in hand,
back to your room.
the anticipation overwhelms me.

No warm shower in six long,
hot subcontinental weeks.
I surrendered my soul to lust,
and long deep meaningful kissing.

fraught like war torn lovers,
With a promise to keep, until
over we sleep angelic blissful
post ******, a blissful sleep ensues

I was opened up all unexpected, the moon and it's lunar glory laid out before me.
People always passing regardless, for all of your highs and all of your lows the world will continue unaffected. Through the park passing houses waking up and eating breakfast, time waits for no man! There is certainly an allure in isolation, for three and a half years I would work the night shift, leaving for work as everyone else was sat down comfortable before football matches or soaps only to return as the last moments of dreamtime were being enjoyed only to be eroded by alarm clocks and waking obligation.
In deepest midwinter between st Stephens day and the new year, when the whole world would exists (apparently) in some eternal festive stupor those lucky enough to work 9-5 jobs and enjoy there weekends will never truly appreciate everything this period is. There's no finer reminder of the carefree existence a good childhood can afford, than having to ensure on Boxing Day you drink precious little to ensure you shall be able to rise for work at 4:50 am the next day. No amount of turkey or cliche television viewing will make up for it, none whatsoever. An deep rooted bitterness forms like a pool of water on a frosty night it soon hardens, as plans are laid out in anticipation of the forthcoming festivities, no I won't be in attendance. I will not drink, I will not dance, I will not be a shoulder to cry on when all the world the world seems evil. I'll be watching the clock and silently seething, hoping above all some great misfortune falls upon all those fortunate enough to enjoy Christmas properly. A broken ankle? a premature end to  relationship? I could hardly be classified as picky when it comes to planning others peril, I just want everyone to be as upset as I am.

When the world weighs heaviest, and sleepless evenings are standard I often walk. Without anything of worth I can walk for hours in any direction. The road at night affords reflection,  I've always been a sucker for romance and well really is there anywhere which can offer more romance than the open road? I've always felt personally a deep attachment to the horizon, all that promise. I remember as a child staring upon it with a sense of reverent awe, between the high rise flats a hill.  Matterhorn it ain't but who is anyone to define beauty anyway? I would often find myself gravitating toward the golf course in the darkness contrary to popular belief (in my opinion atleast) dark parks are the safest place at night. You become an unknown entity, it's a simple logic who would be brave enough to walk in the park at night? who would approach or engage with a solo walker in the evening in the park? It's quite simply a risk not worth taking for most . Is there no greater reminder of eternity than the M25? to stare upon it is a subtle reminder that no matter what happens people will still be going somewhere and for me atleast that beats standing still. A line of white lights stretching out deep into the distance
shining bright forever and always.

atop an azure ocean
old Polynesian pearl
Omnipresent Overwhelming.
Illuminating all before it,
Waves glow soft,
pushed and pulled
by lunar cycles.
Once the sun slumps dormant,
the evening air a world away
from a swollen summer afternoon.




Leave me in stone!
Quartz or Marble.
I've never been fussy,
Anything to ensure,
my name remains mentioned
when my bones are only barely there.



The bayeux tapestry.

Crafted by artisans
Pulled by times tide
Eternity echoed in cloth.

Faces faded expression empty
Tales told only so long
Swordsman standing ready,
Baying for blood forever.

Wild joy when stared upon,
replaced by dull admiration
Oh how things change!



The tactician.

The tactician casts his able gaze,
upon his silent subject.
All manner of analysis ensues,
there are many factors to consider.
This he knows more than most.