Arts Articles
Odessa Cathedral, July 2023
The rash of wounded cities spreads across the map; I walk Odessa in my mind once more, to join a festival of loss, of torn-up friendships in a poisoned land. Into this sacred space we came together with knees which faithful bent, with lips which kissed the antique ikon of...
Neediness
Some things you may not need any more than an earthworm needs a toothpick. And some needs can be habits in which you’ve snuggled far too comfortably. Of course, some people might assert that you need to mend your ways – to suit their...
The worship of nature
The harp at Nature’s advent strung Has never ceased to play; The song the stars of morning sung Has never died away. And prayer is made, and praise is given, By all things near and far; The ocean looketh up to heaven, ...
Poem: Barcelona blues
The polar bears have flown to Barcelona for their summer break. Sit sipping sangria on the Ramblas, loll on promenades in hats and shades, tourists like the rest of us.
Words for the end of the day
Before sleep can sweep your face with its cloak, cradle in your heart the passing day: re-run all you did, with whom you spoke: what memories to take away, what lessons learnt? Those you love, go round them, each in turn, friends too and some you know less well, share,...
Prayer
Love letters to what I can’t imagine, letters that shape-change into loops and twists I didn’t mean to write, finding the best words and letting them go.
Fish tank
In an instant, every inch of existence lapsed. Small and infinite, my eyes gasped, sightless, nerves snipped, no sound passed through me. As if some greater one had tapped the glass, my being blinked. My self, more than my element, lacked notion, was a stillness beyond any sense of motion ...
Our ghosts, our machines
The objective was programmed into the machine without preferences: Cross, Skull Hill. Nails. Gethsemane was a divergence under stars, a tinge of unsmelt olive. The weeping friends were surplus. The kiss, unfelt, barely fulfilled its intended direction. The cross was not particularly heavy. Sacrifice seemed an inelegant equation.
Our ghosts, our machines
The objective was programmed into the machine without preferences: Cross, Skull Hill. Nails. Gethsemane was a divergence under stars, a tinge of unsmelt olive. The weeping friends were surplus. The kiss, unfelt, barely fulfilled its intended direction. The cross was not particularly heavy. Sacrifice seemed an inelegant equation.
4am
A pencil of light pokes its way between the curtains. Plays upon your eyelids. You wake. Slowly your mind unscrambles. Your body moves stiffly towards the morning. Time future, past, present assemble. A choreography of space unfolds. A woodpigeon sings on a tree, somewhere. The patterns of yesterday’s fears...