When the earth was correcting
our cabled bodies were sprawled
irreparable, most sensory inputs
disconnected, transmissions down,
smashed by careless hands wielding
boulders. When networks were down,
when communities were rewiring
like dust scattered in sunbeams,
We stayed immobile in deserts,
newly separate and confused
listening to automated number
stations, comfort in the night.
Looking through my drafts recently, I realised this one was never posted. Pascal Vine was asking for prompts a while back, so I gave them the prompt “All we listened to was...
CW: Body harm
Drowned in newspaper and glue,
I have forgotten my real face.
I have been here before, I know.
Not just this town square, but this
same moment, repeated endlessly.
Versions of myself concatenate.
Routes taken become smudges
around the square. Termina
is quiet today. Everyone bracing.
I’m too late, the sky too close.
I almost fall into the orbit
of that hideous moon. I can see
each tooth, each blood vessel
popping from yellow eyes. My time
is squandered again. I stand firm
Do you remember the first time
you saw those mountains? How they
towered above you? Do you remember
your unbounded freedom, how paths
lay before you, infinite in choice,
how the sun spun above you and grass
regrew at your feet? How you would play
your strange instrument to bring forth
new light upon the surface of Hyrule?
Now, you have become an adult, changing
within seconds, your childhood abandoned.
You do not remember when you grew so tall,
when the clouds gathered, the sky darkened,
Don’t climb up those ancient stone steps
carved into the slope of our tallest mountain
up to that egg that sits on the summit,
the size of a temple. You don’t need
to draw those eight strange instruments
or watch them hover in the air before you
to play a melody you always knew, no
hands strumming strings, no breath over
the reeds. You could simply stay here.
Isn’t it better to remain safe within
the dreaming, even if it is not your own?
Don’t you want to leave the...
Hello, here is where you can find me elsewhere on the internet:
Taken from listings for the End of the Road festival in Bristol In Stereo magazine, March 2020
After yesterday’s post, I happened to be reading The People’s History of the United States by Howard Zinn. He writes about the reaction to the protests about Columbus statues in the nineties:
This aroused anger among defenders of the old history, who derided what they called a movement for “political correctness” and “multiculturalism”. They resented the critical treatment of Western expansion and imperialism, which they considered an attack on Western civilisation.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Every country is deluded in how they narrate the past. No history is complete and each history is a story shaped to make the narrators feel better. But I think here in Britain, we are more deluded than most.
Taken from Crack magazine, March 2020 s
From her vantage point of the second highest branch, Cassie saw it first, growing over the horizon like a bruise. She often spent afternoons by herself in the garden, away from the noise of the house- The music pounding from her brother Jamie’s closed door, Sampson barking at nothing, the rumbling of the ancient boiler. Her parents constantly screaming at each other. Or worse, being polite through gritted teeth. Cassie preferred the relative silence of the garden. Birds might chirrup at each other, but it never sounded angry. For most of the Easter holidays, she had got into the habit...
Taken from a review of Angel Olsen in Bristol In Stereo March edition
Good morning to this Zinnia and this Zinnia only
You may notice my website looks a little different. I have moved it from Wordpress to Jekyll, teaching myself rudimentary HTML and CSS in the process. I changed a template by DpStrange, modifying it to fit my needs. I also transferred all 278 (!) blog posts over. I honestly hadn’t realised I’d done so many, but then I’ve been working at this blogging game for the last four years. I’m pleased with the results, but it you see a problem or coding issue please let me know.
If it hadn’t been for lockdown I probably wouldn’t have started such...
What good is this scattering over the grass,
this gold and white confetti, these eyes
opening at dawn and closing in the twilight?
These are Freya’s flowers and she is welcome
to them. We have no use for blooms. Callous gods,
you cannot substitute one beauty for another.
What help is protection now? Your garlands
are mere distractions, we have no desire
to chew on the pollen, fill our mouths
with bitter medicine. Left long enough
the petals blister our skin, we become
sun scaled. Spread them no more,...
They also sent me an mp3 of the song and I’ve uploaded it to SoundCloud. Find that here. What they’ve done with my poem is really powerful but the whole live stream is really cool.