Just sit in the warmth of love. This is not a hippie thought, not some exotic zen from far away. It is just the realisation that there are many people who care for you. They may not know you, not even have met you, but if you fall, they will come and help you up. We reside in a world of care.


The intention to pour and to receive
such simple straightforward formula
though the heaven and earth is moved
to achieve just one perfect connection.


Your experiences,
you take them in,
then you share them,
it’s like your soul is breathing experience


I gathered my thoughts
and I bundled them up
all neatly packaged away
no change of my mind
for what would I find
as they all look so neat this way
do not muddle my brain
my view will remain
as there is no room for new sir, good day!


I find it hard to imagine, what it must be like to live in a country shredded by war, every day to see suffering, every day to see death, every day the confusion and disgust at your brothers actions. These war ravaged children are not born of hate, they are born of love, thrown into a cauldron of terror. Witnessing of this every day closes hearts off, filling souls with fear and loathing. As what else can a heart do when they have witnessed generations of torment and grief? Who would not fear? Who would not hate?
In isolation the ignorant attempt to stop the bleeding fear, by opening more wounds, attempting to exorcise their fear with more death. The only cure is forgiveness, love and time.



It is early morning, waiting by the pier. A scattering of people bustle to and fro, but not many, the forecast says there is a storm on its way. What was once a humid morning has changed. There is a drop in temperature and the sky is painting emotionally. One side of the sky is clear, one side carries the darkest cloud, no furry edge, no wisp. Yin and yang part the sky dramatically.
The first flash lights the parade and sends people away to shelter, as the people retreat, the first rumble rolls in, lazily behind light.
The sun shyly hides now, behind the thickening cloud, the parade’s morning light is sucked away, the second lick of lightning lights the pier in blue, and then the count is two, as thunder’s rumble is catching up. Only the romantics remain, the fearful are all gone, the waiting will not abandon the crackling air.
From the darkness an intense powerful flash, sound teases then let’s out its explosion in one almighty crack, the storm is getting closer. Now a dark curtain hangs into view, already cleansing the ground no distance away, the surreal sight of a sky tsunami approaching. Jolts of light with a thunderous tail, the tingling air is swept away with the washing of the parade. Through the dark daggers of water, a single stranger approaches, teasing lightning with an umbrella. Once more the air is torn with sizzling light and growls. The stranger shares the shelter and says “Good morning, pleased to meet you”.

Dark feathered sentinels

Parking my car out in the country, I have the car park all to myself, this cool day has not attracted anyone else on this morning. A thin mist floats across the fields filtering the lazy morning sun, I climb out of the car and wipe down a dew drenched bench with my sleeve, take a seat and watch the colours change with the moving mist.
The cawing of crows greets my arrival, one inquisitive crow comes near and lands on a fence post near me, he looks at me. tilting his head and lining me up with his beady eye.
Do I look so sick and wounded?
Looking down I swing my feet, clearing the stones beneath the bench, clear the clutter around my heels and toes. grasping the bench alongside my legs I stretch my shoulders, deeply sigh and look back as the crow looks to me. He flaps and stretches his wing, rocks back and forth, and moves a little nearer, shuffling sideways along the wooden fence.
I look over my clothing to see if there is something that glints on me to hold his attention, a button or tag, but no sparkle is to be found on me at all.
I watch him as he watches me, then cawing loudly directly at me before taking flight towards me, landing on the bench’s arm, maybe he is usually fed, maybe that is it, an old lady must have visited, probably for many years, but today she is not here, sadly passed away, or I hope just busy on this day.
“Sorry crow, I have no food with me” I say to him, patting my pockets as if crows knew of pockets. He looks like he doubts me and turns his head from side to side, thinking, deciding what his next move should be. He lets out another caw, loud and jolting at such close quarters.
Thoughts of movies, of pecked out eyes enters my head, so I turn my head and look sideways across at him, he agitatedly flaps his wings and flies back to the fence.
The wooden bench is numbing me, so I stand and lean on the fence and admire the beautiful pink playing on the mist as it gently slips down the hill. The crow holds his ground shuffling and cackling, before walking along the fence away from me, perhaps he is in playful mood, I walk along nearer to him again, stopping when he turns, like musical statues back when small, he walks a little way further, I follow, nearer the woods.
In crackle flap he flies up into the nearest tree at the edge of the wood, I turn away believing it the end of our little game, Caw! I hear and turn to see him hop down to nearer branch, so into the woods I follow.
Crunching over fallen leaves and twigs, I follow as he leads in short flights from branch to branch, The sun is getting a little higher now and filters through the top of the trees, lighting a small clearing up ahead, in the clearing is a small well and an old bench. Digging in my pocket I retrieve a coin, and rotate it in my fingers, the crow has taken a low perch near the edge of the glade, I see him watch the coin spinning. I toss it into the well then take a seat and think of a wish.
Across the clearing, through the trees, from where I came, I hear the sound of car engines, they sound aggressive echoing through the wood, someone else has woken up. I hear slamming doors and raised voices. Arguments have always made my blood run cold, so I have no interest in returning into the middle of this argument. I stand up to get a little nearer leaning around a tree trunk, the crow caws and agitatedly flaps. My heart jumps as I hear a loud bang, followed by three more, I freeze and stay stuck against the tree trunk, doors slam and I hear a car leave.
I can feel my heart pounding against my ribs, my breath shaking and hands trembling. Another door slammed and another car leaves in a shower of stones thrown by speeding tyres.
I wait, wait for absolute silence. My heart is starting to settle as I hear the crow caw gently, cackle and fly out back towards my car. Again I follow, but have much trepidation, not wanting to see until I am sure there is nothing there.
Emerging out of the wood, only my car sits there, there are grooves in the gravel, and horribly the glint of blood.
I look around for the crow but he is nowhere to be seen, so I climb into my car, take a deep breath, start the engine and go home.

Journeys through space and kitchen

My experiment with longer story.


Simon Spencer is just your average shover of numbers, he gets up, puts a suit on and suffers the drive to the office where he blankly pushes the numbers until five, then he suffers the drive back home again, back to an average family of one wife and two point five kids. His wife Jennifer, an enthusiastically bored house wife, and their two kids, James and Rowena, the point five being made up by their cat Barney.
They are a very active family, at least the wife and kids are, Simon likes to just enjoy the time alone in the house while the rest of the family busy themselves doing things to block time. Jennifer has Yoga class on monday evenings, dropping off the kids at a pottery class on the way, if twelve year old James tried something, his eight year old sibling has to do it too.
Various other classes and pastimes leave Simon in the house to enjoy being alone many nights a week, also the chance to travel. For he has a spaceship.
It is a very inconspicuous spaceship, no one but him has one, and if word got out, it would be a big deal and ruin everything. it is parked in the kitchen and is about the size of a dish washer, and looks exactly like a dish washer, but that is what you are supposed to think.
The alien technology is so far advanced than ours that all the things required to make this craft fly light years across space were tiny enough to still be able to have it function for washing dishes.
Monday night and Simon waits for the family to leave, inwardly excited to be leaving soon too. He waves Jennifer goodbye and walks to the kitchen, opens the spaceship, removes the baskets and climbs in.
He sits hugging his knees and closes his eyes as the door closes, awaiting the journey to commence. He of course does not fly the craft himself, he is just a number pusher, instead much higher minds control the craft from afar, whisking him off to a planet millions of miles beyond even our greatest telescopes can see.
You may wonder how this craft leaves the kitchen without damaging the roof, but this has been thought of, the craft merely shifts dimension just a fraction to slip past solid objects in this dimension with ease, a simple thing to an advanced civilisation.
The journey passes in little time, only a slight vibration of the craft gives away that he ever traveled at all, as the door opens a familiar man greets him, “Good evening Simon, a pleasant journey I hope?” “Oh yes, as always, thank you Ppplm”, it took some time to pronounce Ppplm’s name, and some spit.. a tall broad man with blue complexion and purple hair upon his narrow head, the man who has greeted Simon every time since the first.
This planet Simon escapes to is called Buel, I say escaped, as like all with a hobby, it has a wonderful effect of taking you elsewhere. Buel has a similar gravity to earth, the sky is nearly blue, but has a strong tone of green to it, the plants leaves being predominantly blue, the bark a drab grey. There is familiarity in some things, but off kilter in colour and shape. It surprises how much we have learned about all around us when faced with everything being different, on our earth we know the trees, the animals, how a squirrel moves, what is safe, what is dangerous. Here at this alien place everything could be dangerous, but then everything could be safe too, a complete lack of information. This thought can restrict the unadventurous, such as Simon.
The welcoming party consisted of just a few, and even fewer of those were really that interested in this alien, initially there was of course interest, but Simon was proving so boring they just kind of lost interest. There is only a certain amount of time something is exciting, as excitement is easily bored.
Ppplm and his fellow receptionist Tsuul escorted Simon into the small complex nestled in a clearing amongst the trees of a tall blue forest.
The buildings rise high but not obvious to the eye at all, you can only see them enough in order to not accidentally walk into them.
Walking towards the door of the central building Ppplm asked “Tell me Simon, what is your motivation for life in your culture?”. “Wow, thats kind of a heavy question, I guess just continuation, the wish to live is sort of built in isn’t it? everyone wants to live”.
Simon is always having to represent the world, something that gets in the way of his evenings escape. “We are here to gather all knowledge, for when we know all, all barriers will be removed from the universe”. said Ppplm proudly. “Then what?” said Simon, “This quest is not the work of one generation, it has taken millennia to get to even this point, and we need many millennia more, when we know all, we will have your answer and all other answers”. Tsuul added “We cannot know all the answers until we know all the questions”. ‘What a place, the only job left in this world is of philosopher’ thought Simon, then quickly thinking of something else as he was not entirely sure if mind reading had been mastered here as of yet.
Walking through the door the inner walls of the building faded into view, looking like a bright green blue marble, mirroring the light of outside, the ceiling was not necessary to see, as no one touches the ceiling, presumably it is out of reach up there, but it is instead represented as sky, including dancing cloud and flying creatures.
There are still very few people about as the climate here is controlled to suit Simon’s needs, the Buelians wearing a small breathing device on their noses.
The party arrive at a large room with a high table with many ornate looking gourds and platters. The table high, as everyone eats standing here, a seat being an alien device. Simon recognises the orange fruit on a platter and joins the others in peeling the leaves away and eating the delicious fruit inside. Though alien, this fruit is safe to him, for there are no germs here, and nor are there any germs that the Buelians have not overcome. Ppplm wiped the corners of his long mouth then said “So Simon, as we are your planets first contacts, we could offer in the future, some protection for you, we have gathered information that the Klooks are close to discovering your sector, they are not a friendly people, in fact I see similarities to your people in their ways, in exchange for perhaps some room on your large bountiful planet we would discourage their actions”. This is quite a thing to take in, “while you contemplate your answer Tsuul and I will adjourn to take care of another ongoing task, we will return shortly”. With that they left Simon with Rluul, someone who Simon has rarely spoken to, Rluul checked the others were gone, then approached Simon, “Keep calm and take this information without emotion, you must warn your people that Tsuul intends to take your planet, he is moments away from agreement from the council, do not answer it will only stir emotion in you, I will not speak again of this”.
Well that kind of news can’t help but show a little on one’s face, but Simon tried to bury it down and distract himself with the dancing sky overhead.
Soon enough Tsuul retuned, “Your window for today is almost closed, we shall escort you back to your ship now”.
‘So, they have learned from me without my knowing, analysing my body, unraveling it’s history from within, the questions asked of me just distraction’ Simon thought, as he returned along the hallways and back out into the forest, before re-entering the ship Simon put his hand to the top of his head, a Buelian goodbye learn’t in a previous outing, he climbed into the ship and watched the door close, soon the return journey would begin.
The ship finishes its vibration and the door opens, his legs feel very numb and sore, they always feel much worse on the return journey than on the way to Buel, rubbing his limbs to life he clambers out of the ship, re-fits the baskets and closes the door, checking his watch, only twenty minutes and the family will return.
Ten minutes later while Simon sits with a glass of wine, he hears the key in the door, the excited babbling of children with new things to say of new knowledge.
“So what have you been up to this evening?” Jennifer asks. Simon nervously glances into the kitchen, thinking of the news. “I think I should like to go to the yoga next week with you”.


Have you ever laid listening to the ticking of a clock, concentrating on every tick, trying to slow the tick down with the strength of will, to see if you can make it stop through the power of the mind?
I lie here on the bed in my room, on my side I stare at the door while the clock ticks, seconds tumble onward tick tick tick, I concentrate and think only of the tick, I try to make the gap between each tick grow, imagining slowing the time passing.
An hour passes one tick at a time, then in half a dream, the ticking slows and then stops, the tick has gone, all other sound too, even the ringing in my ears has gone, I notice too that the dust just hangs in the air between me and my door, no movement at all, inwardly I look, no heart beat is felt, no nerves twitch, no blood pumps, only sight left to me, watching the door, as the handle silently twists.
No call for I cannot speak, no heart skip, for the only thing moving in this world is my door, gently arcing open. In he comes, ducking under the frame, an impossibly thin, incredibly tall figure in a tatty tight black suit, a face paler than paper, with a ragged mop of snow white hair, with eyes dark and unblinking he swings his long legs into my room, in long slow loping steps, arms swinging slowly like tree branches in the wind, he approaches my bed, ever nearer he comes and then stops, standing over me, silently looming, he reaches down into the laundry basket, elegantly picking out a single sock. Holding his prize he turns away from me, the tails of his jacket swinging to follow as he makes long strides back through the door.
Just as the handle stops turning, I hear a new tick and let in a new breath. well, now I know.


Perhaps when we are so full of life and love, the pricks of distress are so disturbing they threaten to burst us, to send us in all directions. So we deflate ourselves with low expectations, to let the prongs of disappointment have no resistance, they sink in to the saggy flesh of resignation. But oh what a way to live, to flop and meander with no form at all, bending to the gusts of woe. Some compromise, enough air to bound, but not too much, so as to give to the prongs. In summary, happiness maybe a matter of psi, not banking notes and health.


The night’s tears have crystallised in the corners of my eyes,
dreams colours have just faded into reality and light,
white clouds are high passing by my window
maybe it is time to start the day.


She sings in angelic tone while playing the guitar, as he taps out his genius onto the paper in his machine. It all playing out in monotone and soaks right through the screen. Heart fed by Robert Zimmerman as a car by gasoline.


Chase the violently hot egg yolk from his hidey hole
Grip the day in an Ippon choke hold and go for a stroll
Take a screwdriver and adjust the days idle screw
All your floating Devils will run and hide from you.


The wind whistles through the flag staffs
and the lines beat the masts,
a thousand bells in the harbour
sounding the time,
the stark winter sail boats
hosting the ghosts.


Where are my anchors? I am floating away,
stability is neglecting my ego today,
paranoia cut my line and set me adrift,
what a needy piteous soul to dismiss.


I shall dream I am a dragon, pouring colour over the skies, cutting into other dimension, lands unimaginable stream past my eyes, before tearing times fabric to dance through past clouds. I shall ripple the ocean and boil the sea foam, then tease a volcano, before heading home.


The sun has appeared from around the corner again,
As we have tumbled around it, while we also spin
And swing a moon in an infinite fall around us
And millions of miles away the same dance


Some words of rest and calm in a busy world.

Sit and rest, you are beautiful I know it
The good in this world dwarfs the bad
Take time to leave all outside your skin
Relax your shoulders and breath gently
Close your eyes and let yourself smile

Lay in the lush pasture,
Watch the clouds in sky fantastic
Listen to the babbling brook
Smell the blossoms of imagined magic.

You said you were a vague cold sea
Said your oceans were prolific
Maybe you were warm near to me
Could you be more Pacific?

Outward meditation.
Imagine you,
then your home
your street, your town
Imagine the land you sit
sat in the endless ocean
imagine our whole globe
tumbling in infinite space



On a bright sunny afternoon, I walk by the house again.
This house sits in the centre of a plot disregarded even by time itself.
Overgrown spiny hedges crawl and writhe all over the wrought iron gates guarding the grounds. The family who conjured this gothic grandiose place are far away now, distancing themselves from history. Shoving the gate I slip on the cobbles, as the gates and the thorns conspire to remain sealed. The gate begins to groan mournfully and the thorny tendrils tear as I begin to overcome their grip. The thorns give one last effort, jabbing my fingers and drawing blood, but I slip though the gap, I am on the path.

The path twists to the left around a dried up crumbling fountain, where a woman forever holds a green copper jug pouring nothing at all, then doubling back around an overgrown weeping willow tree, the path twisting as if even it does not wish to visit the house. Through, over and under thorns I find the porch, up the steps the door waits. I am suddenly aware of my heart beating, thumping my ribs, consciously I take a deep breath and climb the tiled steps, my shoes tapping on the tiles loudly, I stop and am aware of the absolute silence. Reaching the brass door knob I grasp it and I turn icy cold, my hairs standing up on my arms as I turn the knob, the latch clicks and the door yields.

The door wide open, allows the dust to dance in the summer light. A breeze gently blows past me sending glittery lint into the cobwebs, making them jangle and sparkle. Turning I close the door behind me, turning back into the room an apparition, gossamer phantoms glide in, a man and a woman holding hands they turn to face each other, followed by another pair and another, I back up and shiver as the door rests against my back. As each man takes his ladies hand the silence ebbs away as music flows in. The vaporous couples waltz around the hall, the ladies dresses flowing through the dust, I catch my breath and look to the stairs as the apparition fades, the music drifts away back to where it came.
Only the sound of my breath as I take a step onto the stairs, the stairs creak, the movement of old wood beneath my feet. I look over the balustrade to the hall full of just dust and cobwebs.
On the landing I glance into the room opposite the stairs. A man sits on thin air, stooped over a desk of vapour, eying ghostly papers and rubbing his temples, before leaning forwards and resting his forehead upon his arms and fading back to nothingness. I back out of this empty room and return to the landing.
I take a deep breath, to keep hold of myself, the smell of perfume hits my nostrils and the silence drifts away once more. The sound of a shower comes to my ear, and the room next door is full of steam I cannot see through, so I walk in towards the sound and see her standing in the bathtub, the shower pipe arcing over her head, hot water pours over her body, long hair lays against her bruised back and water shines on the welts on her buttocks. the sound of water fades and so does she, leaving an old bath tub and a twisted pipe.

Another room, another vision, I go back to the landing and hold on to the balustrade to keep hold of my mind, I look down at the empty hall, hear the silence, just breath.
I am gathering my sanity when I hear some giggling and talking, young voices haunt me, drawing me to the next room, two wispy young children sit on the floor with building blocks, the boy builds them up, the girl knocks them down, they laugh and they play and I expect them to fade. Instead I hear a rhythmic banging and squeaking and moaning through the next wall, I need little imagination to know what that is, inquisitiveness takes me and I leave the children still playing as I edge my eye around the corner of the next room. A horrifying version of what I envisioned, the woman is held down and has a hand over her mouth as an ugly figure fucks, two more men watch on and wait their turn. Horrified I run, I run down the stairs and slip on the last step, and sit, let the silence settle once more.
Silence is burst with a crash, from out the back of the house, I want to run, but I want to know. Just my steps now and the musky smell in the hall as I walk through the house to the kitchen, nearing the kitchen door the quiet is trampled by loud voices. Edging around the door frame I see a woman, the same woman, wielding a knife, she holds a man at bay, the same man. Both wraiths are angry, both are crying, neither have anything more to give, finally with a piercing scream she flies forward at the man, in the struggle the woman falls victim to the knife’s blade, the man falls victim to his fate, he slashes at his desperate soul and slumps to the floor, fading to history and story.