12 Jan 2011

Happy New Year!

Hello 2011,

What bundle of gifts does the year hold in its arms? Well let's wait and see...
Meanwhile, a little reflection from 2010. Below is a poem that I wrote whilst trying to write Tamasine, Little Green and the Garden. Or maybe sometimes a poem writes us? Either way, the conclusion is that your gaze, your presence as reader/listener/collaborator is very important. I do like the fact that, as readers or audience, we are all part of the creative process and bring our own special light to each moment.

So, thank you.

This story (December 2010)

This story was made in a stolen moment.
Stolen swiftly, with crossings out re-hatching scratchings thoughts stuck stickily
eked out and spun into something.

A moment.
Allow me, please, a moment.

Fires need stoking, words need poking.
a beginning
no matter how clumsy
how sloppy
soupy start
wet words take form
clay in a kiln
rising up to
greet your hands your
eyes ears
your heart.
Flames lick
and dance
red rabbits haring around.
In amongst ashes,
Gods of old
rage and fight
blue flicker green
burn white.

And so, stage set,
some words.
A fire.
And you.
Into your hands a box is delivered
red upon brown
red haring
red herring

I AM TRYING TO write a story
your expectations are non-existent
in this moment
so they must be mine
that weigh heavy on my shoulders
A stole.
Dead fox or
rabbit hides sewn together
coarse string…
This was meant to look far more beautiful than dead words squished onto a page.
This story is tired.

It does not want to stand up and
tell you what
A grumpy gift
what of this?
In this moment.

This story

peels back a page
reinvents itself
fresh face
at you.

Story smiles.
You are hard to write for, you know.
Story perseveres
as it has a need beyond ink-existence
only on your lips, in your shells, your vision, only in your
heart yours
can it be born
and reborn
tumble out
in the sun
legs wobble
lick lick
born and reborn
in your

Thank you
says Story
feeling more formed
in your particular heat
dismantled in its entirety
words chopped back to
saw dust
you saw us
words and wordsmith
now yours
in this moment
clay pot
frozen hot
in time.

Please allow me a moment.
A moment
stolen away.


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