Twitching paws and muffled woofs: are they running through grey grass, or does their world explode in technicolour during the night? It might seem silly to think they could imagine wavelengths their eyes are not designed to sense, but I’m not designed to fly, yet manage well enough. The point of dreams isn’t realism. Perhaps estate agents suffer nightly torments of affordable social housing, or lawyers sweat at the terror of a populace suddenly keen on reading all the Ts and

Blue Whale most large. Sing to our babies and us. We breathe with you, ahh

Vital parts of a maverick's life: Semolina, cantina, saddled by Abilena. Saddled by a stove top collage. Saddled by a syringe on a silver...

Due to no particular choice of my own, my carbohydrate intake has been pretty limited for the last few years. Carbohydrate is quite the addiction-magnet but like anything else, you get used to its absence. However, Easter is a challenge. The lure of spiced buns beats the song of sirens any day, in fact I frequently wish someone would tie me to a mast when I walk past the bun aisle in the supermarket to save me the energy on self-control.  Who ever thought of letting dough get

You raise me up to soar with eagles. I look down and think, ‘what the hell am I doing here?’ I see a flock of crows coming towards me...

Raise eyes to the future, the flapping, torn cloth.  Lower eyes to the horror of young men being torn apart, strafed along the beach, bloodied sand spitting along bodies of wretched sons, into the hearts of crying mothers, choking fathers. Raise sounds of gagging, gurgling splutters, last gasps thudding onto squelching red sand.  Torn tunics and hearts dragging over barbwire, then spluttering in death. Raise scents of blood, guts, gore and the stench of piss and shit.  Finger

Ricci - A Minute Silence   The birds were calling, so free, nature’s law When the trenches were silent, The time was raw   Desolate and...

My Spring was warm, hot, sunny Friends, funny My summer was hot, fun, Laughter, sun. Its autumn. Hot, cold, warm, cool. Colours vibrant...

Leaf below bare fig: The skin blushing from fall, covers Eden's guest. God is getting old. We dread that 3am call. Could be any day.

I call you, Mum, to remember the dead. You change the topic.   I burn candles, while you blanket infernos.   Fire cracks your coffee cup,...