A light. A follicle in the darkness.
But not enough for life, yet.
I’m walking towards it, but it
Grows fainter under my watch.
poem
Day 14. Camino
The search for my body
Continues.
Can ritual give it shape
Once more. A walking.
Day 9. Camino
‘When you master something,
you have to run away and do
something else.’ Unknown
‘If an ideas new to you, then it’s
new. As artists we are creating our world,
our way.’ David Lynch
‘It’s an important experience to look back before moving on to something else’. Harry Nuriev.
Day 8. Camino
Be bold, bold day
The tube poles are yellow
Like the arrows of the road
Is that acceptable as a sign?
That this is my route? My
Eyes are closing, a week of
Walking, the wonder is glazing
Wink wink, walk walk, the
March for meaning.
Day 3. Camino
Holy Odda’s day
The chapel hidden through
Centuries of wet and blood
Stones standing thick and
Bold as yews defiant of the
Floods and deaths grown into
Their roots. What Odda was,
At the edge of the darkness,
The first houses for god
He built in the darkness of faith,
So little have we learned from
The light it gave, is it fading?
Jimi Hendrix, 80 today
Jimi, are there harps in heaven.
For your ears, hearing, making, breathing
Rhythm round the planes of colour like
Light itself, the frequency is that high.
James Marshall Hendricks
Born 27th November 1942.
In search of lost time
I’m sitting on Bute street
In my head the French bookshop
And French bakery Bonne Bouche
Are still here, smelling of books and
Bread, livres et pain
I’m still sitting on Bute street
I open my eyes, I can smell Mama
Pho and it doesn’t go with my
£pp3.50 flat white
I’m looking at a shop called Blanc
With towels and a sign ‘Fashion doesnt
Have to Cost the Earth’ instead of
Books in French
Now I know how old women feel
The ones who talked about the
Old days as if they were better
Now they’re gone
I will not come here again to
Look for the past, I will not
Find it, I will go somewhere
Else to remember.
Ageing
You avoid the sun
Etching lines on
Your skin. You are
The artist, not the sun.
Carl Fabergé – a god of small things
Did God know, when he made
The world that he would make you
And you would make mini
World’s out of his shiny
Offcuts?
Of course, God knows everything
God is everything, God’s work
Is intricate, the diamond
The cut, the carve, the egg
Hatches.
It reminds us of the surprise
Of birth, of Spring, every
Year, reborn, but totally
Unexpected in its
Dazzling
Hunger Cycle
I can buy so I eat, whenever
I like, whatever I buy
And it becomes all food, it’s
My day up and my day down
The stomach has my throat
Against the wall, wherever I
Go, the cave, the hunger,
Grips up the time and so
I buy something else to eat
So that I can buy more something
Else to eat.
Being Every Day 