Book of Poetry available on lulu

A collection of my poetry and prose is available here on lulu.com

friend

…if you knew her eyes.
Fierce Blue. Then you knew all
I knew. How love grew.

earthsong

Third stone from the sun
Better to be good tenants
Only stone we have.

moment

Same frog, same pond. Plop!
Never the same pond, in truth,
Never the same frog.

soulfood

Of what use horseshit?
Attend to it, mix it well.
From this roses bloom.

Another saying from Lam Lern Kwe

When it is raining crap it takes a Buddha or a fool to throw away his umbrella and go dance in the puddles.

the importance of mythological story telling

Mythology is more than story. It should entertain but be more than mere entertainment. It is a receptacle of archetypal themes, a deep rooted teaching from which much can be learned. It should be respected and approached with a responsible awareness of the wisdom and symbolism contained within.

Though, natural that it should, to some extent, evolve and be added to by each generation to speak to each generation, the core should be acknowledged and left untouched and unchanged. Those that seek to re-tell these tales should realise that they must only add branches to the tree and not reshape the trunk; even the responsibility of adding new branches, new threads to the tapestry, requires a deep understanding and respect for the inherent wisdom contained within the core mythology.

Both the tales of Merlin and Robin Hood are precious and important mythological cycles linked to these islands and Northern Europe, to mess with them irresponsibly, ignorant of their true meaning is no different to rewriting Australian Aboriginal Dreamtime mythology, or distorting the true messages of any religion.

The BBC has commissioned both Robin Hood and Merlin as prime time series’, written by people wholly unfamiliar and unconcerned with the legacy each represents. Ignorant of their meaning, they have subverted and diminished the mythology and overlaid the usual BBC obsession with political correctness. Rather than add anything of value they have corrupted valuable material. Their Robin Hood is little more than a dreadful pantomime and their Merlin strays so far from true characterisation as to render any true resonance pitiful.

Unconcerned to strive for deeper meaning, sacrificing integrity for bland entertainment, mythology for fabrication, and true story telling for second rate and irresponsible scriptwriting.

Dead Man’s Shoes

I looked down
and saw
that I was wearing
Dead Man’s shoes.
How odd
that I recognise them
as my own.

Fragment

An empty crisp packet spiralled, teased and tossed by the fickle, unfailing wind. Is this our life? Blown by a gust of luck, ill or good, fate’s breeze casting us where it will. Or just a random gale, no plan, blown anywhere, anyhow. As I wore out my already aching legs retracing my steps from yet another hole being dug, gates closed, access denied, aching limbs and muscles fried. The rain began, not falling, but being blown sideways in great sheets of wet. I reached the trembling bus stop shuddering in the onslaught just in time and could listen to the weather drumming my retreat on the metal of the shelter. Dark clouds, lowering the world’s depth, restricting its breadth and pinching in the horizons around me, that bus stop, the temporary naval of my world. Enclosed. The wind that blew that crisp packet, that blew the rain, blew the storm away and replaced it with a sunlit vista. It may sound mundane to say that those first fresh rays of light illuminated the roundabout like some religious revelation, but that moment, when the rain ceased, and the sun lit up the wetness on the road, the damp sheen of the cars, the sky lifting on caresses of warmth. The crisp packet lay stilled for a moment and the turning of the world could be heard

The Company of the Greenman

This is a site now run by an old and valued friend of mine. Someone I fenced with, faced and fought with broadswords and stayed in haunted houses alongside….

The Company of the Greenman