Blanket Fort

In the woods, behind the church where we picked clumps of  barberries but, “Don’t eat them whole – they are toxic. There’s poison in the seeds and leaves.”   A concrete bunker rose behind hewn at skewed angles from the earth pine needles scattered all around the fight of a nation’s pained rebirth   Like…

Manifest: Antisocial Media

What do you do when you realise Social Media is closing you off? How do you reconnect with what it is you want to share with the world?

Cigarette Machine in Oncology

Six men lay in steel sided cots, while outside cathedral bell rings, same sound these past 800 years whilst the town’s white noise still sings.   A symphony of fading life a chorus forth from weary lungs, metre of machine manifest, in murmur of a heart that thrums.   Six men lie in deathly repose…

The 5 tastes of Resin and Wine

It was not until I was nearly 17 that I discovered that he was an alcoholic. When I tell stories of my childhood the response is always the same. “So you were abused.”

Staying Awake So I May Sleep

I dreamed of you last night. You were whole – in a way I can barely remember. You stood there, so it was like the double amputation never happened. It was like your death never happened. You stood there and told me this was the last time we would see each other, and I pressed…

Contrail

There’s a little rise between the carpark and the hospital entrance itself, a hummock of grass you circumvent as you walk up to the main doors. The paramedic staff are a constant feature here – standing out in their searing orange or yellow jumpsuits. They wheel gurneys to and fro, and after a week of…

Nest in the Snow

In the stricken branches of the winter birches of a buckled world made of blinding white, and shades of gray, we found a birds nest long abandoned.   Blue eggs shone as a trio of wavering failure and those following mornings I woke to the hush and reverence of falling snow.   Woke to a world…

One Hour to Puchberg

  Austria is full of tiny hamlets clustered in the valleys, and I’d always been struck by the apparent wealth displayed in these homes. Often three stories tall with immaculate yards and expensive German saloons parked in their driveways, I could never understand what their occupants did for work, so isolated from the major towns…

May Contain Admissions Of Naiveté

I’m not sure why I expected to miss. Call it poor self -confidence, an innate pessimism perhaps. Either way, my choices gave me a freedom I would yearn for in the years to come…

Proof of Creativity

How should we measure our success when blogging? Likes and follows simply are not the correct metric. Understanding the creative urge is vital.

Pheasant

A memory of walking in the woods with my father.