Author: Rich

A crusty green and whiteHoar, grass and hair frostSoon to be lost.As Spring’s warmth slowly thaws Winter’s blight.The dawn sun turns the water silver.Then orange and bright. Longer days and less night.From beneath the earth bulbs.Seeds start to push and fight.To work their way to sun and light.To appear yellow, blue, red and white. Floating…

Why do I behave the way I do? I wondered as I read and article in i newspaper last Saturday. A feeling of rolling through life like a pin ball in a pin ball machine – jostling in all directions: Being on the outside Looking in everywhere I go A piece belonging to a different…

Only Child and / or Borderline autism; Looking for reference points; Floating in space otherwise Everything means – Different things to Different people; Like colours do – Under various Sources of light. David Allen 20/01/2021

A Freedom of Activity A Freedom of Belonging A Freedom of Community A Freedom of Discussion A Freedom of Expression. A Freedom of Family A Freedom of Generosity A Freedom of Haggling A Freedom of Individuals A Freedom of Justice. A Freedom of Kindness A Freedom of Love A Freedom of Mixing A Freedom of…

To teach and be taughtWhere teacher becomes the pupilAnd the pupil becomes the teacherWe learn the power of wordsThat ring of true knowledge

I’ve counted my blessings… More often than I’d counted sheep. Frequent school/house moves… Adapted to travel light Easier travelling… Needed a minimalist style. Getting my hands dirty… Fixing my own bicycle. Harder to put down roots… Practicality over aesthetics. Kept my expectations low… Enabled need over want.

Wintry wind Slashing sleet In your face, Spiteful, Like blackthorn in the hedgerow, Sharp Against your skin. And then sun, Shining sickly, Barely warm Until you reach The shelter Of fieldside bushes. Clouds disappearing, A grey blanket-like sky Covering the sun – Until it re-appears, Finding blue spaces And glittering, Like blackthorn blossom, In puddles…

So what if tomorrow and the next day are colder or duller than a few days ago? So what if we have to hang on a bit for the sun to come back again? So what?! If I hear “So what?” one more time, I just might… well, you wait and see.

I knew the blackthorn winter By the sleeping sweet pea trays Tulips surging bent due West All their carmine tongues ablaze I heard the blackthorn winter By the sagging coat peg’s snap Single-layered Sundays Before Monday’s scarf and cap I watched the blackthorn winter Lift the branches one by one And put them down again…

Beware of the Blackthorn Winter, my dear It’s an icy, windy old goat In the milk-teeth of spring And will bite you in the throat, my dear Like a wildly contagious pandemic Beware of the delivery driver, my dear He will always be rushed for time You’ll hear the doorbell ring And he’ll ask you…

Mad Jack Blackthorn, in the freezing breeze Dancing silhouetted on the cliff Gobbing on the village green Leaping like a wild Morris man (They say) A starling flew down (They say) It told him he was curs-ed (They say) He took the label and wore it (They say) He showed his arse to the parson…

Remember how. even after a full week as your old self – or a wiser and happier new self – just an overheard mention of her name emptied your heart? [Then you’re getting…] Do you wonder if it’s just you, or if everyone – or at least everyone who lets themself – when someone who…

I came into this world, It’s a blank canvas, On which to paint my life. When and where this takes place, Mother Nature takes her course, Who knows how I begin, With whom and how many, What my environment might be like. Born an only child, To two parents… Attend five schools… Move house six…

If I should catch Corona germs and fly To that well stocked superstore in the sky. Don’t spill your grief for me or cry. I’ll crack a can and wish you all Good ‘ealth! And as for that old toilet roll, that greedy guy Who grabbed the last whiskey bottle for himself. I’ll simply shake…

What will the coming seasons bring? An upturn to the gloom in everything? And will the blackthorn, that purple-tinter, Thrive to put forth fruit this winter? ‘Fraid I can’t say –It’s been a sloe day.