Author: Rich

The Valley of the house hides the river Rushing mountain-chunk-smashing water Down from the peaks into the up Of the valley hanging over the plains below the mountain. The valley of the house channels the gale To rip hatred at the rock-huggared walls Of the slate-roofed scribing house Of the resider, the last abider of…

Whatever I use, work with or play, Do I become “it”, the more I practice, How I become accustomed to it? Especially when travelling along – A bumpy road, or path. The more I cycle – The more – bit by bit – swap places With my bicycle and myself! Or, is it just drunkenness…

Just five days ago I saw my Mum, Recommended to do so by a work Colleague, or you’d regret it! I was only there by her bedside In the nursing home – About two hours away by train – Door-to-door – I don’t drive! For about ten minutes at most: Very distant – eyes open…

Home Queen Little in the way of jobs. So with ten living and sharing your home. Little time to be alone. You are the matriarch the queen.  The spring from which all edicts flow. The hub at the centre of the family wheel. Your word is law. Even the children respect your reign. Wanting your…

Amongst coconut palms and fallen husks.Chomping on the grass and nibbling the odd shoot.There appears to be a sheep.Here in the tropics ?Not what you would expect to see or hear.A bleat or baa!It’s true. My eyes do not deceive me.I continue to stare at a Hair.So is it a Barbados, St Croix or Katahdin…

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…