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The unexplored life | writing+thoughts+pictures=me | Page 2

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Crafting and other capers. Vanity Fair…me, me, me, me, me. Where I’ve been. March 23, 2015. Where did I go. The one who used to while away. The hours, trotting around the crevices. Of imagination and lives that could be lived. Molding an existence, smelling of play dough rather than settling like stone. Like the person who sits. Headphones on, heart turned off. Brain disconnected by the everyday slog. And where did the promise go? Leaking out of every orifice. As time pushed on, like gall stones. The goo...

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An oldy, but a goody… | The unexplored life

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Crafting and other capers. Vanity Fair…me, me, me, me, me. Where I’ve been. An oldy, but a goody…. March 23, 2015. I was having some interesting chats with friends this weekend, and the subject of break-ups and the subsequent gossip they generate came up. Then I looked through some old material and, low and behold, back in 2004 I had written a poem on this very topic so thought I’d share it – for all those people caught in the post-break up maelstrom. When voices rise against you. That two people share in.

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Dormant laughter | The unexplored life

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Crafting and other capers. Vanity Fair…me, me, me, me, me. Where I’ve been. March 23, 2015. And months of absence. You appeared, one hand. The other hand occupied. With moving your grave. To a more pleasing location. That husky, breathless. Laugh with lucent eyes. Like sweet wrappers, stannic. Staring out at the world. As if it were still yours. Your mirth still jangling. Through the gelatinous stillness. Because it was a sign. That I hadn’t forgotten. It was a sign. That though the months. Appropriate A...

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Off the cuff | The unexplored life

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Crafting and other capers. Vanity Fair…me, me, me, me, me. Where I’ve been. March 23, 2015. Shrugged with attempts to. Can only be glimpsed. The bells set off. And suddenly the pace. Terrains of night times. From → Uncategorized. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public). You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out. Where I’ve been.

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Wunder Baum (a poem written about many moons ago) | The unexplored life

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Crafting and other capers. Vanity Fair…me, me, me, me, me. Where I’ve been. Wunder Baum (a poem written about many moons ago). March 23, 2015. I try to hide. As I climb into. The taxi, outside. Where my life now lives. And as I slink into the seat. You greet me in the guise. Waft and layer the air,. Like softest cotton shift;. As your adolescent face. Crazes across the rear-view. Mirror: a waterspout,. Along the window seals. Rocked shut inside me. When all at once. Musk of what might have been,. Big Ten...

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Larger than my grandparents garden | The unexplored life

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Crafting and other capers. Vanity Fair…me, me, me, me, me. Where I’ve been. Larger than my grandparents garden. March 23, 2015. The edges fuzzed out. Drawings, blue tacked. To an oscillating screen. Flicking over sleeping eyes. All shadows and echo. I dream of love. So big, as to cover the whole skyline. Foreground swamped in feeling. Shimmering like heat haze. Larger than my grandparents garden. When I was small. As magical as electricity and slight of hand. A love as tall as heels and tiptoes. What I l...

meanwhileinstoke.blogspot.com

To Man and Beast All Akin: February 2010

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To Man and Beast All Akin. Misadventures, Misfirings and Mild Misgivings in the Midlands. Saturday, 13 February 2010. So dear reader,. What of these times we live in? Firstly, I hope this missive finds you well. All in all, not bad. y'know, industrious enough [I'm feeling like what in football jargon is referred to as a 'good pro,' ideally without the imminent free transfer] though lacking a smidge in the momentum and inspiration departments, hence the intermittent service. In fact. The itchy questio...

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To Man and Beast All Akin: Cross my palm with pixels

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To Man and Beast All Akin. Misadventures, Misfirings and Mild Misgivings in the Midlands. Sunday, 3 January 2010. Cross my palm with pixels. In a rather whimsical moment, I'm loving* the way that Wordle. Is apt to cradle and arouse the spurious crystal-ball quality in any old one-horse weblog (mine). And so, let is be said. 2010 will be: Tracksuited. Tea-puddled. [And] Less than international. Happy New Year, readers. Parlance of the postmodern thirty-something, I'm told. HNY, son, HNY. A tea and a think.