Sunday, 8 July 2018


The scent of heat soaked masonry
Envelops you. Forming out of hot clay a
sense of time.
Kiln-like, the golden rocks stand against the blue sky
As permanent as Mary
As the resurrected cathedral
With the gold and blue finding a different kind of worship

The scent of heat soaked masculinity
Suffocates you. Forming out of muscle a
sense of beauty.
Godlike, the man stretches his lithe body upwards
As hard as rock
As the stone in the ancient buried city
With the flesh and blood creating a
Different kind of worship

Let me embrace the rock and the gold:
Sighing inwardly, wishing to be your mould.
To take you into the heat of the sun’s desire
Wanton I lie here and simply admire.

Wednesday, 31 January 2018

Of Croatian Beasts and London Artistic Feasts

It has been an orgy of art since I arrived back in London just over a week ago. Russian/Communism inspired exhibitions kicked off my visit as I enjoyed Red Star over RussiaCentre for Russian Music: Inside the Collections at the Barbican, and The Currency of Communism. There was no planning, just a desire to reacquaint myself with my favourite artistic haunts and, inevitably, connections started forming. Obviously I am catching the tail-end of exhibitions put on to commemorate the 1917 Russian Revolution, but it's always possible to see beyond the obvious.

Thursday, 18 January 2018

A love letter to the books of Ljubljana

This piece came out of a month long stay in Ljubljana in October 2017. This is when I fell in love with this beautiful capital, its culture, architecture and people. I am happy to say that I am posting this whilst in the city again. They say you should never judge a book by its cover, but is it possible to judge a city by its bookshops?

Friday, 3 November 2017


The dark muted autumn peeps through mist
Dark and earth and wet and cold
Scientific method strives to rise
As golden sun appears
All is magically uplifted
Quietly, roaringly, gaseously
The vibrant autumn calls us clearly home.

We are but shadows against an illusory life
Fleeting and swift and temporary
We strive to love and rise above our failings
As people come and go
All is supposedly revealed
Closing, dying, ending
The unknown winter beckons us clearly home.

For a friend of Victoria Stamps. I only met him once, but he passed away 21/10/2017.