nettle heart

gotta love the nettle-age, snot coloured punk superstar of the spring!
in some rustic, bucolic fantasy he’d gather dainty lace doilie fashion around the fringes of the woods
nah round here they loiter in huge clumps on any patch of wasteland, a vibrant fresh green swathe carpet covering broken glass and rusty shopping trolleys
broken ground, nettles love to be around humans, alledgedly they came over with the Romans… rust iron, sacred to aries, god of war and this months heavenly ruler
like many masculine energies, often maligned, theres also a tender, benign side
i tend to pick them with snip scissors and holey cotton gloves… the holes not on purpose but the occasional frisson of a sting keeps you woke!
tingle-age even now, a very very mild electric shock
what shall i do with them? juice most likely? but possible pesto, fricasse?… not let them languish too long at the bottom of the fridge anyway!
blessings on the sunshine and my current freedom to roam up the cliffs… respite from the collective energy field of worry x

Beltane 2019


the balm of a beltane eve, midst late dappled sunshine, a meander up the cliffs
conk nuzzled midst apple blossom, wealth of aroma, me and da bumble bee!
as an aside, i love saying the word bumble bee! lolls around the tongue, like a fine golden brandy left oer’long in the cask – bomMmmble bee, bbumble breee
i keep on wanting to break out in bass tuned ‘per rappa pum poms’… omms and apple francophone pommes i guess?
I love the fact that this tree has grown from a casually tossed aside apple core, yesterdays picnic, todays majestic…
none of the ‘sturdy root stock, specially grafted fruit bearing cultivar’ palaver, just nature doing her thing
all abouts the intricate babble of birdsong, flit of gold finch, warble of thrush, the playful jostle of a family of sparrows
all the rest of the hillside is awash with hawthorns, froth blossom just about to burst out, the flower of the may
both the apple and the hawthorn are, of course, members of the Rose family, the rule of the 5 petaled flower, forever sacred to venus
the hawthorn tho is the somewhat spiky, rough and tumble, tousle haired, scraped knees, tom boy cousin… i love the wild, crazy charm of the hawthorn
tomorrow? next week, i shall go forth to gather the flowers for my annual tincture… good for the heart dontcha know!
something in me churlishly wants to disregard the apple, too abundant, too gawdamn obviously pretty
but then you come upon the blessing of her in blossom, blush pink and white flowers, fresh green leaves, the colours a summoning, and also a softening of the heart chakra
amongst the apple blossom we are in the presence of the maiden, enchanted, fall to one knee, with the sweetest of smiles, offer up, be happy
higher up, looking out to sea, a paraglider stitches a line along the edge of the cliffs, blindly feeling out the uprush of thermals
the colours tho remind me that this morning, before a swim, i’d been up here again, watching my first swallow of the year
hurtle appearing from seemingly nowhere, red cap, white flash, the nigh time blue of plumage, his distinctive swoop and weave
the thrill of a gabbling breakneck speed… speaking of nowt but beauty and joy
happy beltane




fluff-o-rama aaaggh tissues in wash… again, in fact when is there not a tissue in the wash?? around and aROund and Around, they leap out from some secret lair! …once again i shall roam the winter streets as a be-speckled white plump bum fluff monster. a brr beguile alluring look

Soggy Morning

gak! such a dishwater bilge light! morning has summoned up all its gloom and flung it gainst the window pane. Raindrops. speckled admirably, a free form game of join the dots, the sly admonition ‘go on, make what you want’
some drops, swell, then slow fall, an ungainly tumble down, a slug trail of slurp momentum, the monster guzzles all beneath its path!!!
world feels happy, as tho with the sound of a distant joyfull strum
new moon, first of this year, fresh energy, which coaxes us to the skip tip toe
…soon .. soon… tehered to bed. words just to tarry a few moments longer. rummage burrow. submarine. warmth neath duvet


my friend nathan (who doesn’t do facebook) is giving some talks about his book in brighton… i can’t make it, but go along should be interesting!

We Are Awakening… to who we are! (A talk in Brighton, offered by Nathan)
We Are Awakening is a talk about who we are, what we’re doing here, and what this life is really all about.
Of course, it’s up to each one of us to find out for ourselves. Thankfully, there are pointers along the way.
REALLY Knowing who we are is REAL empowerment.
It’s a Cosmic Story unfolding, and it’s all about Awareness.

(Sat 12th January 2013 1-3pm and/or Sat 26th January 2013 1-3pm at Friends Meeting House, Ship St. By donation).

.. and the mystical poetry evening he runs:


The wind was against them now, and Piglets ears streamed behind him like banners as he fought his way along, and it seemed hours before he got them into the shelter of the Hundred acre Wood and they stood up straight again, to listen, a little nervously to the roaring of the gale among the tree-tops.
“Supposing a tree fell down, Pooh, when we were underneath it?”
“Supposing it didn’t,” said Pooh after careful thought.

i don’t usually post potted quotes, not that i don’t appreciate them, just pride that says i should try and express things for myself, but read this one earler, beautifully observed and the feeling/thought seems apt for me this moprning, anyway everyone loves winnie the pooh!
strange typing the words down, a little like reading aloud (which i just did, one of the most marvelous things on earth!), but very very different too x