a memorial

a three-legged butterfly alights on my jumper in the sun-drenched graveyard of three thousand souls.

A Museum

Their ghosts press in on me, still screaming demanding they be heard. They press with the weight of 1362 feet of steel. They refuse to be ignored I must know their weight and carry it though I know none of them they are not my kinsmen. Yet I strain to listen and bear their weight I …

Laudromat

We jumped (tumbled, wandered) into the rain, down the stoop onto the sodium-lit street. We had a direction in mind, so ran, huddled, laughed our way, until, whilst taking brief shelter under a small awning, we were intrigued by a group of people outside a laundromat. A closed, darkened laudromat at 11pm (was it 11? …

Sunday

A saxophone plays in Central Park, New York City. A warm breeze blows like an armistice over boulders and across wild grass, carrying birdsong - one among myriad languages that pop and fizz around street vendors beneath their umbrellas. A mustard and ketchup smile spreads over my face. Everyone is themselves, And I am me, And …

Kochi

We’d been walking for over an hour in loops and circles through labyrinthine walkways, our sandals and feet covered in dry dust from the narrow stone streets; our modest, sensible clothes stuck to the sweat on our bodies. The air was a haze of smoke, petrol and incense, sometimes so pervasive that I had trouble …

NZ

In my mind lasts the resounding, echoing images of New Zealand that bring tears to my eyes. I miss it as I would a person - a lover, perhaps, with whom I've had to part. It's beauty in its grandeur, its calm, humble strength, its warmth and its biting cold. The landscape that crescendoes and …