Beginnings

Everything starts somewhere. Recently I have come to realise that writing is a fantastic release for me. It began with writing some simple little articles for a couple of magazines on scientific content as well as a lifetime (well, 21 years) of beginning (and sometimes ending) short stories, poems and entering (and, unashamedly, winning) writing…

Short Story Beginnings

No. 1 The young man looks in the mirror at the other recruits and wonders why they have to work so hard for something he can do with such ease. He finds his rhythm and poise come naturally, his technique is even enhanced when he works less. Instead, he engages in the art of watching…

Grasping Hand

My friend asked me one day whether I had painted recently. He said he particularly liked my body painting, and would like to see more of that. A week or so later, I felt ready to paint. I liked the colour style of my body painting, to me it evokes the feelings that may lie…

A Novel

This is the start of a novel I wrote almost four years ago now, and have never come back to. However, like I describe in my post on the Nike of Samonthrace, I seem to find something beautiful in the unfinished, or un-whole.  1 Games ‘Raaarrrr!’ ‘Why do you always have to be the main…

don’t remember me

This is a poem I wrote a long time ago, found amongst some other creative writing from my younger days.    if you would like to see me please dont remember me   lets not reminisce about the times that i laughed and loved with you for you because i cant remember   i dont…

See me

Contrast this calm exterior with the Turmoil that lies inside Come, I invite you To see me

Aches

I wrote this poem as I was contemplating another drawing, I wanted to draw a man whose body language hinted at an underlying pain that was not purely physical, however the pose may not fully divulge the depth of feeling behind it.  A body in pain Not physical But aches so deep Inside Where drugs…

Sad Eyes

She looked through sad eyes For something she couldn’t see Her yearning for that something Keeping it elusive

Institutionalised

  Does love still wander the paths of broken men Down the saddened alleyways? Will gratitude ever reign again- Does a bluebird calling still write the same name : happiness? Does a pursuit become a holy quest or Another heap on the side of the forgotten road? When you open the window do you feel…

The Park

Sitting in the warm afternoon sun, With a breeze down my neck- I wonder Where would I be if this was my life? I would study every day, reading and writing My untainted heart away. My mind would be fulfilled with beauty and awe Inspiration would come so quickly and I would write till break…