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‘In a form of self-imposed isolation, miles from any chance of a satisfying social experience, the sadness was real and as beautiful and fragile as the Earth the sun will one day destroy.’

I write short fiction for enjoyment.

Some years ago I decided to write a memoir and I’m still at it, around 60,000 words and now turning it into fiction.  I used to keep an online reflections blog but it all just got a bit too esoteric and I nearly disappeared.

There’s a book of my poetry and photos here.

Just about there

Just about there
But just out of reach.
A non-state, a no thought
A notion of bliss.

Between strong forked life-boughs
Barn feathers swiftly glide.
Dusk loves his wide eyed
Silent winged wisdom,  all-seeing.

Fleeting, gently teasing
Love birds nod and sing.
Above and between
and other such dualities.

 

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