Behemoth
It moves slowly, has no languagestronger than ours, so it waits.Thoughts fill its mindit allows them inand ponders their significance,weighs every utterance,weighs each idea as if itwere heavy, had the wholehistory of thought,the toils of its ancestorsbehind it. it...
On Suicide
Alive versus deadNot a choice you want to makeNot a choice you’re givenSometimes a choice you take. When alive becomes lessWhen death becomes an optionYou reach for the knife, the pillWith shadowless stain of will. Your decision is cleanIt’s one you’re affordedNo...
Swifts
Are so talked aboutbecause we cannot see them. Onlytheir shadows, the place where they have beenis recognised, so that one says'Look, a swift!', wrongly placingintense generations of birdsculled from the wrecks of dinosaursin any one place at one time. Swifts aren't...
Elegy for Debbie Carr
Not for someone I knew –Never knew her –Spoke to her, words a fewNever understood her. She was far apart from meIn her imaginationLiked things cosy, modern, TVAnd to let her hair down. Isn’t that the key?She lived her life like meSame world, different waysOf getting...
The Power of Silence
The Power of Silence “When the lips are closed, then the heart begins to speak.” Sufi saying Silence. Ah, if only you could get away from everything. Take a holiday, go walking in the mountains, cycle across a continent, if only... That's the big problem with our...
A Slice of Luck
A key turned in the lock. The next thing he knew his son had grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall. 'I knew it, Dad, you rat, I knew you couldn't change. What were you going to do, sell our secrets for some coins?' He squeezed Beetle's throat with...
Met in a Circle
The Great Cycle
Time leads on and things decay.A the same ‘time’ seasons begin and end. The day begins and ends.Life begins and ends. We are born, and with the breath…We die, and the breath leaves us. Is there a time before life?Is there a time after death? Time continues for those...
Writing Fantasy
Writing Fantasy. What is it to 'write' fantasy? Are we fantasy writers living in an imaginary world? Escapists? Refusing to accept a 'normal' reality? Yes, all these things. But to me, writing fantasy is as much a representation of imagination than anything else. And...
Gaia’s Song
The North Wind and the elementals some call sprites are real creatures. They bear their names, given by the imaginations of men with pride, and the task they have, to clean up the stale nothingness, with equal force. Their nature is against ours, if we think we are...