I watched mesmerised on Thursday night as a blood-red nearly-full moon rose above the railway bridge opposite my Battersea flat. A beautiful, primal sight. As transfixing as the sea or a flickering fire or the shimmering ever-changing surface of the Thames.
On Margate Sands
From Eliot to Emin, or Emin to Eliot, is just a short stroll across the broad stretch of Margate Sands. Here we were, on our short trip out of London, the mercury rocketing into the 20s (celsius, obviously), and enjoying most of what Margate has to offer. Adorning Droit House, on Margate Harbour Arm, is …
RIP
As I've been trawling through my (worryingly?) comprehensive CV this afternoon to update the Short Stories page, it's reminded me of so many great little magazines which have fallen by the wayside. R.I.P. PROP (which stood for Poetry, Reviews, Opinions, Prose - a good and interesting balance); em one (writing and music - it came …
dipping my toe
We could start with a quote from John Cage: "I have nothing to say and I am saying it and that is poetry." 'Lecture on nothing' (1961)
Hilaire 