Seeing shadows of  reflections, walking in winter through mist and darkness, black and whiteness, like a corridor of sleep and whilst we slept The Sea Queen of Connaught sailed into the bay and stole away the warm tears of our sleeping  daughters and their lovers.
they saw the brutal granite cliffs of Scilly, the hellish bay of change to gentle sandy coves.
Feeling the clouds, protecting faces from wind blown sand
On Samson Island, gardens of seaweed, an imaginary hand in your hand.
We watched the grey sky turn to blue, ancient graves, from ancient days
Ruined empty cottages, echo childrens laughter like sounds of waterfalls.
I felt the miles rush by, the look of dread and golden eye’s
I saw the jealous sea turn green and shadows unfold and sang a roaring ocean..
I drowned down down down into the dark shadow depths as you swam up.
wooden teeth, wooden smile.

My Dad
We ran out into the dark, the dank darkness, and throw ourselves headlong like leathery wings heavy with the blood of fallen trees, and built a tower with  drunken memories of cold nights sitting on the stony shore as salt rain ran through my dreams and icicles jabbed at our conscience,and pixies tiny teeth bit our ice cold flesh.
 you went away when I was not looking and left no trail or clues to follow, I missed you at first like ale and warm evenings with my Swedish dancer, more then flesh and bone more house than home.
 Angry and  sad, I set out on a journey to find you in the north the empty barren north, I'm told, every time I slept I woke, at the beginning at home alone but warm, which made it more difficult to set out again trying not to sleep, the mornings where the best, lots of ground covered and blond haired children followed, dancing and telling stories of their grandma's curses, I carried a picture of you, of us both, from a photo from a photo booth.
 I ran out into the dark and throw myself into the emptiness and woke up in my head.
  and so I start off again on my journey to find you and me and our lifetime together which has been and gone.

A lost Banjo on a beach on Tean, a desert island where foot prints don’t fade and mermaids tails leave trails in the hot white sand. There that special beach just beyond time, no one can reach and footprints never fade, the sea washes over like flickering bat like wings and shafts of golden light, dancing egrets at the tides silver edge, blue rushes in over blue, the misty ocean carrying glistening riders as the sun settles, heading for Africa, that  beach, beyond time, just out of reach, who's footprints go where mermaids play on rusty banjos.

My father sent me as fathers do, with good intentions to a desert island when I was a child to be alone, or maybe alone, and not alone, there was such silence there, although the birds did cry. I fell into a rock pool and deep deep down I met my future, it bleed into the sand on the beach like a city, like Brisbane or Rome, Toes and heels toes and heels, and every part of a foot, how many wild ideas were found every moment in my fancy, and what strange, unaccountable whimsies came into my thoughts by the way, and silence lay across this white and hot bay, first I saw his name on a piece of broken pottery just there on the shell line, and then there in the distance is Robinson Crusoe, wearing a red dress looking down at my footprint in the wet sand, my future in his book in one hand and an unbrella from a store in singapore in the other, he looked worried but smiled a wicked smile as he looked up and caught my eye and mouthed the word "honey" I broke down and cried for the memory of my lost love's.

beneath my toes the sand began to crumble and beneath my heels a secret unfurled and the lies come flooding like years of tears, betrayal! I looked back to see if he was looking back at me and hastened away with sails that needed no wind but prayers and darkness.

Today we love what tomorrow we hate!” Those words for things and songs in the wind and feelings of seeing and sounds, those little shivers and quivers, those small things like water meeting toes and sand and grass on bare feet, those meetings those greetings, wispy white clouds and distant bells called illiswilgig , the depths where canon lie melting into the rocks and kelp and creature living within the smell of gunpowder long gone and the paint from hull hauled along and running through water and rolling on sand and the helping hand the bandage and smell of cream to heal the grazes where pavements use to meet the hedgerows where birds build their homes and puddles that glitter and children leap, the tinkering sound, fluttering moths, candle like light and sleep and heroic pedestrians.

Well I was walking to work today across the golden sand, the wind was cold from the east, "a poisonous wind" my grandmother would say, and blowing hard,enough to whip up some of the ocean spray in a mist that covered my face and crusted, lick my lips and taste the salty brine, I tried to get further inside my hood but secretly liked that tiny sting, so as to remind us of our fragility and the elements and pain that's what keeps the brain ticking , well that walk of mine, today was another filled with sad memories and looking down to tiny worlds below when suddenly into my field of view leaped this flower erupting like flowers do in the desert after rain, the blue flower came, to help me on my way, and now I'm wondering who sent it,then a smile and now I know, and smile again which is what you sent it for. thank you.

Better do some work, get my stuff out, get prepared, watch the time and tide and feed the mind and join the lines the dots the lot.

on my lonely way to Eden, sand and seawater in my boots, seadogs and cabin boys are sailing off and leaving.
Patrick and sponge bob, are on their way, on their way to Byron bay or someplace on this sparkly day, say hello to my ship mates and kiss the salt like a swig of tequila, and dance the mango tango, that's enough for me, or any other hippy, I'm in the grave yard now and loving them memories through happy sad eyes, even though I live in Pa ra dise, they are happy sad eyes,.
Jack and Phin and the famous pirate with my blood, Cap'n Jim (wrecked aboard a lonely lighthouse and lived there for five score year and three) they are the three landing at Byron bay with the ghost of Ned Kelly, such is life.

It was a long and lonely walk for me this morning, no sea monster and limpets,me my only company, the beautiful French ladies that sat outside my summer window have returned to their soft misty walls across the ocean, although, I still see their wake, golden hair, a trail like ice, phosphorescence, that walk was like a week in Paris and now I'm thinking about going back and a gentle wind, spice, hot sand and the ripple of the wake from the French ladies scent laden Bateau, to my left, drums and the smell of hidden land, to my right and with eyes shut tight I could navigate, I hope I will see you at the low tide, I hope you bring your violin and I'll bring the barmaid with beer and pickled Herring.

Sun set and away you went, just a shadow, a shimmer, and the light came in like the green flash and suddenly on the sand your name appeared as if to say "this is my name" "in the sand"peanut butter and jam.

Feel, lifted,feeling alive and in a perfect space.

I was feeling ropey until I stepped onto the beach, some sea and some sand seeped into my sandals and my ropeyness left me and happyfulness was in reach, and I took it and walked the shore, soft and warm and little sand hoppers and slow old winkles and limpets settled and sea birds SHOUTED and invisible creatures just watched me pass unhindered and all was good, I passed some stranded jellyfish and lots of bladderwrack and a boat on its moorings and treasure scattered all over, I turned to go up to my studio but the sun burned hot and warm on my face so I just kept walking on and on and pretended that I couldn't see the invisible creatures so they wouldn't worry and I went on and on across the lovely white sand, but now I'm home and feeling a bit sad thinking of my dear old dad, he's still alive but only in my head.

Mermaids purse and other delights, sometimes treasure,sometimes pain, sweets like spanish gold.

Blue sea glass, blue glass sea, blue glass music from under the ocean, a song of lost mermaids scales.

I just want to be with you,to share this view and the sea with you, Just another glimpst of our journey keeps me from extreme sadness.
walk into the sea, I went in crying and I came out laughing. all the little fishes in the sea are my fam ily.

I'm a duck.

The tide, and the tide, I saw a woman on the prow of a ship, signing these words and I smelt the sea as she crashed against the rocks and as salt laden mist high and curling and dashing sea and crashing waves and rocks holding back perched against and up holding and praying for the ghosts to free her from responsibility and tears again and again , grandmother, grand father, touching my finger tips before slipping back and ghosts and memory of houses, cathedrals, shells and bells and tears from limpet shells, and hells bay, a body floating face down, drowned and the men that stayed at home and the men that refused to lie, could not sleep but peep out from under their blankets at chinamen in windows, rose and went out into the tempestuous sea to accompany the body of that long dead sea person so as to sleep in complete conscience, tonight, and smell the paraffin as the wick is starved. now I sit and wait.....and wait...and it grows cold and colder, no one comes and I think of my love and loved ones and I cry, but don't care, so tears remain, no one comes..I look out into the land and remember as a child and then a young woman and now an old lady, I sit alone and wait until I eventually see the light cold, cold, cold. (this is for my grandmother I love er!)

You can always find treasure on the beach,Under the beach I walked on the sea, you can always find water, I walked on the sea, you can always find sand dunes, I walked on the oceans and mountains were waves as long as memories, and walking on the sea is good for as long as you tell yourself "thats what it is". must dash! collecting treasure before the sun sets.

A hot still day, the sea, pond like as Minihaha runs her hand down the contours of her heaving wooden hull, Minihaha a beautiful girl from India who walked beneath the waves and sang to sailors as their ships kissed the fog ridden rocky headlands of the shore, actors of a time, playing silent pianos, Minihaha stood still as Poirot's tried to board, the captain took a pistol and sang a wailing song, shouting "take your beauty back", beneath the waves but still afloat Minihaha, near the garden of maiden bower of north and south cuckoos,and she slipped out through the sound and out to the far east and that lost landscape of lyonesse, we were small children, watching the smoke and listening to the Indian music, it was a good friday and my father and grandfather both helped me over the tall plants that covered the path to catch the last glimpse as she disappeared over the eastern horizon to a restless life between Continent's far flung as planets

Black and White evening coming back over the sea,Phosphorescence and vodka and dreaming of Tripoli, how many times have we done this trip? like our brothers and sisters and menagerie, and the seaweed starts to grow like roots from the sea, moonlight light, moonlight, moonlight and a little fire to burn off the dew and that perfume I gave you and that conversation about life and stuff, those little fish for supper and candle light and smugglers came ashore and no one saw or cared, then going on and on, a leaking boat and hills against the sunset and lots of, i love you's, yes that's what I mean, I love you's, but by the time it gets to you the moment has passed and the meaning is gone and trembling like tiny life .

Bartholomew in Blue, holding the knife, thinking of you, thinking of me, down,close to the sea, we sailed and sailed out to the place where the sunset meets the horizon and then looked down and saw reflections of tired faces, and then sailed back and sat on the quay, and had bare feet and ate mackerel for tea.. teach um to fish and run with the tide and clamber over rocks and collect winkles and be all puffed out and tell them about anguish.Bartholomew in blue, a deep voice, holding the knife, making me nervous, lavish apostle, on the beach, in the sand, by the ghosts of dancing tentacles, I keep finding the evidence of vengeance, we sailed and sailed, far far away, looking back to see you looking back at us in our little dinghy looking back at you, the wind died and left us like prisoners on the milky sea,I don't have serous concerns,its not really me, just a memory.

I looked up through the murky brine to the surface above, shards of light, ripple and flight, a nice sound like music from India, a seadog told me 100yrs ago, there was a city out there, a beautiful city and a huge wave which came and drowned, the landscape,it all disappeared beneath the waves and now fishermen sometimes hear the sounds of the church bells ringing beneath the surface and sometimes bring up pieces of glass from windows in their trawls, pieces of life and of death, that white horse that galloped away out west and my mother cried, I want to love her but I just see you, down beneath the waves walking along the pavement, covered in seaweed, I throw a gold ring over and into the sea, I watched it zig zag down into the depths, the ring is for you, its from me, I found the green glass, you sent back, a bottle of wine once shared in the beautiful city? before the wave came, whoosh! the birds got away and the fish'll be ok, but I don't know if the white horse made it to safety....i think so.

Tim! all tangled up in cob webby tears? I walk this beach every day like my great aunt Amy but never realized it was you, that big overcoat like a detective, lets walk the beach, back and forth, back and forth, making a furrow in the soft hot white sand, Tim! hold my hand and we'll sing a song, a song about Spring, the tide will come in and then we will all, be, the same, no pain just the ripples as the sea meets the sand, hold my hand, now a fish, not a de, tec, tive.

I'm on the edge of a volcano where it meets with the sea, picking up beach finds and reading Kerouac, you andme, loads of rock pools and filled with life, like me and you, filled with life, you can borrow my eyes and everything, between the sea and the sand theres a thin light band, its a place you know well, your smiling to yourself as memories sweep over you, the thin light band, time, a place forgot and through your toes hear echos of ghosts, laughing,crying, of youth,truth and little blue plastic crabs that come ashore to breed, mind you don't run over those crabs, they may be you or your dad, even bicycles are dangerous and the brakes, brakes, get off my blue crabs, I was walking up the steep beach, its difficult in the soft sand, give us your hand, its not really blue, but woad, a Scottish crab seeking revenge for the bicycles with no brakes and breeding above the light band, no sea, no sea, no fucking sea, out of breath and looking for Dad, the worst dream I ever had, that ford popular chugging along and beep! beep! hello ! you lovely blue crab.

Above the soft golden sandy beach,amongst sea strewn,weathered, rounded stones, a tangled webb we've woven, emotions of all the life and the pictures of a world and all the stuff played out and the tracts and foot prints we leave are lost, falling down between the rocks and hard places like frozen leaves,only memories remain, well maybe it was only the memories that started the dream in the first place, those tangled ropes can tell the long forgotten tales to future beach combers as they clamber over the shore line in search of an innocent tale to add to a collection and then when in the far distance someone comes down in the dark they will hear the little voices and see the pictures we left behind, amongst the tangled ropes amongst the rounded stones and down between the rocks, you and me having a lovely cheese fondue.