Sunday 26 June 2016

Between Tides - A Haibun



I had hoped for something better all week, but feared the worst. On Thursday the village polling station was busier than I had ever seen it before, a sign that something was about to change. Friday dawned as dull and grey as a June morning can be and then got bleaker. Disbelief turns to anger at how so many people could be so stupid and believe the lies of the haters and charlatans. Driving around, I swear at the Leave posters that have stained the countryside red. I search for someone to blame, never a good place to be. By Saturday, it's time to search for something else.

On the coast path, there's a fine dividing line between the monoculture of the wheat fields and the strip of cliff edge where the flowers grow. Beyond the subsidised farmland, there's thrift, sea campion, speedwell, ragged robin, foxgloves and wild roses, with honeysuckle and ox-eye daises escaped from gardens. Everything is in its right place, before and after. Out at sea, the flood tide meets an opposite wind, creating a blocky wind-chop. The fishing boats are all in harbour and the seals holed up in sheltered coves, waiting for a change in the weather.

At the headland, there's a strong tide-race close to shore. The ferry sails to Ireland, unaffected by the prevailing swell. Gannets swirl above the meeting currents, dropping like sharped stones into the grey-blue water. There are dark shapes breaching among the broken waves. I sit and watch the pod of dolphins feeding. For the first time all week, an hour passes quickly. Time to think about what I need to do next.

sea cave --
a jellyfish caught
between tides




Sunday 31 January 2016

Saturday 30 January 2016

Friday 29 January 2016

Thursday 28 January 2016


premature daffodils
a plastic trike left
out for recycling


Wednesday 27 January 2016

Saturday 23 January 2016

Friday 22 January 2016



staff development
people problems
cover the flip-chart




Thursday 21 January 2016

Wednesday 20 January 2016

Tuesday 19 January 2016



traffic light season
the river passes
a line of commuters


Sunday 17 January 2016

Saturday 16 January 2016

Friday 15 January 2016

Thursday 14 January 2016

Wednesday 13 January 2016

prostate exam
the consultant's finger
touches a nerve


Tuesday 12 January 2016

Monday 11 January 2016

Sunday 10 January 2016

Saturday 9 January 2016

Friday 8 January 2016

Thursday 7 January 2016
























wildflower meadow
the picnic bench
becomes an anvil

Wednesday 6 January 2016

Tuesday 5 January 2016

Monday 4 January 2016

Sunday 3 January 2016

























Ginst Point, New Year


We walk towards an estuary
Where three rivers merge,
And I stumble in the dune slack,
Mud on ripped jeans,
A sign of things to come.


Our movement spooks
A flock of plovers,
The tide drew out to shining sand,
As you ask if animals die of old age,
Only if the predators don't get them first.


In your photographs,
I'm a man time is stalking,
The years creep,
Like a punt gunner,
Carrying the blunderbuss,


That fells a clutch of geese,
Amongst the flotsam,
We collected together,
Someone I trust,
To pick up my broken pieces.

___




Saturday 2 January 2016

the chapel goers
hurried inside
winter rain

#senryu 

Friday 1 January 2016

New Year's Day
piss and rain spill
from a chip tray