Incisive scrutin eyes, granted power to see ‘what’ this parliman ‘is’ and ‘who’ she should ‘be’ have come to tear, walking or screaming, her multimeality from its rotting, sedentary, broken but own bone to some safe, secure, sterile, psychiatric home where true voices are silenced and democracies overthrown. Oh voice of the voiceless! Ear of […]Read Post ›
The crescent moon of a magpie’s breast Half turned to bounce the dazzling rays Of rising sun against your face. It brands your eyes – a winged eclipse With a turquoise gem – Then flies away. Illustration by Lori Love
Picture a palette, a lattice of paintblocks like puddles collecting the drops of a rainbow. Each one unique as the prime of a snowflake’s descent and discrete as a tightly held secret. They ripple with boredom and lust for their contrasting company, whether to plunder for pigments, spread word of their own or else simply […]Read Post ›
We don’t grow up. We thicken. Years surround us like the rings of trees to sing the stories of our youth composed of times both rough and smooth but either way, a sturdy shield of streetwise tricks and skills to wield against the many threats that loom outwith the safety of the womb. The […]Read Post ›
Oozing through the kitchen’s veins. Salty, sweet. In shoogled glass or skooshy plastic. Centrepiece of every table. Meals rotate like planets round your chemically stable essence. Vying for the nightly chance to bask amidst your smothered kiss. From bolognaise to fish and chips. Your touch unlocks their finer tastes and grants all entry to my […]Read Post ›
When our planet takes its turn to shield us from the blazing sun and shadows rise to strip the sky Her glistening body sparks our eyes at first with reverential thirst and now with wanton wanderlust. illustration © Lori Love
Beneath a strip of sky so pure your faithful eye can glean what lies beyond your world, and in the few unfurling, drifting swirls of white decipher secrets hidden there – you hide amidst the swaying reeds and watch it closely. Cloaked in grey it stands so still and long on legs so thin a […]Read Post ›
The sands of sleep are not found on some beach But an infinite, timeless desert The depths of which we cannot reach In forms equipped to remember And there where we can shed no light Upon that heavenly mirror We gaze into its blazing might And fleetingly meet our maker
Don Redwood 