Dancing Seriously


Everything seems to have reduced.

The expansive largess; the open-arm generosity of invitation and rencontres.

Where is the communal dance? The joyous hallelujah??

I remember being part of the new rave in the eighties. That was when the rot set in although we could not see it through the curtains of snakes and waterfalls of Champagne!

Do people scurry now – more than before?

Furtively leave tiny spaces to sit all day in tiny booths, earplugs in?

Blind and deaf ?

I think they do. But not blind. Not deaf.

They dance inside, linked to a global tribe that, whilst not as effusive, dances with purpose as they bend to change.





I lofty. I lily lean softly to the right.
To watch you write.

Bored, I will my gorgeous orange ellipse petals to open wider, stretch higher.
I beautiful. I brighten your day and that is my purpose.

When you pause, lift up to gaze vacantly around. Thinking?
I contemptuous you.

You – here for a long time, filling time.
Me – blooming brilliantly, filling my short existence with a languid but focused energy that you will never have.

I lofty.

I win.



IMG_20190301_084152~2I have a man who takes the time to come back home having set out to work – because he found roses.

I have a man who, every day, tells me I’m beautiful.

I have known this man for 38 years and our life is a cliche.

And it is wonderful😃

The Eagle


Hiking at Castellaras yesterday, I noticed that I had to keep my eyes on the path for fear of stumbling. It was only when we stopped that there was the opportunity to lift the gaze to the white rock cutting the blue sky and to marvel at the view.

As I was deciding whether to keep my gaze micro or macro, an enormous Eagle, flashing yellow, glided down a copse just ahead.

It was magnificent. It was fleeting. I would have missed it had I been looking at the sky.



Borgeois Twombly


Lapping sea
Lapping coffee
Slapping waves, shlurping sea – slamming caffeine.
Lopping swimmers in swelling sea.
Hopping yogis in silhouette.
Lapping waves, sipping thoughts, sifting coffee.
Floating torsos, bobbing limbs – echoes of whispers
Slap, lap, slap, lap…

Veiled sun and gossamer air.
Soft, soft, slap.
War ships on the horizon, all pointing in the same direction as the shower rains down to my right.

Coffee tang.
Yearning pang.
All anticipation on the raked, smooth sand.

Party time for Aquarians.

img_20190201_123305Party time for Aquarians

Party time for Aquarians.
We all gather at Lee’s.
I’ve made a cake in the shape of a jarre,
Someone else has brought cheese.

These are my french friends – older, and full of vim.
We “fait le bisous” and find out what’s new,
Hit the floor and dance the night through.

Hit repeat in two weeks time – this time in Brexiting Britain.

I miss being here with my mates far and near
but, frankly, it’s with Europe I’m smitten!

I’m an ex-pat. I straddle La Manche.
Not a migrant or refugee – no!
My white skin sees to that – but the words “ex” and “pat”
are wrong and make me feel low.

I am not a patriot. I am definitely still here
on a landmass without physical borders.
I work hard, pay my dues and go where I fancy
without fear of harassment or orders.

Party time for Aquarians –
we all gather at Lee’s.
We are of every colour and nationality here
and we dance and do as we please.


sea spume - 2

My muscles shorten me by a good two centimetres as they scrunch up tightly in an attempt to conserve warmth in the frigid apartment.

At midday, I glance up at the blue ribboned sky threading together the dark empty street – and see that now is time for the beach.

Rounding the corner, through the arch/frame – all is life and quickening.
White spume dashes off the rocks as the waves swell and roll ever higher onto the light bleached, sand.

A four-mast sailing boat pitches and dips a couple of hundred metres off shore and provides entertainment for the seasoned swimmers, forced to sit and watch this time.

I peel off the layers and join them on the stone bench, sun drenched.
Immediate heat targets tightness – the joints soften, open, and I lift my face to the solace and
order is restored.

European lunch.



Ha! Whilst recovering from la grippe and listening to endless discussion about whether to stay or go, I see that my lunch is on the side of Europe😊

French eggs, Italian pizza, English crockery, German egg cup – and the table comes from Spain!

We are better together, surely?


A jaunty dirk.

after appel

A jaunty dirk – full of promise and fecund – she strode up the hill to the sun and the constant sea.

Finally, the last vestige of who she was loosened itself and as she propelled bone and muscle forward along the familiar path, it sloughed off, pink and moist, to land in a gobbet of wobble. Damn! No plastic bag to pick it up.

She strode on – and turned to glimpse all that had been her – innocent, forming and still plumped, soak into the warm stone – and she regretted it for an instant.

She had been a good life.

Braced and knowing, she felt her revealed skin flap darkly around her new purpose.

Dry and loose, it still served to contain the wet interior of her ideas and beliefs – and it would serve until they too were wrung out and she was good for nothing except forking Rose with a spatula.