Come gather together. Enter this floating city of canvas beneath flags dyed with passion, hearts fluttering; homes from home lift in the heat haze. Feel these gossamer brushstrokes, conducted beneath lavender skies. Every one as evocative as gently strummed strings. Feast on a harvest of harmonies. Lay down your cares at music’s altar. Let … More Flags in the afternoon sun and wind, West Holt’s Stage, Glasto, by Peter Brown
My submerged eyes peer upwards: As if reclining on river’s bed; My body craves the daylight. Copyright Tom Tide 2017
Tee hee. Meme ©Tom Tide 2017
Bath has been full of pilgrims seeking Paradise: Shangri-La, Music Mecca, call it what you will. Now? They have arrived: greeted by flags. A year of desire begins to be sated… For me, this SO bittersweet. I observe through a screen, through a lens the joy of others. Glittered, beautiful faces. Arms raised, arched in … More I shalt covet thy ticket.
I do believe so. Mine is locked deep. Germinating. Coming slowly, slowly to fruition. To arrive when good and ready. Fully formed and full-bodied. Aged. All the more potent for it. Copyright Tom Tide 2017
Every weave and stitch a pigment. All hues, above and within water. Some colours warm- lapping Others chilled and dark. Even hints of the pallete of a Summer sky. Rippling like waves, Conducted by the tide of my hands, as I search for something to quench, no drench my heat. © Tom Tide 2017
Voices carry through the night. Amplified by still-warm walls. Ironic: humans outside and cats in. Every window door vent thrown wide, As the moths have a jamboree. No breeze to ruffle my book leaves tonight, only the tap of winged things, scampering over mottled ink. All dry, everything dry, save my sweat. Tonight, England has … More Solstice
Such are rivers at dusk. Profound serenity. A beauty rippled with sadness, as if Ophelia had just swept around the bend; Robes flowing underwater. Fading as the Sun. Copyright Tom Tide 2017
I sweltered in my car. A metal box, arid and non-living. Then with a click, she emerged. Cradling a watering can wearing a top blue as an April sky. To revive a beloved garden of England. Or perhaps Japan: so lovingly fed and swept in to place by delicate hands. All ferns and fronds. … More Watering can soothe
When I found you, you were ragged. So dusty. Sleeveless in the cold of your neglect. Though metal-rimmed. Built to last. Bumping through the decades, from storage to storage. But what did you mean? You were and are a demo. So: Did you spark a tryst? Give words to some unspoken love? Why didn’t … More What did you mean?