My mother has always told me that when I first went to Primary School, I wrote upside down and back to front. I was also Left-handed. Perhaps in my mind I was living on another planet, with an unusual orbit and topsy-turvy gravity. Maybe in my present state of mind I still do. Needless to … More Thank You for my letters
Sultry machines, typewriters. Yes, really. Think. Silken ribbons, sopping in anticipation. Traces of wetness left on sheets of white. Intense, this fluid exchange. These keys are as blindfolded lovers- ribbed and longing for touch, they quiver at the first stroke as hot darts of desire leap upwards. Arched limbs. Every finger’s caress … More Bold
The Sea flows through my Pen. I pray that words will flow as freely as waves. © Tom Tide 2017
This most odd of places, to which I retreat. Shuffle off teacher robes, and return to myself. This quiet, sunlit cove of my lifes and loves. Plastered over the walls, as if by retreating floods. Yey no. Not plastered. Placed, with loving care for eyes to drink upon and be refreshed, Whatever challenges the chipping away … More Work Station- a teacher’s lifeline.
It is surprising what a teacher can do with a blank door and a dog-eared Ladybird picture book. I detested the idea of throwing away my charity shop bought copy of What to Look for in Summer’. It has now transformed the door of my classroom in to a little glimpse of summer fecundity, and as such … More Sumer is icumen in!
Tom Tide, in tide at High Tide. Copyright Tom Tide 2017
I love Brutalist Architecture. I love it. I love the size and the shape and the colours (or lack of colours) of it. I feel strongly about it. To me, it is anything but brutal. It is sublime and sculptural, and makes me feel immediately fascinated yet humbled whenever I see it. As an appreciator … More Brutalism
No more than Ivy winding around branches, Deep down a Somerset lane. Yet the glimpse of it took me to Paris: to flowing Guimard Ironwork. Arching stonework on Barcelona streets. Exotic, urban landscapes. © Tom Tide 2016
The whole city a coral reef. Resplendent with phosphorescence. Beautiful, really. Punctuated with staccato blasts. Syncopated echoes to every flash. Yet so fragmented. Too many, many small, pigeon holed shouls. Hardly an ecology. Or society. My God, united, all displays could make a blaze fit for a King. Whole streets pooling knives and Fawkes to … More Never be Forgot
This is me. No grandiloquent celebration- Just a snapshot on a cold morning. Selfie? I loathe the word. No this is me making a record through a record through a mirror through a lens. This is me today. Right now. Hello. © Tom Tide 2016