There’s a stamp on my car, It say’s GB; I’m leaving GB for a spell, you see. And there’s something deeply troubling me- about my land of songs and tea. There’s anger like I’ve never known. Fires lit, fuses blown; Curses reaped from bad seeds sown- Snap decisions. Good sense flown. So I’m … More Heeby GB’s
They gave me the gift of time, those hands. Turning over fossils, reading millennia like braille. Pointing out constellations and meteors. Slowly making smashed treasures whole again with painstaking stillness. I watched them as a boy, in awe of their size. Gripping the steering wheel, driving us to mountains. Oceans. Leathery. Big, turgid veins like … More Those Hands I knew as a boy
There’s a place where all the shavings go, Where it is I do not know; At night when we all sleep and dream, They write the things that should have been. Copyright Tom Tide 2017
Do you know what impresses me about pebbles? They endure. Always. I mean, pick your punishment: they’ve beaten it. Volcanoes, Earthquakes, Crushed for Millennia, Slammed out of Cliffs, Storms, Waves. Dogs. Battered beyond belief. Yet… All the more beautiful for their bludgeoning. Unbroken. Never. Ever. Shattered. As are all impressive people. © Tom … More Impressive
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
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.
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
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?