Fire

A friend has asked me to write about Fire. As a subject, I immediately think of it as a double-edged sword. Beautiful and seductive if tamed, though evil and repulsive if left to its own devices. Heavenly or Satanic. Tantalising. I have always felt an affinity with the fellow who asked me to write this, … More Fire

St Ives

Cobbled streets ingrained with sand. Shops remembered. Resurrected from memories. Every street corner beginning with ‘do you remember when”? Because we do. We measure out our lives in recollections, with this as our setting. Tides roll in, lives move on. Surf retreats, we honour those past. Yet cherish the living. Every year, we bask in … More St Ives

Seas Of St Ives

Cerulean. Aquamarine. Cobalt. Sage. Sorrel. All undulating in shimmering bars. Matt and impenetrable in cloud, yet translucent and brilliant when brought to life by light. A spectrum of water colours swirling langorously and loyally around an achingly beautiful enclave. Surrounded almost entirely by tides, that have sulpted the deeply loved land as they do driftwood, all … More Seas Of St Ives

Clockwork City on National Poetry Day!

The whole complex, road-veined, hill-strewn window-lined network like a coiled watch spring tight with excitement. Lights click on and off in binary code: asleep or awake. Shadowed silhouettes glide behind blinds and curtains, travelling the grooves the cogs the movements of their lives. Teeming activity. At night, an alarming illumination. As the city ticks down. … More Clockwork City on National Poetry Day!

Fresh

I paused yesterday. Worn out, strung out. Eyes burning from frenetic activity. I paused yesterday. When my child self suddenly  ignited. Vibrant colours spun. I remembered. The arc of a blue sky. Lying flush to the grass and playing with beaded orbs of dew. Not remembered for decades. Until yesterday.   © Tom Tide 2016 … More Fresh

Shepherd’s Warning

The day is but newly struck. Blushing in its naïveté, yet still A Brave New World. Most still abed: whether Messiah or monster (and everybody else in between). What a difference today could make, In its increments of pivoting hands. Shifting digits. Whatever. I take you, day. For richer, for poorer. In rank sickness or … More Shepherd’s Warning

Beacons

This is a poem about smoking. Burning through a pack of Ten. Ten moments in time. Ten streams of conciousness. Ten pauses.   The first? A smoke screen hiding inner fears. The second blasts the fear, yes every trace. Third one  blows up clouds that squeeze out ashen tears; Fourth a signal, steeling jaw in … More Beacons

The Revenant

Who is that? Startled by an unfamiliar recognition, now jolted back from listlessness. All presently begrimed in hazy reflection. Shadows seeping in to corners. This moment, this raw moment reproduced faithfully. Faithfully- in all its grubby hand-flinching nervousness. Backlit gracefully by warm brightness That welcomes you home To yourself.   © Tom Tide 2016   … More The Revenant