Friday, 6 April 2012


I sent a text today referring to being in the place formerly known as home.

And then this evening I was caught by the sudden draw back to what has become home. I'm in a strange place. I am a stranger. So I did what have to do to make sense of this.

I wrote a poem.

But in a very different style to how I normally write.

The bitter tang of wood smoke
Envelops and fills the sodden air
The night, encroaching without relent
As frantic birds call their last calls.
The gentle rush of a distant train
Push thoughts to that place now home,
Beyond the grey clouds of a distant horizon
Yet never further, than the closing of eyes

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