Author: capital

It is in our veins, and yet we have not said, not shared enough of who and what we are of how we came to be – to be conscious – not enough of soul, of spirit, what it is that

La Mairie Scarlet. Rarely spoken, the name, this colour out in the open, blazing – her bodice, hugging the cream dress, shaped to her waist, raising her breasts – the perfect bride! Him, broad in his cream-white suit, his arterial-red

Difficult to tell the cared for from the carers except where scars of razor cuts hash the lower arms. I remember the day she came up to the window stared in at me from the garden then battered the panes with

Their breasts and thighs are clear masking a sixty watt bulb and their fleshy tones seem real. He stands at the entrance switching the light on and off to watch their shapes appear and disappear. He is drunk. Very drunk.

The world is more than greets our senses. There is salvation in inner peace, being mindful of the moment. Sometimes the greatest changes come from the most subtle leverage – think of butterflies and hurricances. We are bound by the

A film – no videos then – to demonstrate how the beat of a lamb’s heart, unconscious, chest cavity open, is governed by the Vagus nerve. Watch. See. By cutting this thread we stop the heart. Sure enough it stopped.

Selected poems from a men’s rites of passage week organised by Mandorla In the presence of men High on this Welsh hillside among scraggy moss covered oaks, moss clad rocks, boulders, stones I remove my glasses to see up close,

Flayed heads hang in rows, spiked on metal racks, ready for inspection. The technique is to hold the tongue, long and thick in one hand, and use the knife to separate flesh between the cheek and the root of muscle.

Father and son talking over dinner sharing the spaces between stars light years, parsecs, and the son’s question holds the silence for a while: can light become a liquid? Maybe, yes maybe that’s what happens at absolute zero, when nothing

I cried stepping on board the massive steel bulk of this ship which ploughs the waves with all our hopes, our wishes, our prayers for a better future – to save the whale to save the oceans. God give strength to

I used to wear a thin, stripy jacket always carried a packet in my pocket, the same one for over a year, crushed blue paper. Now, eighteen years later, I buy Gauloises Lights, in a shiny red carton. Slowly I

A face her face her beautiful face staring up at the sky. Barking.