One of the reasons I started this blog was to document internet trails. Sometimes when I check the spelling of a word for a poem, or want to find out what a word looks like, or who else has used a word, I end up on these little roads of discovery. I know it’s a been a journey of some kind because I can feel my mood transformed and/or it’s fascinating to look back and see where I’ve been.

SCROLL DOWN past the lengthy intro to see the first trail!

However, as is the case with many a spontaneous and “non-cloaked in art” post, I hold back from sharing because I worry that I might be linking to something which is actually written by someone with or associated with an idealogy that actively opposes my existence or that of people I love/support, and/ or it seems pointless and frivolous.

Note: Many external pages contain ads that I DON’T endorse! Please exercise ad blinkers when surfing these pages..

The thing about the former is by the very nature of quick reference and image searching, I am not necessarily going to be checking sources in detail. As for the latter point, one of the ideas of this blog was also to be a curiosity box of highly contrasting moods and material as well as help me remember where I’ve travelled to. Also, it’s a chance to log some of my fleeting responses to flying matter..

So as with other ideas, (following this lengthy preface!!) I will give it a go and see how I feel about it.

TRAIL #001

Searching for a word lodged vicariously between crevice, carapace and cliff, I put in “cravice” and found..

  • Weird banana faces which lead me to
  • A list of traits exhibited by creative people do (Can relate to all of these!)
  • “He can turn your pee into sparks!” (NB: the top three all originated from the same blog!)
  • Acrobatic dance video. A surprisingly satisfying and nourishing result of being lured by a click bait style thumbnail which actually leads to a safe (I assume!) page on the host website. As someone who watches about an hour of TV a week at most – Casualty (UK) if you must know, I found the camera moves very exciting, and the reactions of the viewers. Also, once, many years ago, a friend said that it was time  to move countries because she needed (or wanted) a different linguistic environment. Having just travelled to a place where I could not read the language, but could partially understand by listening and communicate (albeit in a limited manner) by speaking, I valued the chance to take in more regarding body language, mood and energy from non-verbal cues. (To the extent of trying to watch a bunch of videos on the plane just to catch the vibe while not understanding 95% of what the people were saying!)
  • Emotional Acrobatic dance video. (like above but with more shivers)
  • Tourist Spot Acrobatic dance video. I really like the way they they turn up in a random place and do acrobatic dance moves, oblivious to whoever’s around or perhaps enjoying the attention, or even if there’s no one around except the waves and a glowing beach. And they’re professionals, they know what they’re doing. Moreover, they’re just using their own bodies and not bothering anyone.  A symbol of boldness..



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In memory of a sun

‘Tween still trees and tall shadows

I wait for your voice.

Throw the grey grass 

A word of warmth.


The mother of a close friend and artist friend passed away yesterday. I heard so much about her, she was the life and soul of the family. For various reasons, I never got to meet her. 😦

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The Trees (II)

When I was growing up, one of the grandest features of the house was a fir tree with more tops than trunks. 

Our garden was next to the train line and when we went to take the tube, we could see the tops of the trees as the train went by, like a friendly wave sending us out on journeys to go shopping and meet friends. 

That’s our house, we’d smile at each other.

Then, as the train rolled us back home, the treetops welcomed us home.

Occasionally, a black and white stream of fur would rocket into the garden and up into the tree after a squirrel. She never managed to catch one – although other “presents” appeared from time to time. 

As the years went by, one of the trees went brown. Yes, it’s better for it to go, nodded the tree surgeon. The other might live. And the other trees around it. 

The cat slept on my bed the whole time the tree surgeons were at work. 

Not long after, the trees around disappeared. Sad trunks stood in their place, the bracken persisted.

Then the remaining tree started to go brown too. 

Rage paced snarling within the walls of the house. It was a giant’s house. But no space for anything.

One afternoon we received an email from the tree. It just said, I miss the other one. It’s just not the same. 

Time ago, a red-bellied woodpecker started dining on the inhabitants of the tree, and yesterday it was there. Cloaked in an enchantment of snow and a whirring wind blows ice flakes across the garden and the local streets. A fleeting aroma of a past grandeur as the hours slip by.

Perhaps we’ll plant a new tree, says the cat, over breakfast, pouring me a quiet pint of tea, before the day’s opportunities began to whir.

An idea grows in my mind. A beautiful tree with fruits and singing birds. 

No need for fruits, purrs the cat, sweetly.

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The Trees (I)

That night, in a dream the trees came for me. Like the ones in the Scottish play, they advanced on my window, and, there being no glass that day, simply climbed through into my house. 

A ghostly rustle of antique silk and a dank smell of river grass hovered, yet as calmly as I could, I tried to ask them how much sugar they wanted in their tea. 

We want most of the sugar you don’t have. The trees looked in my pockets and found a coin or two, some fluff and… 

….. a golden grin of sugar. 
…  …  …

They left for a winter’s stroll along the river. Don’t wait up, they chorused, But we’ll be back.

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Door to door the road unrolls.

No place for my load.

Wood, paper, iron, rust, 

Every door seems closed.

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I step – – into the dark.

My feet find the snow.

Each breath slices down.

The sun sleeps in the earth.

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A Jar, Painted Grey / The Heart Cam

It was my heart. I was sure of it. 

There in the window of the butchers’… Bright fist of flowers on a meat hook. 

I was prevented from entering the shop. All I could do was wait and see what might happen next. 
To my surprise, the butcher permitted me to organise the set up of a video monitor on a shelf in the corner of her shop. A heart cam! Of course, I did not personally attend the procedure. She said it was the least she could do, as long as I paid the electricity bills in a timely fashion. 

CLANG – the door to the butchers’ shop opened, and a cluster of school children entered. I couldn’t hear what they were after, but I could see the butcher shaking her head, and pointing them firmly in the direction of the sweet shop. 

Next, an elderly couple came in, with large cases the colour of old sellotape. One case contained a lyre on which bitterly chirpy tunes were played, while the other case was filled with empty bowls and vials, which fit neatly into velveteen recesses. Watching them leave, the butcher gave a little wave, and closed the door carefully after them. 

No one else went in for a very long time. 

Rarely would friends have described me as a calm soul, and now, impatience grew in me, like a weed bursting through a house.

I worked extra hours to keep the monitor running. There is always someone, somewhere, who wants a pizza. At home, I fed old tales to cracks in the windows and walls, to keep the wind out. 

Then, at last… one day, the door clanged open again. A clock in a dark suit, with a shiny silver face went up to the counter, spoke to the butcher, and left, with my heart. 

Years passed.

I had no idea what happened. 

I think I missed it a little. Yet, I couldn’t be sure

One day, the clock came back with my heart. It was probably just a funny angle, but I really think it had melted slightly. 

The butcher put the price up and my heart back in the window. 

Before summer ended, the shop door opened and a coin strode in. Round-faced like the clock, the coin was stinking rich, yet dressed in a cloak of old dirt and never ate except at another’s table. 

The haggling continued until the ground was covered in snow. 

The next afternoon, I fell asleep and dreamt about an ocean of eagles, swimming towards a box of biscuits, buried deep in its hidden floor.

Awaking, I noticed my heart was gone. 

The phone rang in the shop. After some deliberation, the butcher took the phone out of the freezer and answered my call, denying all knowledge of our arrangement. 

What exactly had it been again? I wasn’t so sure…

Yet, the monitor is there on your shelf, I said. I can see you, holding a coffee and reading a library book about-

I’ve no idea who this is, she whispered sourly, looking right at the camera, and hung up on me. 

The picture fizzled and instead of showing the butchers, displayed a photo of various endearing baby animals. I was a little confused.

Music from an advert for footless tights trickled out from the tv. 

“You’re as cold as ice.”🎵

I picked up my keys and walked towards an orange sky. 

The butcher put down her coffee as the door opened. She regarded me over the counter, behind safety goggles, her eyes glinted like the last bit of jam.  

I made that sawdust from a shelf, she grimaced proudly as a choir began singing from the deep freeze. 

How was I to know she liked hymns? 

“Amazing grace.”

Suddenly, she steps across the sawdust and opens the freezer.

I am handed a jar, painted grey. 

I know what is inside. 

My heart. 

Or is it? 

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