Poetry

Until the die read five or eight

I feel the monsoon sweating down my back,

see the darting tongues of vibrant purple blossoms

and the wrapping vines of sun-kissed waxy blooms.

 

I race the crocodiles down the stream,

run with the wild beasts who stampedeĀ over

burial grounds where their ancestors patiently wait.

 

I see the figurines move along their twisted paths

eyeing the telling jewel as their prize,

but the hunter guards it with savage delight.

 

A roll of the die is all it will take to freeze

the years of waiting to the far reaches of mind,

but will it read a five or an eight?

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New video! Picture books by local authors

Hello everyone, today I made a video about two picture books that have been self-published by local authors to great response. They’ve both managed to get their work in our local Waterstones, which is where (to my glee) I found them.

If you’re interested, you can watch itĀ here