Day 38
The cat is drinking water out of paint can lids again. Yesterday’s rain is fresher than indoor water. She Has always done this, prefers a dirty puddle to A clean… Continue Reading
Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter
The cat is drinking water out of paint can lids again. Yesterday’s rain is fresher than indoor water. She Has always done this, prefers a dirty puddle to A clean… Continue Reading
Today, I will not chide myself about not getting up until after 10am. Today I will not get into that pit of telling myself that I have wasted my day… Continue Reading
Three of the six books I’ve read so far this year have been non-fiction, which is probably more non-fiction than I read all last year. And of course I’m ploughing… Continue Reading
An hour ago, I started keying a poem directly into this blog. It didn’t work. It can be like that sometimes, with poetry, with prose – you start something, it… Continue Reading
I just threw a cough sweet wrapper at the bin. It missed. That’s just about a metaphor for my days. Yesterday, Ren wrote about having ideas and almost immediately forgetting… Continue Reading
When I thought the storm had ended yesterday, when I hoped it had ended, it started up again, and the wind threw itself itself at the house, the office, and… Continue Reading
The scrag-end of the storm bites Its way through my various layers of clothes Screws my back into untenable postures So I have to lie on the bed to bend… Continue Reading
At the moment, a part of me thinks it would be best to give up writing (blogs, poetry, novels, everything), and purge my entire social media presence, and stop trying… Continue Reading
After my customary Sunday lie-in, I have forced myself to come into the office. And I’ll be leaving again as soon as possible. It’s a gloriously sunny day out there,… Continue Reading
The sky is full of man-made mysteries and secrets. I saw a steady glow moving through the Great Bear this morning, craning my neck so much it hurt, looking away… Continue Reading