These poems are reflections on the passing of a time; a time of hurt, which keeps walking back into the joy of my life, with all the mystery, and the misery, that can so be mustered.
The poems are a reminder of an atmospheric little cottage which I rented on the Bere Peninsula in Devon. Apart from the adjoining farmhouse it was entirely remote, with a silence, a darkness, a doubt, and also a beautiful brightness, all of which suited my search at that time.
The one up one down was a winter-let, with only a single log fired stove, for heating and hot water. To keep warm I spent much of my time, from October to March, wrapped in blankets, staring into the residue of Norton's Grate.
This was a time of separation; poems on the purging of love's clutches, emotions voiced in a way that I now find it hard to approve of; fortunately they are slightly balanced with the love, that on occasion still flickered.
They are here, being renewed in late autumn, during a period off work thanks to an arm operation; but it was the winter of 1995 when the motivations first arose, let's see what time and distance accumulate shall we.
I hope you find the journey over old ground worth your while, I did.
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