7 October 2014


full moon rises

i try to lift our

ridiculous pumpkin


after all this time, an intro

Recently, I found myself digging into this blog's archive, picking a month and seeing what I might find in there. This proved to be an uncomfortable experience. Much of it is not good. Some of it, it seems to me now, is bewilderingly terrible. Most of my life, I shredded, burned, or just threw away everything I wrote; I have always tended to erase myself as I go along. And so, as on a number a previous occasions, it took willpower not to press Delete on this blog, for ever.

The blog Beachcombing For The Landlocked, though, as I must keep telling myself, is not a showcase. It's not a glass-fronted, velvet-lined display cabinet. It is just a cardboard box. It's a place to put stuff for the time being - the shells, pebbles, sea glass, bits of driftwood and blue nylon rope, picked up from my walk along the shoreline of everyday life with the intention, maybe, of one day making something out of them. 

And so, if I do delve into the archive from time to time, it is just to fetch that box in from the shed, or down from the attic, and sift through it to let those bits and bobs remind me of particular moments and perhaps spark a new idea or two. Sometimes, when the sea's salt sheen has dried, you can't imagine what made you pick up that moment in the first place; but, on this occasion, I was able to use the fragments here to fashion several new ornamental tiny haibun.

The phrase Beachcombing For The Landlocked, however, sums up what has become a kind of personal philosophy. I really should get it put on a T-shirt. 

6 October 2014

i came. i saw. i played conkers

Sunlight scrawled on a stone wall. The glitter pen cursive of snail trails.

Each of my haiku says, simply, I was here.

old habits

i check their graffiti

for typos


24 September 2014



equinox 1

which brings me

to my tax return . . .

autumn equinox


equinox 2

again she says

"to cut a long story short"

autumn equinox


half marathon

half marathon -

the spontaneous cheer

for Batman


red admiral




as well as books plum gin in the process of


as well as books the cast-off furry jumpsuit of a tarantula


as well as books one hurricane lantern never used


as well as books a mexican milk snake's earlier draft


as well as books a puffin, wire & paper mache


as well as books a planisphere the stars too small for me to read


as well as books a lava lamp long time dormant


as well as books a purple jug, sunflower & dahlias, colours fizzing like sherbet


dry leaves

dry leaves underfoot the crackle of distant fireworks 


in dark river water

in dark river water, shapes of things from the human world