Independent journalism network Contributoria published an article about a new definition of wild. A friend who knows my writing well asked why I'm stuffing these articles so full of quotes. I am writing this way to show just how broad and involved the thinking around these topics is. In writing about interconnectedness and our relation to nature, I'm expressing timeless human questions. We all know this, and feel it, I believe. 

 

 

 

Shineland

A rare chance to spend time researching in the British Library. The illustration is a noaide drum. 

Eden Project

The Eden Project gave me an incredible opportunity to spend four hours teaching 16 chemistry PHD students from Bath University. My brief was to challenge their world view, and through a series of activities and discussions I believe this was achieved. Due to the inclement weather, my part of the two-day course took place in the rainforest biome at night.

North Songs

Cool to see a little feature in Carve Magazine this month, with accompanying shots by JBow. Extract:

We form a knowledge of the rise and fall of tides, the twist and play of the wind across the water, the bend and kink of the swell and the sand or rock below. These are lessons you cannot learn in books, from Ordnance Survey maps, off the Internet. These are lessons of exposure, grafted into our minds and memories. 

Terasu

 

Neat American/Japanese/French lifestyle website Terasu are carrying a range of my articles, starting with Peripheries.

Edges of Sanity

photo Tom Kay

 

The film Edges of Sanity is now live on The Guardian. Below is the text of the poem. 

 

Edges of Sanity

 

1.

It’s been said

On far shores, weary mariners hear voices

Songs so beautiful they cast a spell

There is no choice but to hear.

 

They claim these whispers hold a message

Each ear hears different music

But the same call hunts the senses:

 

Without risk, there is no beauty

Without chance, no adventure

Through suffering, wealth without limit

 

So we scheme and plan

And tell nobody of our dreams

Shuffle cards, chance vague variables

And tread endless road miles until

Close against cold ground we toss and turn

 

And summon black water

 

2.

For I am of the waiting deep

The great denier, the poised fist

Stalker of pitch oceans

Whose fingers twist about your throat…

 

I swallowed the sad pilgrims

Who fell to flat reef, their vessels sunk

Into water bitter as winter night

Beyond the edges of sanity

 

I am the waiting teeth of the rocks below

The grinning maw in the clouds

Bearer of the hourglass - killer of the short dim day

 

Who beckons you to dare

 

3.

The north song does not stop

Power in that promise

Goes beyond common meanings

 

You have walked in footsteps new

What was before will never be again

But memories of lined faces

 

And in the glowing after

Breaking bread the sweetest knot

All weight shed - light extraordinary

 

Until my whisper comes again…

And the future begs your listening 

The future begs your listening

Agenda, one of the widest known and most respected poetry journals (founded in 1959 by Ezra Pound and William Cookson) have very kindly published three of my poems in their Broadsheet 22

 


The esteemed Caught by the River published Of Other Dreams, my encounter with a snow-cave. 

 

Found in a dusty old box...

 

Costa Rica, Iceland, Orkneys 2012/13 contact sheets. 

 

 

 

 

My first novel, Shineland, is finished. Please follow @intoshineland for updates...

Molly Soames isn’t like anyone else. She’s carrying the Wakening, a remarkable power that helps her understand animals. When Mortimer Wyse starts stealing pupils from the eyeballs of the people she loves, Molly must go on a perilous journey into the world inside the pupil, Shineland, to seek everything she’s lost. If she’s going to survive, Molly must learn to truly trust her gift.

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One of my poems was handwritten on a wall as part of a group show for new culture sharing site Cultshare. Here's the full text:
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Eidolon

She is the seed-knowledge in the ravines

Under concrete, soft-headed sleeper

Dreams beneath gum patina and feet tramp

Ignored static bleeds angry stamp

Seeps through seams

Where a shadow forest creeps

Under the glum fabric of man

All her whispers are leaf brush

The delicate fan of night branches

Her speech is the soft dirge of mush

Preaching forgotten implores

This army of lurking shades

Phantoms in paving slabs

Viridian certainty, poised potential

Chasms in her skin boil with life

Ruts in the valleys,

Thunder-claps on the peak

Bats in the grammar, sly as the adders

Wound about her roots

Each a tendril, tender seeks

There is no turning the head

Unfound, the eyeless thief

Cracks every question of your heart

And answers them, piece by busted piece