Under The Mallee Bough

  The vase of flowers.. (The Lady of Shallot..Byron’s muse). The vase of flowers. It must have been one hell of an accident, because I evidently was kept in an induced coma for one and a half weeks..and then had to endure the confines of a hospital ward in recovery from a number of internal injuries and broken bones for another three months!..and now, six months later, after being let go home, I have only just started to reflect on the multitude layers of happenings while I was in that rather inconvenient episode of my life…to date. Perhaps it would be best, considering the still precarious state of my health both physical and mental..(I did suffer severe concussion and head injury from the accident)..if I go back to the moment preceding that accident. A warm summer day in December..I was returning from a regular dip in the sea there at Brighton..I am a single man of middle years, independent and financially secure in that I had m...

  Between a man and woman. “Old man writing a letter”..Salomon Koninck. Between a man and woman. What can be the measure true, That moment when we wake, me and you? What shall we say, what mood should start the day? When really.. It’s that tender touch, not feeling, The first flush of warmth to fingertips tingling, It’s a tender look, not seeing, In the first light of morn the moon fleeing, The greet at the start of the day, No words need we say, turn not your eyes away, All that is needed to be done as first action.. Is an embrace that invites..”you may stay”. How long will that be, my lover? An hour..a month..or just this day? But in truth we have lived together, These many years.. whilst far apart, Together in spirit, together in heart, Distance and duty cannot divide, What desire and intuition confide, So while we may never touch, skin to skin, There will be no rest...