Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 24 – Red Horizon

Looking up, the hillside, the magnificence
the peek, the glory, the exuberance

Across the pitted folds of rocks
gleaming towards the skyline
all a deep red
so very vibrant

The golden light shining, climbing
dripping with excitation

Among the redness
grey patches
screaming trepidation
of a potential pleasure

A pretty silver sparkle, shining through
smiling, so sweetly, with a natural joy

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 23 – A Moment of Cold

A momentary freezing flash
bringing the unexpected
a soft shower from above

Quickly everything looks anew
cast in pristine modern clothes
sleek and snug, and fleeting

The bright white snow fading to slush
filled with trepidation, tears
yearning for the new

Below grey stone peeks through
encouraging the thaw
soothing, caressing and coaxing

The new blue water trickles
dripping carelessly at first
and then in bright sparkling rivulets

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 22 – A Wild Flower

Sneaky, vibrant
a golden smile
laughing, carefree
poking through the undergrowth

All around wilderness
the long vistas
the distant wood
the horizon staked with green

Looking furtive, efflorescent
the petals fluttering in the floating breeze
rocking in joy
with that so cheeky smile

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 21 – Hidden Panorama

A blue mist, breathless in the night air
sensuous, enveloping, fresh
masking the luxuriant undergrowth

There a white flower in full display
the mist thrown aside for one glorious brief moment
then it's gone, never to return

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 20 – For a Day

The crisp black lines glinting
vibrant in the winter sunshine
the dark rocks sharp, steep
almost shining in their metallic glory

Clustered, almost imperceptibly, tiny red flowers
these caught between the crevices
alive for one joyful day
and casting a purple shadow

At nightfall all that remains
the glinting blackness

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 19 – Evening Florescence

A pale yellow flower
with the perfume of the spheres
casts its light gloriously

Tempting
so very tempting

With darkness it becomes one
united briefly in a perfect joy
a new life, a new dawn

Forever
with me foreve

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 18 – Solids Together

Chrome sparkles among the sand
glittering in silver and white

A cool red fades nearby
all ready for a new adventure

Will they touch
will the coalesces
they want to
so, so much

They do touch
repel
touch again
tentative

Ultimately they intermingle
hesitant at first
displaying glorious unknown colours

Now vibrant, luxuriant
growing, swallowing
joyful, bold

Becoming one pure soul
of energy and exuberance
a bright lightning shiver

Enveloped the heat subsides
becoming a cosy afterglow

And then still
so perfectly still

A memory

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 17 – Awaiting Purple Rain

Purple, hundreds of purples
flowering, blooming, ripe
spreading in effervescence

The sandy earth waiting
for little drops of purple drifting down
and slowly blanketing the terrain

The darkening petals dancing to the lightest tune
tempted, ever tempted to jump
never to return

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 16 – Low Summer Sunshine

A fleeting shaft of orange dances among the grey
it falls to the ground, wantonly, gloriously
and is forever disregarded

A clear wisp of white falls among the greens
swallowing the pale, drinking in the dark and vibrant
an everlasting reminiscence

Purple eruptions among the red
diving deep into pure clear refreshment
those gold rings caressing

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 15 – Springtime Meadow

Moist patches among the fresh grass
blossoming, glistening, sparkling
soft pliant under foot
under the gentle tread of those strolling

Eyes half closed against the morning sun
the delicate rays exhilarating
quietly relaxing among the drying grass
an exquisite bed for slumber

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 14 – Myriad Leafs

Black, so black
flitting jubilant through the dense undergrowth

Green, pale green
silky smooth, smiling, dancing

While, all white
laughing, glistening in the night air

Such leafs
lovely, so lovely

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 13 – Exotic Fruit

To suck upon a freshly fallen leaf
its juices ripe, tasty
its red flesh succulent

To suck upon a newly cut branch
its sap sweet, flowing
its silvery liquid sticky

To bite into a just plucked fruit
its green skin sharp, crisp
its pulp chewy, syrupy

Joyful the path of foraging

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 12 – Morning with Water

White mist
hiding the brownish patches of trees
looking upward the canopy scrumptious, vivacious

The air
cold at first
fresh, invigorating

Cool red earth
pitted and smooth, damp and vibrant
silky red flowers and burgeoning patches of green and blue

The sun
blasting, rippling through the canopy
bright dancing shadows on the red, red earth

Running water
clear, warm, from a steamy spring
shiny droplets dripping

Puzzle Jug, 1788-9

Ceramic by Hartley Greens and Co; Leeds Pottery Co.

This hideous jug still sits there on the mantel piece. I never did like it; never. He said he did, never said why though.

We were together over thirty years and he never did a days work around the house; never. Said that was woman's work and he worked hard all day. I suppose he did, maybe he did, but I had a job as well, granted it was part-time, then I had often to work overtime, had no choice about that. Anyway we needed the money.

This was the one thing he always noticed. If I moved it could he moan. I could move the settee or his favourite chair and he wouldn't notice; not a thing. Wouldn't say a word. But move this an inch, he'd complain; his big mouth was all I got. He'd moan and moan then I'd have to put the thing back just to shut him up.

Then he went and retired. That wasn't easy for me, he'd get under my feet all day, drove me mad he did. Wished he wasn't there and then he wasn't. Not much of a retirement for either of us.

I often joked, “When you're gone I'm chucking this out.” He's been gone two years now. But I still cannot bare to move it. I will soon, yes, I will soon.

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 11 – A Mud Track

Along a narrow track of dry mud
on one side a grey stone wall
on the other a wooden fence gives way to trees

Then the track opening out
to a wide field, all green, luscious
and a distant wood, vibrant, noisy

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 10 – After the Avalanche

The folds, the strata
cut through the rocks
revealing forgotten seas, sand, marine life
and the crashing of time

An opening glistens
wet in the recent rain
revealing new micro horizons
not exposed for millions of year

Book Review – Eliza Leslie and the Moral Rectitude of Young Girls

I recently stumble upon the short stories of Eliza Leslie (1787 – 1858) and found their content revealing and curious; but 'curious' not always in a good way. I'd been looking for American and other nineteenth century short stories on Project Gutenberg for download to my newly acquired kindle and stumbled across this name almost by accident.

Eliza Leslie was one of a remarkable number of nineteenth century women writers. Born in Philadelphia (Pennsylvania) in 1787 and lived to be 70. She was certainly a gifted writer and her stories are worth reading even if their style and content is somewhat old fashioned. But then, almost by definition, she's bound to be old fashioned.

Today Eliza is best remembered for cookbooks and her etiquette books. The short biographies I have read concentrate on this arena of her writing. However she also seems to have been a prolific short story writer and to have had many stories published in the magazines of her time. The book I read was STORIES FOR HELEN (1845) and written such that “juvenile readers may derive from them a little instruction blended with a little amusement” and it seems typical of her work in this genre. Clearly from the title (and the titles of her other books mentioned therein: STORIES FOR EMMA and STORIES FOR ADELAIDE) the market Eliza aiming for was what we would today call teenage girls.

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 9 – First Snow

Isn't that pretty
the snow
the sunshine

Isn't that wonderful
the brightness
the golden light

Isn't that lovely
the warm drizzle
the wetness
the fresh air

Isn't that pretty

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 8 – Running Free

Running foot free
with abandoned, with laughter, kisses, smiles
through the red grass, ripe, sun shining

Collapsing in exhaustion
and watching the hillside, the wispy clouds
the sun setting, effervescent, colourful

Walking home
graceful, languid, tired

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 7 – Rockfall and Puddles

Flecks of light rain fall from the blue
making the ground tremble
the extra weight
widening cracks and fissures

A blue avalanche follows
filling the valley below
descending on silvery waters
and halting deep in black

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 6 – Dark Mud Thawing

White light with flecks of black
grey walking, dancing, roaming

The brown earth soft under touch
muddy, moist, joyful

The white light shining
making the world glisten in silver

Exquisite

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 5 – Placid Seascape

Shiny blue ripple
across a cascading sea
the liquid lappin
gently, gently

White foam shimmerin
blown among the wave
tiny glistening bubble
popping, popping

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 4 – Hidden Orchard

Black blossoms among the blonde

The crystal white
sleek and tempting

The spring rains
descending, joyful

Yellow radiates, smiling

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 3 – Revealed Rocks

A walk in spotted grey
cast down smooth

A hand travels in light grey
a flash of yellow

The pale lines of shade
yellow pulled aside wondering

The slippery rocks fall away

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 2 – Exuberant Sunrise

What makes me ecstatic
Is seeing the sparkling sun
When it is
Bursting forth anew

Review – Ed Reardon's Week

Writing about writing is a bit like masturbating in public – more enjoyable for those engaged in the activity than any unfortunate onlookers.

Whenever I encounter a story/film/whatever where the main character is a writer past experience teaches me to expect nausea and self indulgence. The temptation for the off switch had always proved manifest.

The radio 4 series Ed Reardon's Week has hitherto been the exception that tested this rule to the limit. The series has proved funny and enjoyable. The self styled curmudgeonly author is a brilliant character.

So discovering a new series at least had me heading for the BBC iPlayer. With a back catalogue of seven magnificent series I was delighted to discover an eighth. Alas this time the rule about writing about writing seems to have kicked in. The authors having now run out of ideas are repeating themselves and, like most repeats, they've became tedious. Plots have become meandering and unfocused.

While series eight might not be so bad when compared with other comedy shows it's past its glory days. It's so sad for it to end this way – in such disappointment.

This new series looks like having a significant role for Jenny Agutter as Fiona. She does a sterling job but, great actress as she is, she cannot rescue the series from its oncoming mediocrity. She seems to have attached herself to the series just when it went past its sell by date. Most unfortunate.

Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No. 1 – Fields of Wilderness

Yellow barley lying there
outstretched, ripe
A crinkled crag
overhanging
sharp, stunning

One watching deep in the valley
nuzzling
eyes bright
Another runs through the barley
stops still, picks a piece
rips the ears off
then sucks the stem

How come they are so beautiful