Butterfly connections. 1997.

Butterfly connections.
Seagulls call and whirl.
Like black spots in the back of my eye.
Hieroglyphic spirals,
Picked out against the blinding sky.
Swallow tail swift,
forked slender arrow.
Dove coo, ancient, wood-wise.
A car brakes through and then away.
Bleating lambs, skimble and moan for their mothers.
African music, low and happy,
Accompanies the scene.
Breezes, breezy, blowing lightly.
Yellow poppies bow and bend.
So slow and sweet.



Frustrated Creation. 1997.

” An old friend of mine arrived back in the country. He’s laying low, reviewing life and all that. He reminded me about writing.
“Have you been writing?” he asked.
That was all he needed to say.
If only I could feel that writing was worth it……after living with the tribe, the purity of ‘life without education’, without the conscious ‘head space’ of putting pen to paper, I find it difficult to arrange myself into that mode. Yet my thinking processes are so clear, so radical, the daily revelations and inspirations crowd my head.
This frustrated creation.
Automatically when I write I seem to take on a pompous overview, it’s almost as if I have a written accent…..that is proving impossible to shake.
Whenever I seize a pen the ‘I’ syndrome takes over – gone are the loose, fluid imaginings, replaced by stoic observations and “What will I write?”
Most importantly, I do not, generally, like what I produce, largely because it does not bear any resemblance to what I know I could, if only I could loose these tensions in my thinking.
I revert back to automatic writing regularly in an attempt to free myself – but this is often vague to the other extreme!

There is a deep knowledge inside of me, that tells me what I could be worth, but fear I will never achieve, is dampening the desire to even begin fulfilling these deep, driving dreams.’

Horse. The whole process. 3 Luibs Cottages, Kilmartin, Scotland. 1997

(2017 – Apologies to my wonderful followers for the huge gap in updating this archive. To say I have had a lot going on would be an understatement! Under going a bit of a personal evolution! Some of you may have found my other blog? Rolling Om?
I often very slightly tweak my poems, as written in my notebooks, to pull them together to share here. But this time I thought it would be interesting to share the process, exactly as it is written, especially as this one was never really resolved. I often write poems, almost perfectly, straight out and then get lost in trying to better the original. This is one of those.)


Morning sun cast crystal shadow
Frosty stars fallen down from the night
The crisp crunch and stamp, stamp
Steamy purr, horse- lip whistle, damp
in the dry air.

Side on to the cresting sun
Shadowing the glinting grass
Haloed proud and tossing mane
Whose prize is he, proud beast, to train?

But he does not run as the jeep
All roar and oily snarl appears
He swings his head, pricks up his ears
And watches as the folks get out, come near,
He does not run, but insists that they
Should catch him first if they want to play!


Old Logan leaned upon the gate
Appraised his fine aquaintance
A tension electric sparked in the morning air,
And the proud beasts nostrils closed and flared.
Old Logan’s son stood by and smiled
as Thomas climbed the gate and
stumbled eager up the rise…
He throws his arms around the beast
Who leans into his young beating heart
And snorts his greeting into his palm.
Pleased to see his fine young friend…
Until Thomas wants to bring him down into the shadow
Down from his sunny, shining hill.
Thomas persisted, he resisted,
Showing all his will.


It’s an old, old game
To go out and tame
Clip clop, the same as what
the father’s father’s father did.
Father to son, to son, to son, to hold the rein,
Like blood in vein,
In sun and rain.
It’s an old, old game.
When lifestyles change, the purpose gone,
The relationship still lingers on
A love of horse.

Taking the reins.
Old wisdoms passed on
Pride in knowledge of the beast.
Equine power.
Horse-beats. Hoove prints.
Mystic and mundane.
Whispers. Horse power.
Gallop. Canter. Trot.
Feeling the true strength of friendship
Taming the wild, Seeking its calm.
Father to son.
A rightful pride is learned.


Wet breath and dusty mane.
Stamp and crunch.
Soft mutterings of velvet lips.
Coarse hair and thick matt coat.
Huge hooves. Thick horney pads.
The sky etched figure of power and natural freedom
The surge of muscle and sinew
Such grace and urgency.
The cantering image of power and natural freedom.
The shiver shake shudder and impatient toss,
Daring and challenging.
Ride me. Ride me. Teach me. Use me.
The promising image of power and natural freedom.
Teach me and I will teach you.
The patience and karma
Of true power and natural freedom.


There are always ways to talk to a horse.
Say them with your soul.
Manouver with suggestion
Draw then into the game
Otherwose they’ll never let you tame
Their mighty spirit.
There are always ways to talk to a horse.
Their teaching is sublime.
Reach in and find your ancient calm
And your respect is mine.



No where, but here. 1997.

Chipping off the old block
Tick tock, what rot,
Laid to rest, now he’s gone.
Gone to stray away.
Stay away.
Flip out again. Go crazy. Stuck on flowers
Reflect the glare.
Gasp for air.

A butterfly existence.
A fragile broken hair hits the breeze.
Teetering on the edge of time.
No where, but here.
I miss the running, but feel
like I’ve finished the race.
Arrived at a place.
Elastic emotions twang and snap
Every moment comes back to
Individuality is unfathomable.
We are all alone.

‘IMPOSSIBLE MISSIONARIES’ The band that almost was…..notes. 3 Luibs Cottages, Kilmartin, Scotland. 1997.

All original tracks, invented in our living room. Keyboards, bass and flute. Lots of ‘button pushing’ and bored bass and flute player ‘cushion butting’! Pages of ‘notes’?!? I can now think of easier ways!

JAH FISH (Amoeba reggae styleee!) 32 beat sections

B flat minor – C sharp, F sharp. sliding semi-tones key changes.

Everything in….fade into it.
Flute solo/freeform stuff.
Sustained section. Guitar chord + legato flute
‘Peer Gynt’ section
Legato solo – wandering.
Twinki bits.
Key Change E flat minor.
Key change back doen. WAH solo.
Musical Preist! into
Key Change

JAMES BROWNIZE. (sychro-riff stylee)

A B flat D-B / E F sharp G A /D B A G-E

twang – beginning.
synchro-riff ….. faster and faster.

B flat > E


B C sharp D E flat E      (Bass: E E flat D C sharp D E flat E)


D G B flat C  (x8) // D G B flat C // (last time) C sharp D C sharp C (x4)
D-F-G ‘ A G F G ‘ F D C D // G B flat G E flat C D E flat E ‘ F A F D B flat C C sharp D E flat G E flat C ‘  A C  F  E flat D // B falt G D ‘ B flat  G C sharp ‘ B flat G C // G B flat G ‘ G B flat F sharp ‘ G B flat F

JAG (Flamenco/Morrocan!)

B minor : B-B b-b B-B b-b B-B b-b C // B-B b-b B-B b-b B-B b-b A
change  G B ‘  G  B flat A   D.C ://


A-A ‘ B-B ‘ A-A ‘ A ‘ E-F into  B etc. E-F

LITTLE CASCADE (Eas a Chaibeal )

F minor


Notes from ‘Wild Food’ by Roger Phillips. 1997.



To collect:
Bore into the tree approx. 18″ from the ground. (March sap rising) Insert plastic tubing running down to collecting bottle (sterilised) through tissuepaper bung. Cork up tree after with a good fitting wooden plug.

To make the wine:

4 1/2 litres (8pts) sap
200g (1/2lb) chopped raisins
1kg (21/4lb) white suger
Juice of 2 lemons
general purpose yeast

Boil sap soon after collection. Add sugar. Simmer 10 mins. Place raisins in a plastic bucket. Pour on liquid and add lemon. Start yeast in glass. When mixture reaches blood temperature, add yeast.
Leave for 3 days.
Strain into 1 gallon (4.5lt) jar and air-lock.
Leave in a warm room until fermentation ceases.
Filter to remove sediment.
Bottle and cork. (if, at bottling, wine is dry, add sugar syrup)
Lasts 6 months and longer!

Morels grow in sandy soil, over lying chalk. March-May.


100 nettle stalks. (young nettles)
12 lts (2.5 gallons) water
1.5kg (3lbs) sugar
50g/2oz cream of tartar
15g (0.5oz) yeast

Boil nettles in water for 15 mins. Strain. Add sugar and cream of tartar. Heat and disslove. Cool until tepid. Add yeast. Cover with muslin. Leave for 24 hours. Remove scum and decant, leaving sediment undisturbed. Bottle, cork and tie down.
Don’t forget WILD GARLIC leaves in salads.

PRIMROSES – (never heard this before!) can be painted with beaten egg white + little rose water….while growing!! Sprinkle with castor sugar and, 3hrs later, cut. Dry by fire for 3 days. Will last approx. 6- weeks. Blame, Borage and Sage are also good alternatives.


2 lts (3.5 pts) gorse flowers
1kg (2.2lbs) sugar
2 lemons
2 oranges
4.5 lt (1 gallon) water
general purpose yeast

Fresh, full flowers (gardening gloves!)
Start yeast. Put flowers, sugar and some water in a pot. Simmer flowers for 15 mins. Disslove sugar. Pour into bucket, add juice of lemon and orange + thinly peeled rind. Allow to cool to blood temperature. Add yeast. Cover with muslin.
After 3 days strain into a fermentation jar and airlock. Rack off into a clean jar and make it up with cold, boiled water.
Leave until clear. Bottle.


1 handful bog myrtle leaves
4.5 lts (1 gallon) water
450g (1lb) honey
1 lemon
general purpose yeast

Boil bog myrtle leaves for 15-20 mins in water. Add honey, juice of lemon. Disslove.
Activate yeast. Cool to blood temperature. Add yeast.
Leave, uncovered, for 4-5 days.
Strain and bottle in screw top bottles.
Drink within 1 week.
Check they do not get too fizzy. If no fizz add 1 tsp of sugar to each bottle. leave a further week.”

(2017 – I have another recipe now for Bog Myrtle Beer. We make it every year, sometimes twice! It lasts forever and only gets stronger, becoming almost like a wine. Visiting friends call it the ‘truth serum’! Keeps the midges off you too in summer when you sweat it!)