Sunday, 23 October 2016


To walk through summer’s final veil between the fractures of our worlds as shrouds of autumn mists escape the dawn; now is the time to tread lightly on dew soaked land to merry meet natures guardian hand for she will guide us to a gate, and by her Hazel portal I will wait in stillness of mind. Slowly, anticipation creeps deep within for to feel the door will soon ajar when once again I’ll pause in her tide as she brings your light to my side, to touch my soul… once again to be my guide.

*Tide as in period of time / season.

©Julian Clarke 2016

Sunday, 16 October 2016

Emotional Insanity

Incarcerated by limitations of one’s own ideas, tormented the composer flapped the manuscript about as though swatting lazy summer flies; candle wax dripped as shadows cast danced upon the ceiling. It was not the symphonic sound as notes fell from stave to ground the music maker wished to hear; a crotchet, in fear, lay amidst the quavers, and the rests, of course semibreves heaved a sigh and discordant silence fell across the room, quiet, still . . . the old composer climbed upon the wooden second floor window sill.

Not the fall from bed to floor that woke me, but the shout of Eureka! outside my bedroom window, and there prancing like the devil himself the composer skipped in circles waving the manuscript as though fanning imaginary flames. Eyes agog I watched him reel as he fell to kneel and kissed the dirt with exclaims, I’ve taken by the girth the birth of an idea in celebration of our mother earth, to compose a piece encapsulating the beauty of her four season. I looked to my unfinished painting of vibrant yellow flowers, oh the insanity of that damn fool composer I thought whilst seeking my reflection in the vanity glass; lightly I touched the bloodied image of my right ear, soon the pain will pass.

© Julian Clarke 2016

Saturday, 8 October 2016


I have been suffering with writers block these past couple of weeks, and so here's one I wrote from 2014.

The dew soaked grass feels soft as silk
Shrouding the valley floats a ghostly mist,
Just for a breath the sun rests on tree tops
Climbing slowly for a new autumn day.

Golden brown leaves fall from the trees
Dancing in a frenzy swirling around
Foreboding clouds sail on blustery winds
A watery sun hides behind one, it rains.

© Julian Clarke 2014