Category Archives: Walking

Just Breathing and Walking (and breathing and walking some more) in the New Forest


New Forest, Hampshire, UK

Breathe in the air
Don’t be afraid to keep breathing
(As if you could stop!)
Let out the stresses
And the bad vibes
The worries and cares
Let them go
Into the air

Walk the stiffness out of your limbs
Straighten that back
And breathe deeply of the air
Keep breathing that air
Walk through the air
Of the forest
Of the free
And be.

PS If you can hear a little of Pink Floyd’s ‘Breathe’ in there – you are not mistaken – all part of my whole self and themes / ideas come out in my work. A process it is. G:)

As I…

Perhaps this one!

Perhaps this one!

I write as I walk
As I travel
As I move
As I think
As I mkae mistakes with spelling
As I correct them (usually)

It is what your left thumb is for.

(Did I mention that it’s raining)

So keeping one eye on the road ahead
And one eye on my screen
And one eye (my mind’s eye)
On my thoughts
I write these words

Just imagine me walking into a lamppost now!


Now wasn’t that worthwhile?

NB I actually didn’t walk into a lamppost – however, a passing vehicle transferred the contents of a puddle upon me! Nice! G:)

In the woods 2 – The Sequel (04-07-2015)


Fallen Tree in the New Forest

A tree fell in the woods
And I didn’t hear a thing;
I wasn’t there to hear it
That’s if it indeed it made any noise…
…at all.

Did it cry out in anguish
Upon its altered state?
Did it have forebodings
That came, but far too late?
Does it lay here now
Sentient and hurt?
Or is it just decaying
Slowly akin the dirt
Of a mess of bark and limbs and trunk, and…
Has its life-sap dried;
All its nature drunk?

A tree fell in the woods
You can hear the echoes still…

In the woods (04-07-2015)

image image

It is cool in the forest
In the shade of trees of age.

And I try to capture the moments
In words upon a page.

A welcoming breeze accompanies
A greeting most effusive.

And walking here brings
A peace, elsewhere, so elusive.

Woodland creatures ignore my passing;
Or herald it; I know not which;

And the cry of birdsong is a soundtrack
To my walk; my healing stitch.

As a head heavy from toils of yester
Is opened and cleansed to help return the jester

Who fell silent when the laughter didn’t come;
Couldn’t crack a joke; struck numb… dumb.

The crack of a twig
The sigh of the wind
A beaten path
To an easing of the mind.