As #30dayswild is just around the corner, I thought I'd share a short speech I read at our last Rebellion Day in Exeter. Stay wild. On Tuesday evening, I was told by an eleven year old climate activist that migratory birds, in the midst of increasingly chaotic weather patterns, are struggling to decide when to … Continue reading Is naming something enough to protect it?
Everyone knows this story... Shelley's modern myth has permeated the emergence of modern culture, tunnelling under our technological advancement like the forever fated canary bird. With each step towards greater human automation, Shelley's story rises from the dead much like the monster himself.
Last week I took part in one of the sixty-five climate strikes held by students across the U.K. It was a day of intensity and fever, and left me with a battered sense of hope.
It is seven thirty, and snowing, on Dartmoor. I am training for the Ten Tors challenge, a forty five mile hike across the moorland as part of a six human team of wilful wanderers. What emerges from walking with wet feet on a dreary weekend.
It snowed today, and I started thinking about angels, embryos and ice caps.
A meditation on the madness of nature and running ... prose poetry ...
Fingers in the Sparkle Jar is about growing up, with nature your parent as much as any human. It's about appreciating everything alive, the great grand complexity of the Earth in everything small.
A bi-plane is wandering, across the chained sky, caught in the snares of a thousand telephone hairs...
A sprawling, unhindered verse or so I wrote for my younger brother, in herald of all our still-dreaming ways and hidden rivers we like to think nobody else knows about.
I am sat by the window on the bus - the front of the bus, because that's the best place to sit when the sky begins to open. I am here and this is where I am Sometimes, I have to tell myself these things. The sky is black, and I don't say that without … Continue reading A Consolidation