Time to stop….?


Opening doors and running through rooms

Running, running, running through dark rooms

Running through darkness, feeling the mud holding and clinging

Seeing faces from a past that never was

Hearing voices from a future never to be

Opening doors and running through rooms

Quick, quick, run, run

Don’t stay still, don’t let the door slam

Keep ahead of the crowd, ahead of your thoughts

Stay ahead of the truth, run through the room

Shut the door, shut it all in

Dare to breathe, dare to cry

Dare to live, yet dare to die?

Shut the door, stay in the room, crouch on the floor

Time for tears, time to cry

Lock the door, keep it all out

Tired, tired of running

Time to stop, time to slow, time to live, time to grow

Time to embrace the truth as it is

Step up to life to bury the lies

Swing the hatchet, hold it down

Come alive in the blood

As you roar, as you roar

Open the door and see all your fears

Open the door, see what it reveals

See life in a room that’s not gone wrong

Stay in one place, slow

Slow to a beat, take one breath

Chill to the beat. sing to the rhythm

Vibrate with life, flow with the pain

Be whole once again

It’s life, it’s hard, this is it, this is now

Hold on, hold on

Catch the light, catch the time

Catch the breath, catch the now!


August 2017



The moon in his eyes……

Inspired by an ancient waymarker in a silent churchyard way up on Exmoor; a land that has so many tales to tell, if only it could…..

A solitary waymarker stands tall, marking the boundary of the graveyard; a tick upon the land. No blood, no sign of any struggle, not now. A girl long ago cruelly hunted down and burned, leaving no trace; just ashes, dust scattered to the winds on that wild and desolate moor, where these days only the wind howls to the moon.

Not for the likes of her sweet and loving soul, the serenity of a consecrated graveyard. Not for the likes of her the dignity of remembrance. Not for the likes of her an epitaph carved lovingly in stone; only the winds and rain to wash away all traces.

All she did was to fall in love, to surrender her heart and soul to the one who loved her back.  All she did was fall in love wildly with a passion of her being way beyond her years. All she did was fall in love with a dark and wild immortal with the wind in his hair and the moon in his eyes. All she did was to allow him to love her back.

All she did was to kiss him on that wet and stormy night in that dark, desolate graveyard way up there upon the moors. It was all she did, one kiss, one passionate and rain-soaked kiss.  It was all she did, she fell in love with the immortal with the wind in his hair.

Some nights when wandering up there on the wild moors, one can almost catch the movement of shadows out of the corner of one’s eyes. One can almost hear the rustling of wet leaves and the sound of damp footsteps running frantically through the graveyard.

One can almost imagine in the darkness, the waymarker with the sturdy gorse bush still growing at its foot after all these years, on an otherwise dry patch of lifeless earth where nothing else will ever grow. And if one was to imagine sinking down upon one’s hands and knees under the waymarker, one can almost see the rivulets of blood running forth onto wet saturated garments in the rain; up there on the moors.

And some nights when the moon is round and the air is dry it is not hard to imaging a lonely cloaked figure under the waymarker scraping away at the parched black earth where nothing lives. One could almost imagine a figure with the wind in his hair, uncovering an old and crumbling piece of wood tossed away in haste by those who feared a vengeful god and who had time and guilt on their hands; a simple weapon that had long ago pierced his lover’s trusting heart.

One could almost imagine
Whilst up there on the moors….

marker.png 3

Adueni ‘Keeper of Scrolls’

May 2016

Lives in Mono

I watched the people through the glass
Their lives a mirrored reflection of each others
I stood apart
I cast no reflection
And was glad

Cambridge: March 2017


Zodiac: an interpretation of Haiku

Also from February’s Allographic Workshop

Seasonal Hauki with the chosen word of ‘Zodiac’

The dark winter skies

Clothe the Earth in icy cold

Zodiac sleeping

Then springtime flies in

Sweet scents and verdant new growth

Zodiac waking

Summer heat, too hot

Desert dry upon the skin

Zodiac listless

At last Autumn comes

All is calm within the skies

Zodiac rebirths


Allographic Workshop

February 2017

“The Keeper of Scrolls”

Ego Derived…..

From the Allographic workshop in Cambridge these words resonated in my mind from the word ‘Ego’:

Power… Fear… Uptight… Chains… Boundaries… Delusion… Lies… Humanity… Crushed… Fruitless… Commanding… Deadly… Visionless..

And from those words a poem birthed

Hidden within humanity

Are the boundaries of delusion.

Held strong by misplaced power

Fed by fruitless fear and lies.

In a visionless future world

Hides the deadly chains,

The lock and key lost in time.

Yet time itself already crushed

Within its own delusion of lies.

A fruitless circle of becoming

As the Serpent is fed


February 2017 Allographic Workshop: Cambridge

‘The Keeper of Scrolls’

Who Will Dance With Me?

Who will dance with me?

Who will pluck a rose and place it in my hair?

Who will beat the drum?

Write the words and sing the song?

Who will dance my dance?

Swirl me round the dance floor when the last tune has gone?

Or is it me and only me who knows the tune; can sing along?

Rhythm pounds inside my head

I dance alone;

I dance alone;

I dance alone.




September 2010

“The Keeper of Scolls”


Slumbering Knights from days of old
Mythical Beasts; stories untold
Fact and fiction are bound as one
Truth is hidden by the earthly sun
Dare to see what’s before your eyes
Look to the heavens and beyond the skies
Rhyme and reason is no more
Illusion is bound on these earthly shores
Hear the story; read the rhymes
Take a leap right out of time
The truth is where it’s always been
Yet hidden deep within your dream
With the slumbering Knight
On the shores of time
With the mythical beast
No more seen…


January 2017

‘The Keeper of Scrolls’

Truth is a darkness; suspended in a time that does not exsist…..

Endlessly i fall caught in a chasm of wonder. Spralling onwards


The bones of my being find shelter & solace ‘neath the comforting shadow of my soul

Digital Camera

Sounds of tinkling pipes woven by the winds own charm weave around my soul

Digital Camera

Silently i tread the years of earthly time; my one companion, my warrior soul…

Digital Camera

With breastplate and sword I stand steadfast and mighty. In silence i rule

Digital Camera

Beauty always lingers and lives on in the hearts & minds of men, time cease to be & all there is is the truth….


My name is silence only whispered by the wind when the sky is dark

Digital Camera

Suspended timelessly in a space of my own creation; i weave reality with the electrons of my mind…..


All secrets revealed, all knowledge known. At the end of days i shall become into being and She will rise within


And so it goes on bood spilled, innocents ravaged man’s death on the cards….


The time is now here for man to be accounted. Too late for good deeds…


Save your soul, lest you weep and pray for no more tears. Tis over, all done…


Beach huts hibernate dreaming of hot days and sand. Returning cycles


Beauty always lingers and lives on in the hearts & minds of men, time ceases to be & all there is is the truth. The land will endure over centuries of upheavel, always renewing itself at perfect points giving humanity life once more


Words from the ‘Keeper of Scrolls’  ‘Truth is is darkness suspended ina time that does not exsist’

January 2017 (All photos and words are original and belong to the author)

The Visit… a seasonal poem

That time around midnight

When the air hangs as cold and as still as death itself.

When the earth sleeps

And only the creatures of the night are out foraging for food.

That was the time

When I saw her.

I had popped out to empty the rubbish.

I had my eyes half screwed up and was hunched because of the cold.

I didn’t notice anyone there at first.

The shadows;

They always seem to come alive at that time of night.

Yet I caught a faint flicker,

A kind of glimmer in the darkness.

Assuming it was light escaping from my half open kitchen door,

I made my way around the side of the house to the bin.

As I came back to the garden I heard a faint sound,

A beating of wings,

Then silence.

Something, I don’t know, made me look up and walk towards the pond.

It was then,

Then I saw her.

She was sitting on the rockery beside the overgrown heather,

Unaware I was watching,

Staring, utterly enthralled at the snowdrops.

I think she had never seen anything so beautiful,

But then neither had I watching her.

I could hardly dare to breathe lest my breath should give my game away.

Her delicate silvery hand stretched out to tenderly pluck a bloom.

I was unsure whether to move forward or back or just stay there.

Then in that instant,

In that very instant she saw me.

A moment transfixed in time

Lasting an eternity;

Yet in reality a split of a second.

Her eyes pierced mine

And I felt her soul and mine beat as one.


And in that very moment I knew I would never ever see her again.

It was as if she realised then, that she shouldn’t have been here.

Shouldn’t have been seen.

She gave me one last haunting glance

And with a gentle beat of her translucent wings silently faded into another realm.


The air was colder

And stiller than ever before.

A dark void was all that was left.

I walked over to the pond,

There on the ground were the snowdrops,

Strewn as she had left them

In her haste to depart.

I bent over and gently picked them up,

Caressing them against my cheek as I walked back to the house.


A lone tear dropped on to the perfect white petals.

I shut the door as I went inside,

Suddenly shivering.


Then started looking for a tiny vase.




Written 17th February 2003

‘The Keeper of Scrolls’

Deck the Halls

My anti-consumerism poem which is just right for this time of year


Dripping souls festoon each bough

And rafters gleam with blood and slime.

The vast halls echo with dreams unsung

And stories never told.

Tis the time of peace on earth

Tho dust and dark descend.

No sun, no star, no guiding light,

No babe, no hope, no joy.

The gates of doom will yet unfurl

As night and day collide.

Dark ones wrapped in cloaks of light

Fly swift between the worlds.

They reap the souls from mortal men.

To bring them home to Him.

He sprawls upon his jewelled throne,

To await his gifts galore;

Encrusted with be-jewelled hearts

And entwined with weeping souls.

Upon this throne He proudly waits

As his bloody booty does come home.

He’ll raise his glass to one and all

And wish you merry cheer

Then down your blood in one fell swoop

And devour another soul.

Its party night in Underworld

The invites are on their way.

Come swathed in black,

Come drip with fear,

Please come and dine with Him.

But leave your soul hung by the door

As there’s much fun to explore.

You gaze around the bedecked halls

At souls so brightly hung.

Purged of bodies now disposed,

It could be you, it may be you.

You sing the tuneless song.

The song of man, the song of peace,

The song of joy on earth.

The song of death, the song of war,

Ah now – the fiddler knows the tune!

You dance with glee,

You dance with joy,

The piper joins the throng.

Round and round and in and out,

Night to day and right to wrong

Tis the season to be jolly,

You weave the merry song.

The song of man, the song of peace,

The song of joy on earth.

So deck the hall with dripping souls

“Trala lala la lala la la!”




Written Yule 2007

“The Keeper of Scrolls”

Dec 2016