Showing posts from August, 2018


This poem was inspired by a recent trip to Petracos, a few miles from my home. A short climb from the valley brings you to a walk way from which you can see the cave paintings, explained on panels as part of the restoration of the area by the MARQ, archeological museum of Alicante. The paintings are an outstanding example of macro schematic art dating back 8,000 years and it is inspiring to find them in such a quiet and natural setting. Apart from the safety rails and explanatory panels the landscape feels like it has changed little since an unknown hand painted the rock walls and took shelter in the Sanctuary Cave.  Thanks to Lesley for sharing the walk and her photographs. PETRACOS Treading the stone path head bent against blinding sun, shaded rest under leafy boughs, chasing the sun creeping from valley to Sanctuary, stopping to gaze upwards at rock canvas, eyes slowly perceiving shapes, patterns, figures sprouting in burnt red from mustard grey. W

THE DIVINE AURORA, in memory of Lilian

August 12th is celebrated in my village with Mass and a candlelit procession in honour of the Divine Aurora. It is a special day which starts early, when we are woken  at dawn by the sound of the village band serenading the women named Aurora, Spanish for dawn. My four children are all musicians who have played in the band and I have always got up early to listen to the Aurora. The band and the village youngsters will have not slept, going straight from the Fiesta partying to get their instruments and play, followed by breakfast in the street from the bakers before managing a few hours sleep. The waltz is played again at the end of the evening procession when the  village gather to hear the music and honour the Divine Aurora. It is always emotional, people remembering those not present but became more so for our family in 2010 when my mother died on the evening of the Aurora. I was by her side and my children were playing far away. Every year when the Aurora plays we remember Lilia


This plant with the wonderful name 'Echeveria Deresina grows on our patio in Spain and hangs from many balconies in the village.  It survives drought and heat, regenerating yearly as old leaves drop and new ones take their place. The colours shade from blue to rose grey with more green tinging the leaf when water is plenty. The leaves form a natural holder for dew drops which sparkle like jewels, the inspiration for this poem.  DEW JEWEL Walk the corridor from street to patio, room wide space built for donkey’s tread, flanks fat with stick baskets, through cool cave interior, to blink eyed sunlight, terracotta floored funnel, blue roofed with sky. Flaked stone walls, mortared with trust, dust backdrop to riot of geraniums, tumbling down in velvet flames, scarlets, fuchsias, blood red corollas, summer exhibitionists flashing petals like swirling flamenco shawls. Raised on Valencian baked tile sits Echeveria Deresina, earthed in clay, sylla