Sometimes I think –
The world is made of poems.
They hide in crevices
Hibernate in rock
Call out silently
Madenning whispers that dance on the air
And other times I think
Who are you to describe
The sound of children playing
Four buildings away.
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Websites I like and Blogs by Good People
- My Official Website - for the officially curious
- My Flatmate - for live art
- Indian Summer - for travellers
- Emphasis Mine - for readers
- AM Husk - for mystery
- Looking for Astronauts - for theatre
- Classic Comedy
- Craig Walker's Blog
- The Tuckster
- For buying good Indie Music
- Forest Fringe
- My favorite playwright
About Me
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