Rivers Of Consciousness

Don't worry, be happy. Who knows what may happen?

Archive for the tag “photography”

I didn’t know you, once.

I didn’t know you, once.
I didn’t know you at all.
I was elastic
a hot fuse
the tick, tick, tick
of atomic danger, allowing
a lingering breath before

I first heard your name, once.
I heard it in laughter.
It brought a smile
a singing king
of a melody, rise and fall
a whispered enticement

I first met you, once.
I met you in winter.
You were radiant
I was nerves,
a frozen ozone
encapsulating boundaries
which falter at your feet,

I first learned you, once.
I learned your ways.
I traced the imprints
others left, scars
engraved and eroded,
plucking a dream catcher’s web
to reverberate beaded memories,

I first loved you, once.
I fell in the summer’s eve.
The sweet moon passed
over sycamores,
limbs and leaves, bulbous
veins zinging with unity,

I didn’t know you, once.
I didn’t know you at all.


Apologies once more for my inability to post regularly, life seems to be in the way at the moment ha…
Haven’t written poetry for a while, let me know what you think 🙂
Image is my own.

Emperor Tamarin

On a visit to Paignton Zoo, I came across these lovely little Emperor Tamarins, and I adore their moustaches. They were incredibly inquisitive and seemed fascinated by my DSLR, following the lens and leaning against the glass to get a better look. I think they could hear the shutter closing because they always reacted to the sound. I have many pictures of them but these are my favourites. The editing is minimal, just a little added sharpness and contrast because shooting through the glass panes tends to dull the pictures.





All images are my own, please do not use without permission and credit.

Summer Daydream


Postcard Perfect

After a stressful few weeks of Uni, the sun decided to come out and play, and so three of us paid a visit to a local beach. We ignored the biting wind and pretended it was summer again, the weather teasing us. My poor camera had been neglected recently, so it was great to get back behind the lens (and a little in front of it, too!). These are a small selection of photo’s from that day.




A New Friend


Pastel Sky


Sunset Over Wembury Beach

Feb 13

All images are my own, please do not reproduce without permission.



I’m not a particularly sentimental person, or a huge fan of expressing my emotions in respects of my partner – I’ve never been one to flood Facebook with intense and frequent outpourings of devotion. But I think maybe once in a while is acceptable, so…

Today I am grateful for Jake, and I want the world to know that. Seeing as I can’t stand on the roof and yell it, posting it here will have to suffice. I have a lot to be grateful for. He keeps me sane, even though often he is the cause for my insanity 😛 He is my anchor, keeping my head out of the clouds and on a level. He has the best sense of humour, and always knows how to make me smile, even when I feel like shouting or crying or running. We’ve been through hard times and dragged each other through them, and we’ve kicked back and sailed through the good times with Bob Marley and a cold cider. We play and joke like children and argue like an old married couple. We have so many in-jokes we can’t even remember them all. We go for meals and movies, we have the hearts and candles and flowers and teddies, but we also have the assassin films, Sims 3, play fights, pillow fights, the yelling at the Xbox when some bastard shoots us AGAIN, the debates over which Avenger is best, and of course, stealing bites of each other’s food (well, Jake stealing mine…). He can read me like a book, and I him. He knows my worst fears and my greatest dreams. We compare and consider what the first things to buy would be, if either of us won the lottery (Jake would buy a KFC bucket, of course) and whether we would even tell anybody. No-one else rolls their eyes quite like Jake does when I throw the millionth outfit on to the bed in a fit of I-hate-all-my-clothes. I trust him with my life. He turns into a 5year old child when he’s had one too many, or when it’s Christmas, or when he’s just generally excited at anything. His enthusiasm for life can brighten anyone’s day. He’s protective but not stifling, concerned but not controlling. He fits into my family as if they have known no different, and his family have welcomed me with open arms. He drives me so far round the bend I could reach to slap his ass and sometimes I have no idea what nonsense he is talking. But I wouldn’t change a thing, not in the slightest. Read more…

Sticky Feet




Taken in 2010 on a family holiday to Spain, of a little grasshopper (maybe a cricket?) resting inside a Hibiscus.

Image is my own.

Facing the Dawn




Written for my Creative Non-Fiction formative assignment:

I knew then, that this was a moment I would never forget. The orb rose further, coating all that can be seen in morganite, amber, amethyst, ruby. The lonely lifeguard tower gazed out over the waves, each ripple carrying jewelled surf that swelled and crashed, splintering each crystal into a thousand pieces. Fixated on the Spanish Sun as it broke over the horizon, I felt at peace. Beside me, my Stepdad watched just as keenly as I, the shared thought between us that this was worth the 5am waking. We were alone in our observation, or so it felt. Perhaps a million people around the globe were witnessing the Sun announce the new day, while others watch yesterday disintegrate, but in that slice of time it was just us. Our only companions that morning had been the heavy machinery which had cruised the beach, erasing the litter from holidaymakers and restoring the sand back to its intended state of soft powder. But even they had ambled away, leaving us unaccompanied as the sky’s gradient rose from deepest black to the delightful tones of pastel crayons.

It is impossible not to feel at peace in such tranquillity. A rare instant where I felt 100% at ease, my thoughts spanned nothing beyond this scene. Few words were spoken between my Stepdad and me, but none were needed. I knew this would always be the golden thread of closeness between us, an experience shared with no-one but each other. I felt privileged that this man, who had elevated my family to new heights and more importantly, brought serenity into my Mum’s life,  would share this with me and show me something to admire. I had suffered, haven’t we all, but he was soothing old wounds by illumination of the great things in this world, far greater than mere humans. So full of knowledge and a calm assurance, I was once more his attentive audience as he wove a patchwork of recollected stories around us, with ski slopes and mountains, grassy meadows and camp fires.

I was in awe. My camera clicked away incessantly as I tried to record the landscape in amazement, in fear that one day my memory may betray me of this moment, the moment I was face to face with the power and wonder of a universe. Behind me lay a country of millions, some raising their heads bleary-eyed to the morning, but in front of me lay only the open sea and then, the universe. The stars that had previously pirouetted now faded away, anticipating their next cue to celebrate the night. Beyond the unbroken line the majestic fire was clawing its way higher, and we were at its mercy. It is absurd of humans to believe we have ultimate control, ultimate supremacy. In reality, we are the smallest insignificant creatures floating on a rock, oblivious to the wonders that grace us every day. It is true that we never fully appreciate something until it is absent from our lives. Sometimes we don’t recognise a diamond when another presents it to us, if only we were to open our eyes. Well, the snapshot in my mind of that new dawn, complete with silver-lined clouds, is perhaps the brightest Crown Jewel of all I that I have.

Images are photographed and edited by myself. Taken Jun/July 2010, published here first Oct 12

Candlelight Hypnosis


I’m always fascinated by the way flames flicker, and the colours and shapes they form. Candles are calming,
and allow me to watch fire with amusement.

My photography, Oct 2012

An Object Lost

Writing Task 3: Writing through Objects (one we have lost)

I peered into her bag, content at seeing my phone, I.D and bank card nestled amongst her purse and receipts. All was well. I raised the glass to my lips, tipping the amber fire down my throat. We fluffed our hair one last time and ventured into the night, joining the students town-ward bound. The hours slurred into each other until I became aware of cotton on my cheek and numbness in my limbs. Yep, I had ended up at home, face down on my bed again. With one eye closed, I sought my phone and other essentials. A flash of silver on my hideous bottle-green sofa betrayed its whereabouts, a moment before I gave in to the alcohol-induced slumber.

I finally surfaced from my comatose state some hours later. I sat up, regretting the harsh movement as my stomach rebelled. As the spinning room levelled out, my hand curled around my phone on the sofa, brushing the cool plastic of my I.D which I shoved inside the purse I had left neglected on the floor.  My hand reached back for my bank card, anticipating the thin grooves of my name to glide against my fingertips like braille. Instead, they were met with the rough upholstery of my ancient sofa, coarse rather than smooth, fabric rather than plastic.

In that instant I was wide awake. My sleep-fuzzed brain cleared as I scrambled for my bank card. Running into the hall, I yelled for my friend in panic. Her bag was turned inside out, the floor searched; every crack and crevice in the house which the card could’ve scurried into was inspected. All to no avail.

The realisation hit me like a slap in the face. It was Lost. My card, my lifeline, my money was unreachable. My heart was pounding double-time as I tried to retrace my steps, working myself into a state of anger, frustration and confusion as I paced back and forth.

“What are you worried about?” my friend asked coolly, not even glancing up from her glossy magazine. Apoplectic rage started dangerously bubbling, about to erupt with colourful curses when my brain registered the question, stumping my wrath as it processed the words. Well, what was I worried about? If it didn’t show up, then I would just have to cancel the card. I would lose access to my money for a few days. The thought makes me tense even now, but why?

Why was that piece of plastic so vital at that instant? I had my roof over my head, food in the fridge, a warm bed and clean running water. Whether or not I had money in my pocket or numbers on an ATM screen, I could sleep knowing that I will survive tomorrow. I will not starve. I will not catch pneumonia. Typhoid is not going to visit me anytime soon. The worst that will happen is missing the offer on those Jaffa cakes. Life will go on.

Why are we that concerned with the digital money we never touch, the pieces of paper and metal we do, and the pocket-sized plastic? Yes, they are necessary in our culture for the basics of survival, but after that, the excess is not a matter of life or death. As I contemplated this my shoulders felt less tense, my breathing shallower. Being rich doesn’t enhance our survival rate much beyond those of average wealth.  Money doesn’t make the sea smell saltier, a baby’s laugh sound sweeter or a kiss feel more passionate. We will not die if we have no money for a day or two. We worry if there is nothing to worry about, so programmed are we to concern ourselves with trivial matters. What are we really worried about?


Image is my own, October 2012

Upon These Columns, Great Burdens Stand.


Inside Charles Church. Makes me think of Harry Potter or something 🙂

My photography, Sept 2012

Moonlight Memorial


Charles Church, Plymouth.

During World War II, Plymouth was heavily bombed and Charles Church was destroyed in the fires that ensued.
Once peace had settled after the war, Plymouth decided not to rebuild the church, instead allowing it to stand as
a living memorial to the 1,200 civilians who were killed during those air raids.

My photography, Sept 2012

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