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I’ve added a new section called “What Is Poetry to You?” This is a space where you’re invited to share your own meaning, your own experience of poetry. You can choose whether your response is shared on the site or kept completely private. That part is entirely up to you. If you’d like to send something, you’ll find my contact details at the bottom of every page. _________________________________________________________________________ I thought I would give you an insight in

O meu lugar Feliz Não uma casa com quatro paredes Mas na minha mente cheia de memórias fotográficas de tempos bons e ruins Não um chão Mas o terreno orgânico que adoro andar Procurando aventuras e observando a beleza da natureza Não as portas, me mantendo do lado de dentro Mas o espaço aberto para sentir-me livre Ouvindo o canto dos pássaros e observando a vida selvagem Não o teto Mas o céu acima, para que eu possa elevar-me Às alturas dos meus sonhos e aspirações O meu lugar

Varanda de Ian Vista da Varanda Encontrando o Silêncio em um Mundo no Limite Estou aqui sentado na minha varanda, bem no meio do abraço verde da mata na Praia Vermelha do Sul, em Ubatuba. A praia fica a apenas 450 metros daqui, e o ar está carregado com o perfume das flores tropicais, o cheiro amadeirado da resina e da terra úmida. Mas o barulho aqui é de um tipo muito mais antigo e gentil. As cigarras estão em coro hoje, criando uma "parede" de som vibrante enquanto buscam s

It’s late Can feel the sleep Trying to take over my head Still got things to do A shot of coffee, strong and black That should help… Back to the keyboard Where was I? What was I saying? Oh yes... It’s late Can feel the sleep…

A family of five in a basement flat Two rooms, tight, but hearts intact shared a toilet with the folks next door The lobby between with a wooden floor Tin bath dragged beside the fire each week Heat from the coals and the smoke it did reek Kids bathed in turn, I was last the last one Being the youngest isn’t much fun No cars cluttered this city street Only kids with scuffed shoes and dancing feet Boys kicked balls, or battered cans Girls skipped rope with clapping hands Tenem

My father left when I was sixteen But his lessons stayed No fireworks, just patience and a quiet strength The kind that teaches you to Breathe through pain, hardship and…. Well, life really Down in the depths of a dark coalmine In the shadows of fear Through the sweat and the toil My old journeyman said “Work to the best of your abilities You might just find you enjoy it” And I did I found pride in effort I found power in the grind I found strength in the struggle The army ca

Ian`s veranda view Finding Stillness in a World on Edge I am currently sitting on my veranda, tucked away in the wooded embrace of Praia Vermelha do Sul in Ubatuba. The beach is only 450m away and the air is thick with the scent of blooming tropical flowers, aromatic woody resin and damp earth. Yet the noise is of a much older, kinder variety. The cicadas are in full chorus today, a shimmering wall of sound as they call for their mates. It’s a rhythmic, pulsing energy that fe

Two Notes, One World and a Lot of Noise The grit and surrealism of living with hearing loss, diplacusis, and tinnitus inspired this writing. It’s not a gentle thing. It’s rough and harsh, and I choose to be unapologetically honest. I now know noise as well as, or better, than anyone. You hear the world in stereo, I hear it with a confusion of sound. One musical note splits into two, like a truth that cannot decide what it wants to be. Diplacusis! Such an elegant name. It soun