Anybody who has ever touched a keyboard has probably thought of similar things to do with that computer. Incredibly it has changed our life. As in everything there are positives and negatives. I recall some years ago when somebody was talking about how they needed to upgrade their computer because theirs was too slow, and thinking to myself there must be better ways to spend your money. It is probably indicative of our lives generally in the West, and even more so in the USA. I remember reply...
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Teaching typography I am often looking for ways to show my odd sense of humour and have it translated into a lesson. Here's one of my comics! Click on image for more detail.

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When I studied in Istanbul, Turkey with my wife and daughter we would take the bus from our apartment into the centre of town where our classes were. Some of the nicest and rudest people were found on these buses. It was a memorable part of living in this bustling city of 12.5 million. Coming from England where there is such a thing as queues and waiting one's turn was more than a shock to proper manners and the way one should act in public! Everybody was out for themselves. The three of us w...
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If my name was Betty Windsor and Philip was my queen,
I would travel around the world, demanding to be seen.
I’d sail to every sea port and claim them each my own,
and then I’d fly to every land, establishing my throne.

Perhaps I’d have grandchildren and call them Corgi names.
I’d ban those Greek Olympics and start my own world games.
I would use blue rinse in my hair, with streaks of pinks and greens
and hang out with the Londoners in skin tight studded jeans.

I’d have a topless bodyguard...
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“Islambek has fallen…has fallen.”
Like an album stuck in the groove, over, over and over.
“Islambek has fallen…has fallen…fallen…off the roof.”

The shrill became louder behind the tall sea-green gate.
Rushing down my pomegranate-stained path,
I pushed open the heavy door to see her ashen face.

Shh. Quiet.
Calm.
Slowly.

My words had no effect on the distraught mother.
Only my ability to follow with similar hysteria
seemed to provide any sense of comfort.

Neighbourhood children, the famil...
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Around the blade of grass,
the small red-haired girl twirls her finger, cocooning it within.
As the caterpillars innocently hang on the willows,
nimble fingers make a home for her companions.

Castles of broken sticks –
Lanes of odd sized pebbles –
Mountains mixed with brown chalky mud–
The apprentice architect works in silent meditation.

Small wonders of creation
anticipate the completion of paradise.
In curious whispers they stand around,
waiting for their invitation to the banquet.

The titmous...
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Sense of humour
Love to slumber
Never hurried
Seldom late
Quite a joker
Once a smoker
Love to love
Hate to hate
Once a victim
Now a victor
Free from sorrow
Sometimes pain
Still I suffer
From depression
Love to write
And to create
Never finished
Always changing
Day by day
I’m growing old
Who I was
Or who I will be
You or I
May never know

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As many people know, I love to garden and find great comfort in digging in the soil; in planting and watching new life form. I learned this love from my mother, who now due to Alzheimer's Disease has lost her ability to enjoy her lifelong love, gardening. It is for her that I wrote the poem. It was one of the last times I saw her in the garden and enjoying herself.

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The steady gentle hands which I once held are now wrinkled.
Small walnut coloured spots from the sun lay as a map to former years.
F...
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High on a narrow path we crept.
Eyes forced left,
we dared not look below.

The ancient path was cracking.
Crumbling, pebbles fell around us.
Nobody muttered a word.

Too late to turn around,
people were behind us.
Step-by-step, look left. Be quiet.

I was calm until she started
panicking, sniffling tears.
Why did she come? I whisper silently.

Be quiet. Look left.
Without pity I bitterly reach
my hand to take hers.

This was to be fun.
For miles you can see
the desert below. Look left.

Some behind us were unaware...
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As I go through life, I wonder where I’m going.
Haven’t I been down this road once before?
Haven't I seen the anguish, the heartache, the pain?
As I walk, I cannot help but question where it is taking me.
No one knows for sure where it leads; where it stops.

Whenever I feel trapped, like a prisoner or a bird in a cage,
Subject to all the demands of the day;
the tugging, the pulling, the constant drone of demand.
I close my eyes and soon my spirit rises upward;
I begin flying like the giant e...
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Having lived in a number of countries and traveled extensively through many years, people often have asked what my favourite place was. This, of course is impossible to answer. Each one has wonderful memories, intermingled with difficult and painful memories. Each place led me to a new depth in discovering myself. Each place has a myriad of emotion attached to them.

Shodieva Street, is in reference to my home in Uzbekistan, where I lived for a number of years. Due to illness I had to fly back...
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