"I walked into a temple, to photograph everything I saw there. There was nowhere else for me to go - I had searched almost the whole town and all I could see was the world around me shredded to pieces, kindling for this global fire. But there were still temples, I knew that, because they'll … Continue reading The Last Temple
And then there was a man whose name I can’t remember. But he was scruffy, bearded and vacant. He was wearing white faded trainers, grey faded jeans and a faded black downs jacket. However, what was most noticeable about this man was the new purple and red backpack that was on the floor in front … Continue reading Unnamed
And then there was Philippe who sang for his bread. He was a down and out and wore an odd ensemble of clothes, including multi-coloured trainers and sweat pants. He had a bag around his waist and one on his back. His fingernails hadn’t been cut for some time. A red beard, a thickened goatee, … Continue reading Phillipe
And then there was Marjorie, in the red leather jacket and ankle length black suit. She looked like a tea-reader and her long nose, the support of quite quirky thick glasses, protruded in to the carriage, like her own predictions of the lives of others. She, like many women on the Paris métro, clutched her … Continue reading Marjorie
And now we have Georges who only ever identifies with two colours – black and denim blue. He has a guitar and, rightfully, wears a thinned pair of aviators. Of course, he is listening to music, “rock” probably. But he’s also fiddling with the screen of his phone. He has designer stubble and strikes me … Continue reading Georges
ΕΥΔΟΞΑ ΑΓΝΩΣΤΑ ΚΑΤΑΓΕΛΑΣΤΑ
Stained glass poet
News and views from the other Russias
Running, Writing, Real Life Experiences & Relatable Content.
Journal de mon jardin en Hesbaye
Poetry that purrs. It's reowr because the cat said so.
