blog.mqhovey.com

Author: mqhovey

  • Chapter One

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    mqhovey
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    The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn. From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which…

  • Chapter Two

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    mqhovey
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    “Oh, I can’t explain. When I like people immensely, I never tell their names to any one. It is like surrendering a part of them. I have grown to love secrecy. It seems to be the one thing that can make modern life mysterious or marvellous to us. The commonest thing is delightful if one…

  • Landshipping Quayside. 

    Landshipping Quayside. 

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    mqhovey
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    My dog, Albus, is lying in the passenger’s seat footwell of my van. I am driving from  Narberth to Landshipping, and as usual, I take  the A40 to Canniston bridge. It is only once we hit the fast stretch of this road that Albus retreats from the comfort of the seat to the footwell. He is a…

  • Seven Ages of Foxman. 

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    mqhovey
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    Fox-cub, curious amongst roots, sniffs at air,Pauses, a child of caution, his foreleg raised. Despite being five years old, I had never managed to explore the whole of this countyhouse, set high on its hill. The house was Victorian, built of red brick, and it overlooked awide valley, which, on its furthest edge, lapped up…

  • Evening Skies

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    mqhovey
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    Gold light crowns the hill. Trees must sing in leaves of green, a lullaby beneath blue skies. My eyes, agape, with mouth of crow, I caw the onset of a sunset red that reaches out to touch with pink the plumped up, pillow clouds. The sun, like spittle on a prophet’s lip, hangs pre-destined over…

  • The Estuary.

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    mqhovey
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    Valley of waters sucked and filled by the moon’s strong mouth. Stunted oaks, succoured by serpent roots, are wind carved offerings to a white goddess. La lune is huge, is nine months full. An ocean is pulled up stream. Creation.

  • The Last House before the Sea

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    mqhovey
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    Broad shouldered, the house squats hugging the bedrock lest the restless air drives underneath and lifts all skywards. For even this much stone is fragile- a clutter of rocks cut from a cliff face, carried by boys who curse at last night’s beer. A clutter of rocks heaved up and built, constructed into form, realignment…

  • Osmosis

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    mqhovey
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    Forest,a cathedral of columnsstruggling towards light, an earth fugue, itsmusic struck intubes of transformation. Taproots suck,their proboscis of thirstseek routes through rock. Their tongues wedge into fissuresto sip dark liquids from those cold lips of stone.

  • Earliest Memories

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    mqhovey
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    distance defined by blade on blade of grass jewelled with dew, flamed green by sun. I ruled a realm, fought sword on claw with monstrous things. A thousand lives I gave myself, a thousand fates and ways to die between tall stems. Cow parsley Prince, under towered castles in the sky.  Earliest awareness, unquestioned love…

  • Words to a rusting lump of iron, found on the tideline of an estuary

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    mqhovey
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    The hands that made you then are long gone down. Strong muscles worked the forge, they are now ash. The mind that formed you talks from underground, speaks of concentrated weight, split by rust rash. Split, then expanded to a mockery of this blacksmiths’ inner eye. It haunts me, this oxidised corruption of metallic form.…