Mustard Tree

Great things grow from small beginnings

What you'll find here

Welcome to this jumble sale of writings, musings, observations and inspirations: I hope you find something to help you on your journey home. It's all storytelling, in the end. That's how we understand things; the stories of who we are, where we came from, where we're headed. The stories of other people, how they came to be who they are, which stories shaped them, why our stories sometimes run parallel, and sometimes clash.

When we're motivated enough, we can change our stories, write new outcomes for ourselves and our people, our planet. All it takes is imagination, where there are, genuinely, no limits.

Warmest regards

Peter Neary-Chaplin

Writer. Poet.

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Clay man

Thursday, February 12, 2009 at 05:08AM

Spent in a long landscape,

My sickness and I weathered

At the foot of tall splintered crags

Where killing birds nest and the metal day drags.

No forward step, no hearty friend,

No fellow traveller heaven-sent,

No hearth or kiss.

Just cold brush, a starry sky

And the blue night's murderous lament.

And my stone-frozen back hardens round the hard ground,

Congeals around its jagged edge.

I am its stolen rib.

We were clay together at the start,

Lay together side by side

Before science, before sin,

When everyone could enter in.

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