Of Guildsmen and Bootboys…
Reflections on another time… City skins rule OK? The terse message told of an uncompromising tribe who scrawled it on buses, bus shelters and buildings across the metropolis. Skinhead brutalist fashion was at its...
Tagged: alan martin
Poetry from Alan Martin
FIFTY METRE NEWS Highly transmissable, this blight of homely airs that leaks from my radio, on the hour, every hour, if I am not lightning fast; the dreadful news in morbid repitition. Gloom enumerated,...
A Hermit’s Life
In one issue of Raven’s Bread, a newsletter for those interested in the solitary life, Wood B Hermit is pictured standing in front of an office that issues various permits and licences. His eyes...
Poetry: ‘Tis the Season
By Alan Martin Surprised, yet again, by autumnal torpor, and, intent on understanding, I settle to observing rain, and the consequent habits of snails, and the number of blackbirds that take to my lawn, with...
What is Simplicity? Part 2
A Quaker friend told me that he coped with his very busy life by keeping his thoughts simple, but I just do not have the perceptual agility to handle any barrage of complications. I...
What is Simplicity? Part 1
Sarah the Furze lived in a two-room cottage, engendered of rock, as bare as a cave, that stood on the edge of a heathery hill on the West Coast of Wales. The slope led,...
Pembrokeshire Can be Part of a New World
The world has changed, and will continue to do so, probably at an accelerating rate. The devastating crisis of Covid-19 has, however, at least provided an opportunity to alter the course of economic development...
In Search of the Good Life
Amid all the pain and hardship of the pandemic there has been, for some people, a glimpse of a quieter, more simple way of life. This change has obviously been most marked in towns...
Nostalgia Moves On
By ALAN MARTIN It is still possible to find one of the old ten-gallon galvanised milk churns in antique shops, but nostalgia would soon wear thin if the buyer had to manoeuvre the 50kg...
Alan Martin: Poetry Now
Poems by ALAN MARTIN JUST NOW In my woods-hidden house, with the power gone down, and no means of contact, I am a survivalist, creeping out from a niche, post the apocalypse. My day...
