Christmas re-visited

I hope you don’t mind but it’s time to refresh some old Chritsmas favourites this is a link to a Christmas poem “Christmas Rushing in… on tumblr:

and this is about one of my favourite Christmas poetry books ‘Light Unlocked’

and this…. – Merry Christmas everyone – let it be about kindness and peace and friendship for all


Mytwosentences 27

Two sentences! Now that’s a blog to aspire to – thoughts from Edward Roads  stories in two sentences, insights and observances


Understanding the subtle aspects of our day to day lives can most assuredly be difficult.
It is often necessary to find coffee time with real friends to open closed eyes.

Written by Edward Roads

View original post

The Lost Treasure


We all treasure different things…. from people to possessions, to memories and experiences.

About three summers ago whilst camping at Bolberry House Farm in South Devon with friends, my youngest daughter made friends with Georgia and Anna two tents along and one afternoon after a hot day on the beach we created an art gallery and all the young people there that day (with the help of Grace – Thom’s big sister) wrote the beginnings of a story entitled the Lost Treasure. I took all the bits of paper and drawings home with me, meaning to scan them and email round a pdf of their work later on. Sadly the drawings all got a little damp and soggy. This summer, whilst sorting out my desk in preparation for our annual camping trip, I re-discovered ‘The Lost Treasure’ and idled away a few days shaping them into a book via adobe photoshop and ‘book write’ a tool found on I had to re-imagine the various parts of the story that survived and anyone who reads it will need to write their own ending but it was great fun and I’m glad the story now has a second life.


You can find it here:


and there is a free ebook downloadable version for i-pads and i-phones here:


The insidious crime against culture… or ‘The body in the Library’

The Cranes at Waterloo,

They know a thing or two,

It’s clear from their jaunty lean

They’ve no intention of coming clean.

And there’s the announcements on the tube,

The surprise in the voice that intones,

All seems to be going according to plan

Move along sir, ma’am.

Tickety Boo. Nothing to see here.

The cordoned off corner of SoHo Square

And the silent dog smothered in handprints

Intimating otherwise. Men in high viz

Simply standing there,

Immune to scrutiny, public glare,

Or stoically prepared, perhaps,

As an eloquence of cultural folk

Descends upon the city.

I am stuffed in a crisply, contemporary Boardoom

With Baronesses, Big Wigs and Chatham House Rules.

My twitchy twitter finger lies mute.

Once grimy Soho has gained a glow

and now, most endearingly shows

A practised charm in cuddling close to Theatre Land.

One can almost smell the indolence dancing

Nonchalently out from Patessierie Valerie, drifting.

And later, vacillating from Soho to Cambridge Circus

along the Charing Cross Road, up from Southbank

Like an elastic band of cultural invaders they come.

Tally Ho! No crime apparent, yet a shadowy finger points accusing.

A tribe of disparate nomads

a merry band of players, a gallery of glamour

In the white smoke of reprobation.

The guady lights, a whiff of Chinese spice,

Embracing the hundreds of us in Multi-platform dimensions;

screen, stage, mobile media, open mic live,

Will we fade away or thrive?

Sucked down in the bowels of the city, marble topped and ornate

We flow. Expectant. Curious. Raging.

Both audience and cast in this movement of hope, this agony

of circumstance, this grind of repitition.

Epitaphs and admonitions; less talk, more do!

Action to the Word! Street talk, flourish, and prickly articulation

As we stand to save our cultural nation. Not as one, but many.

And so,

A temerity of activists? emerge blinking into the light of day

Our thumbs pricked, our comfortable consciences plucked

A tempest gathering.

The crime was more apparent on my way home.

The cranes still lowering on the horizon as I stood beneath the bleached halls of bureaucracy at Whitehall the cultural clouds now drifting away and a jolly policeman making sure he got a good shot of me as he beamed hello. I pondered the statues to fallen heroes, the architectural grandeur, an abundance of building and the Big Wheel slowly turning, rolling over the river reflective in the golden sunlit glow on the portals of power.

There’s a body in the library, you see

And it’s as much who next, as what next?

We can’t stand by and watch the glorious sun set

Now is the time, now the hour

Action to the word. Actions to the words

As one, as many, together.

J. Brain

What Next 2013 #WN2013



Winter #11


Extract from Winter Decoration, Moral and Sacred Poetry by Bernard Barton, 1820. Illustration by Edward Whymper Poet, Wood Engraver, Artist and Mountaineer from Winter Pictures by Poet & Artist with engravings by Edward Whymper produced by The Religious Tract Society, 56, Paternoster Row, 65 St. Pauls Churchyard; and 164, Piccadilly