Tag Archives: ink


This post is a bit of an experiment! The idea had a couple of starting points…

I was looking at some Lady’s mantle flowers in bright sunshine. This started off a chain of thought which had a lot to do with the process of branching – how we see it in natural growth, echoed in man-made patterns, and also in mathematics.

Not long after I read about a free piece of software for game developers called Ink. This is a lightweight tool aimed at authors writing stories where the reader gets to make choices. Ink is made by an award winning Cambridge based game development company called inkle. If you’re interested you can find out more about the company and download ink software from their website.

I decided to try to make an interactive poem, where your choices can affect the flow of the poem. To begin with I chose something quite simple, and fairly structured.  I wrote three short threads of poetry about my Lady’s mantle ideas, then developed a page using Ink that allows you to choose how the poem branches as you read. So in the end I had a poem about branching … that could actually branch!

I’m not able to embed the resulting poem here on the blog, but I can host it on my website, so I’m going to add a link to show it in a new window, but if you’d like to come back here and like this, and/or leave a comment about it, I’d love to hear from you…

Click to open a new window with the interactive poem ‘Branching’



I am a tent.

Ptarmigan in the rain. Driesh, 8th May 2014

Ptarmigan in the rain.
Driesh, 8th May 2014

Rain on my hood.
I am well seated by Driesh’s trig.
Light rain, full waterproofs, dry.
A birthday donder.

Eyes shut there is only sound.
Staccato drops.

Light defies a hinted snooze, and
I drift to a gentle trance.
I am a tent.

Ten again.
Camped in a garden realm.
I await Marco Polo’s return,
Hooves thrashing the steppe,
The quiet creatures of the woods,
And the almost tangible possibility of magic.

Tented air aromatic with the astringent
Of newly printed ink,
An anticipated summer special,
Mingled with pattering scent of fresh rain.

Eyes closed,
I breathe slow and quiet,
and listen to time stopping.

I am a tent.