Thursday, 27 June 2013

First draft of a poem for Runaways

This is to do dual service as a fun poem about ancestral memory, and to foreshadow a later reversal of roles for two of the main characters.

Night on the Farm

The sheep dog sleeps beneath the gutter,
its back legs shake, and it's eyelids flutter.
It runs in dreams, its head bowed low,
Its paw prints fresh in the virgin snow.
The wolf within begins to stir,
A thing of teeth and matted fur.
The dreaming dog gives joyous chase.
The perfect dog, in the perfect place.

The nesting chook amongst the hay,
Shut inside on a sultry day,
Dreams of claws and scaly armour,
And of eating Andy Todd the farmer.
A set of teeth replaced her beak,
Her talons glistened, sharp and sleek,
And mammals fell beneath her claws,
And squeaked their last between her jaws.

Eyes wide open, staring, haunted,
A good night’s sleep was all he wanted,
So at 2am, Farmer Todd,
Got up, and kneeled, and prayed to God.
“At night,” he says, “I’m all alone,
Cold and naked, far from home.
The dark has teeth and trees have eyes,
In a strange land, under foreign skies.”

-Ewan Green

Wednesday, 26 June 2013


Awe-inspiring, beautiful, spiritual. The natural world is full of wonders.

Sunday, 9 June 2013

This Is Fun

They don't eat chips properly in Korea. (From a newspaper in the rain)

Fresh fish and chips in the sun on a white sandy beach is alright for those that can't get any better.

Saturday, 1 June 2013


My arm aches a bit, but damn its good to be doing this again. Reminds me of the amazing time we had at Ink Digital.