Monday, February 19, 2018


Peep through tears reclining,
in shining, shimmered fall,
can touch the tender edges
of heart, in soul's pure call.

And in the shivered droplets,
transparent and revealed,
we see the dreams of ages;
lay out the things we feel.

Reflected in those moments,
bright mirrors of old sight,
the truth of hidden stages,
is lined in staggered height. 

Tuesday, January 30, 2018


Effervescent atoms birthed
in ways unknown, as light
they gather joyfully, present
the source bestowed.

And in the bliss of doing,
life surges forth in ways
of unimagined being;
creation full displayed.
We do not know the
answers to why this world
is so, and yet it is enough
to honour all bestowed.
In temperamental shining,
all is beckoned forth, and
light is pure made manifest;
the universe is wrought.

Monday, January 29, 2018


Do years betray the moment,
sabotage the dreams, or do
the years invest our souls
with what life truly means?

Thursday, January 25, 2018


Could there be ways to live
this life of mine decreed,
without the shining edge
of pain, so finely sheathed,
and then in time released,
to cut through minutes
neat, and chop the days
and sodden nights, through
realms of merciless sleep?
Or is it all so written, in
times before I breathed,
that life would be arranged
with pain, as waiting thief?
Can there be an answer
to such a question met, in
knowing there can never
be, and that the ink stays
wet, allowing all the seep
and blurring on the pages,
where suffering does dress
the naked soul she graces.

Friday, January 12, 2018


Strip-lit shadows suckle at the sorrowed edge of light,

trace in stark relief the mark of image surely drawn,

hold to earth with visions of the darkness which will come;

so does the day dream always of the distant night.

Emptiness unfolds in shapes which sun does deeply cast,

that calling into meaning and to huddled, crisping forms,

where time dips wrinkled toes in breathing brightness lit;

and as the minutes shuffle by, what was, can never last. 

Friday, January 5, 2018


Breath held, drawn in
and down .... slow ...
becoming of deep
thought, waiting ...
to be released, upon
an unsuspecting...
world, in that silence
which holds court
for soul's full and
liquid language, as
it roils ..... in doubt
and hope, before it
can be ...revealed.
In silence all things
....are born.

Friday, December 15, 2017

What is love?

What is love, beyond that
yearning for connectedness,
the desire to join together,
to unite, establish union in

all forms, become as one,
be held together with bonds
unseen, and unremarkable,
but strong all the same?

What is love, but the slow
weaving of feelings, thoughts,
experiences, knitted into a
shawl of  soul, under which

it is possible to shelter, or
even to hide for a time ...?
Such is love as called by
heart and mind in being.