Thursday, August 17, 2017

The Flood

They've taken down the 
shining light, and the
river, has returned to its
blackened, hidden self.

In that place of dreams,
night beds down, slow
forgetting tides and flow,
calling to the darkness,

arched as innocent surrender,
true to sightless possibility,
nothing seen, just imagined,
sounds of suckling mud,

as it flows, out of sight,
drifting in that sure way 
of pure, and endless being, 
as I step into the dream and

have no questions, for all
may yet be made ready,
for the chill kiss of dawn,
revealing what has been

born in ebony caverns, those 
 ephemeral figures creep,
drawn from Akashic realms,
dipping trailing fingers

into the wash of waves;
allowing the drown of 
becoming, to release, 
bequeath, unknown treasures.

'What have you found?' 
The voice rides liquid crests,
somnolent, searching, sighing,
at the breast of Soul; in

deliquescent dressing drench
of formless, rich potential. 
'I found myself,' even though
I had not known I was lost.

 Evening moon glittering
on strewn harvest of 
luscious river weeds, torn
from their beds, and shaken

across the flooded earth,
dressing muddy realms, in
stalk, leaf and frond of now
slow rotting death and life.

Wednesday, August 16, 2017


You may say I'm a dreamer,
but my world is not as yours,
and in the making of my days,
the dream reveals the source,

for it is in deep imagining that
I can find my way, and dance
upon the cracks of life, neatly
stepping, through each chance,

scotching hops which do not
lead, across the squared nights
and rounded hours, chalked
lightly on the path of time...

you may say I'm a dreamer,
and I admit that I am, for the
dream is no more than the
mind of God made manifest.

Friday, August 11, 2017

Love and Loss

Laugh lightly at the end of days,
weep deeply in its warmth,
spice of wit dilutes the shock;
bird of love released.

Memories hold fast, in place,
twinkle in our dreams,
grow a quilt of trust;
and soothe the hours of grief.

Let love
lift up its voice in song,
to smooth life's coverlet,
so time
can bring its healing;
acceptance takes small steps.

 wren of hope sings quietly,
in words we may not hear,
but sing it does, eternally;
reminds us not to fear.

Friday, August 4, 2017


Run the music magically,
let the notes full shine,
sing the wonder deeply;
tease the stilted mind.

Hear the message flimsy,
know it is a truth,
soul does speak in silence;
trips up doubt as proof.

Three, the sacred number,
life's trilogy bespoke,
trace the Goddess line;
Mother, Maiden, Crone.

Tire not of the work,
let time call you on,
be the servant dutiful;

honouring her song.

Wednesday, August 2, 2017

The End

Seconds break from ocean of time,
sculling through foaming minutes,
dragging waves of sodden hours,
thundering into dropped days as

they wash upon life's sandy feet;
crumbled careering of bubbled
beginnings, and frothing ends,
those months, years and decades

which sluice our hearts from birth
unto death, as seabirds scree and
sing above, darting through puff
of cloud and curious wind, in that

dance of life which has no end,
and yet which, in truth, has never
begun, for all is caught: an eternity
of bright and shining imagination.

Tuesday, August 1, 2017


When fear sucks in hope,

 holds breath, refuses

 release, the world seems

 to shrink inwards, denying


 possibility, promising pain,

 gritting brittle teeth

 in optimism's face;

 then  I wait for angels


 to whisper thoughts of

 comfort,  and prod

 open lips of despair;

 allowing bright exhale.



Bend the scent of sanity,
stitch the sail of time,
surrender the archaic;
trip the soul sublime.

Scan the vivid moment,
heat the pot of joy,
slice the sliver carefully;
cherish life as toy.

Follow in the calling,
let the hours shine,
all is an experiment;
God's world so divine.