Tuesday, September 30, 2014


Your song had drifted over golden fields,
the gentle tap expected, barely felt,
heard myself say: 'Welcome, come in,
I  had not expected you so soon again.'

Your visits were irregular and often feared,
until I learned to listen to the words,
to lose myself in lyrics and deep chords;
when you arrived I was no more disturbed.

I found in shadowed moments certain grace,
divined in unseen form your inner gifts,
could sense the hidden truths that you did hold;
surrendered so all fears were then dismissed.

Ah sadness, all those years that we did lose,
when ignorance had made me call you fiend,
rejected you as enemy, and mortal foe,
when we were one, no other was involved.




The edge was calling, drawing out, demanding,
and offering abyss and sorrowed falling,
into the ocean's depths, that deep embrace;
until pink petals tripped up mind's dark race.

Limp and soft and lost in coloured dreaming,
they struggled to survive in salted feelings,
reminding me that in life's fearsome hold,
there could be grace and hope as stories told.

Distracted in that moment from the visions,
which distance held in taunting, cold precision,
there was a chance to reckon and reflect,
sweet blossoms saying: No, you must go back.


Monday, September 29, 2014


Curling up, womb-like, huddled
into self, folded, edges tucked,
neatened, no frayed thoughts
which could escape, held in
place, surrounded by the skin
of denial, nourished, fed, and
nurtured by placenta of hope,
sightless, without breathing, or
any sense of being separate,
individual, other than the place,
where time held, wrapped, and
denied escape, refused release,
promising only that one day,
even greater forces would
emerge, take hold, and push
me back into the heaving,
world, of beating reason,
where mind and heart would
hold hands, befriend the lost
returning Self, call for the
fatted calf to be sacrificed,
and in the doing, restore to
being, that which had been
denied, and was now, reborn.

Sunday, September 28, 2014


Flames of joy are selfless,
to polarise the mind,
remove the posey attitudes,
make ashes of desire.

Love is burning endlessly,
discernment  in the fires,
destroying fear's identity;
the lot revealed in time.



Dismal thrust meandering,
the horses rose and held,
as mind then locks the spot;
thoughts as bullets fled.

The ball of time is turning,
the plant of soul defined,
to signal edge of reason;
so life, the Self refines.

Saturday, September 27, 2014



Standing in that place of non-being,
barely remembered as who I was,
dragging dry fingers across the past,
feeling the paper thinness of time,

striving for balance, that sense of
being commensurate, trying to be
level, to compare now with what
was, and holding the scales of love,

tipping this way and then that, with
weights of memory, different in size,
and shape and form, hoping that
heart and mind will agree, that there

will form, a correspondence which
can emulate, something sane, and
firm, and real, that can consist of
what was and what is now, like

co-ordinates which will show me
the way, draw together the full
parallels so that they are level, and
square with what is needed, if peace

of mind is to be found again, if there
can be uniformity with new identity,
which will hold in measured grace
who I have become; which can

deliver, cradled in smooth, white
palms, the secret which will lead
me on to the treasure which must
exist, although hidden - equipoise.

Friday, September 26, 2014


Barely five and ribbons, stiff green net,
with white shoes, freshly primed, smelling
acrid, ready to step carefully behind the
bride, with hair pinned, pulled too tight;
a band of fake flowers holding to my head.

Another dress, a few years later, green,
flouncing skirt, ready for Spring, still
smelling of starch fitted around the chest;
no room to move, held with tiny fears,
pinning it tight, so it would not be spoiled.

And then just eleven, white, with printed
flowers, shining cotton, banded orange, narrow
at the waist, short sleeves, round neck, plain
more than pretty; sorrowful for the three summers
that my mother was in hospital, to be made better.

Years then, when frocks for small girls, made
 to mother younger siblings, were forgotten,
never to come again as circumstance and
adolescence claimed their ground, dismissing
such seasonal frivolities.....


Thursday, September 25, 2014

Broken woman


Dragged through broken doors of mind,
disappeared, half torn from known worlds,
taken down through apertures revealed;
feminine, the freedom for so long denied.

Patriarchy built that bloody shining frame,
wherein woman would be forever trapped,
and held half in and out of brutal time;
so locked for centuries in place of shame.

Crumbling worlds surround as shattered hope,
strewn upon the soured earth grown dark,
barely lit from sun which hides its light;
so she weeps, head low, heart surely broke.



Trance had fallen deeply,
thoughts like popcorn rose,
and on the track of purpose,
the emperor was born.

Skin had shrivelled readily,
like bacon slowly fried,
and in the depths of distance;
age did slow incline.

There was no way of being,
there was no place to find,
rank and youth forgotten;
truth to self not blind.


Friday, September 19, 2014


In that small place between loss and hope,
unrequited stands, childlike, furrowed of
brow, grimy hands clasped on tight chest,
fingernails picking at frayed embroidery,
pulling at faded threads, unravelling the
truth of what was, teasing apart the form,
reducing it to tangled, loosened beauty,
making it impossible, to recognise what
had once been contained in the tight
stitches of grace, where joy sang in bright
colours, and contentment was held in sure
threaded peace; lost now, as if it had never
been and could never be worked back,
restored; could never in fact, be requited.

Friday, September 12, 2014


You turned me into metaphor,
you did not see my face,
my voice was barely heard,
my heart did have no trace.

I was imagined construct,
some image in your mind,
the truth of me eternal lost,
no part of me defined.

I had become a shadow,
my shape was fluid form,
identity had been denied,
projection had me torn.

You did not see my nature,
you did not touch my soul,
you turned me into metaphor;
dross from what was gold.


Crippled bird with broken wings,
falls in feathered, dusted cry,
holding to the arms of day,
weeping as the angels sing.

Love denied, the soul takes flight,
sails on breezes long denied,
whispers to the wounded heart;
disappears in darkest night.

Spirit thirsts through open beak,
small claws hold the twig of time,
destiny does shake the tree;
joy will learn again to speak.


Thursday, September 11, 2014

Hands of days


How green the wine,

vanilla gin which stain
the hands of days,
as love reminds and
so defines, the words
the bloggers bring,
in realms where
papers are denied,
in worlds where ether
wins and mind can
burrow, deep like
moles; communicates
and sings.


Wednesday, September 10, 2014


Light melted into the deepest parts of Self,
drowned darkness in silent, seductive smile,
washed through the doubts and fears of night;
quenched Soul's deep, abiding, hidden thirst.

Dropping in that deliquescent dance of hope,
rising high on salted waves of new possibility,
crashing down through depths as yet unknown;
so was then made bright the blackened heart.

Heralding like song released by shining birds,
moments of pure, liquid,  sweet imaginings,
then did grace illuminate with forgotten joys;
quietly did psyche settle and begin again to sing.


Tuesday, September 9, 2014


That moment when the sun
bursts through the window,
razing vision in a blast of full,
abundant light, removing all
shadows and imagined
possibilities, just as happens
when love pours from your
shining eyes in unexpected,
joyful, and gloriously abandoned
ways; never imagined, and
never to be forgotten.




Dismal thrust meandering
through ball of bitter grass,
saw horses roam erratically;
those bullets from my past.

And as the rose was crucified,
the spot where Soul locks fast,
so was the signal edge revised;
time held the fragile plant.


Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Soul serves


Soul serves to so collaborate with Self,
that contact can be made, no compromising,
allowing mind to listen to this world,
assess the state of time, as decades pass,
and air concerns community demands,
that care which brings together all that is,
in constant chat between divided realms,
material and the physical made as one.