Wednesday, September 20, 2017


Is this world exactly as we see it,
or is it as we think it should be,
and in the doing, make it manifest
in ways beyond our imagining?

Is there such a thing as sound if
there is no ear to hear it, or is what
we call sound, no more than invisible
waves, rolling out from circumstance?

Is love real in the ways that we believe,
or, is it a need, desire, determination
to connect, hardwired into us before
we are born and in need of a name?

Is the past a reality, formed and held
enduring, in some unseen place, beyond
our ability to know other than fragments
of that which we call memories?

Is there anything which we can claim
is absolutely real, or is all that we feel,
see, experience, no more than intangible
workings, which blink in and out of being?

Is there an answer to all of our questions,
or, just more questions, lingering in the
darkness, waiting for the light of curiosity
to shine, brightly but briefly upon them?

Saturday, September 9, 2017

To search

To search within the almost seen, scramble in the mind,
to rummage through the coats of past, seeking so to find,
who I am and who I was and who I still might be;
so does love draw gentle hands across eternity.

Who was I then, who am I now, and who will I become,
so do the questions roll and taunt when certainty is gone,
and who I might have been, or could, has drifted on the wind;
so do potentials reach an end, before we can begin.

That morning when I woke in fear and huddled into Self,
as dreams and deep imaginings were tumbling from the shelf,
so then I saw in scattered wreck the tramplings of my heart;
and realised, that who I was, had never played a part.

And yet it had been written, this tortured, searching path,
which led from birth and on to death, as pure and soulful art,
for in the journey to become, to know and render true;
I learned the shape of  what was me, perceived, what was called you.

Tuesday, August 29, 2017


In that milky pout of bubble,
which births from your tiny
lips, there rests a purity of 
being; timeless, ancient, bliss
which resonates through
centuries as life's perfect kiss;
where virgin beginning, lives
in fragile hope of tender years,

before translucent hope can drift.

Sunday, August 27, 2017


Hammer at the feelings,
frame the thoughts denied,
dump the doubts and fears;
epic are the tides.

Rivers will keep flowing,
hours the list of days,
straight the moment calling;
protects you in all ways.

Sense the gusts of knowing,
hesitate no more,
let the fates do guidance;
abide by ancient law.

Wednesday, August 23, 2017


The real borders exist in the mind,
and have no form in the material
world, but are more powerful, than
any fence or wall or gate might be,

for they enclose our thoughts, our
beliefs, our attitudes and often, our
feelings, in ways which prevent the
truth of connection; in ways which

hold us in place, defined, if not
imprisoned behind the edifice of
fear, which made boundaries so
necessary, in the first place, and

which, is always, through distant
night, and hovering day, working
artfully, to replace the mortar, make
stronger the defences, reinforce the

walls, which hold us in and others
out, those boundaries of heart and
mind, of soul and psyche; those
borders we have so carefully built,

where trailing leaves, seeking roots,
perfumed blossoms, call always
from the other side, just out of our
reach, and beyond limited vision.

Sunday, August 20, 2017

Language of Lies

It was the first lie which led the way,
like an orange beacon on the hill of
deceit, beginning that march into evil,
which left love hanging on the broken

gate of betrayal, where more lies stood
as statues, carved in sad facts of denial,
and right, kneeled, whimpering in the
skirts of yesterday; adultery's hood had

defined my truth, hidden your face in such
blackness, that no amount of torches could
ever bring enough light to bear upon what
now was an impossible, searing, darkness.

New life

You became who you were in an exploration,
of becoming, through the marriage of male and 
female, woven into being in dark brightness,
where silence sang ancient songs through

watered, imaginings; drifting in an ocean
salted through time and love, breathing in
that slow way of creation, through all that
you were, or might be, as the angels drew

in scented books, the story of the life you 
would live and who you would become, as
you left the place where life had entered into

your soul, passing through each breath I
took, each surge of my blood and waiting
love, in that deep unknowing we both knew.