Wednesday, July 26, 2017


Rain roils like fire in flaming torrents,
sucking in the air, devouring vision,
thundering crackle, consuming distance,
sodden smoking of nature's breath;

so do the heavens serenade the sighing
soil, drenching barren fear, sluicing
away the doubts of dying season, in
unexpected baring of glistening teeth,

lined at Winter's long-dried mouth, 
where voice of hope had been silenced,
flattened by dry, hard days and thirsty
nights, not even a sigh of dusty words,

as time surrendered to the certainty
of hopelessness, of looming death,
of crackled steps, wasted growth; until
that sudden moment when Life laughed

at Death, in glorious watered smile.

Tuesday, July 25, 2017


The words contain the images,
of memories profound, slow
written through the pages
which life bestows around,

the separating minutes, the
seconds in slow drip, divided
into days then months, as fallow
years do slip; forgetting all

the dreams, and moments lost
in sleep, as if they never were,
as if the angels keep, our very
self and being, in places surely

hid, so do we make our way
through time, so do we ride
the grid, of this pure place
of being, of this material

world, of flesh and bone and
exile, of hopes and loss, full
hurled, into the whirling
firmament, into the stream

of time, which Soul requires
to find itself, bestowed on
us as Mind. So does the dance
begin and end as Word;

we creatures so defined. 

Tuesday, July 4, 2017

Hooded Self


Hooded self describing,
huddled on cold shores,
dark horizon distant;
pebbled mind perforce.

Twinned in all displacing,
gripped by fevered hand,
bird of grief defacing;
silently we stand.

So my alter ego calls,
draws soul to her side,
lures me to water's edge;
catch the morning tide.

Monday, July 3, 2017

Soul tired

My soul was tired, worn,
huddled under weariness
which clothed the days,
and broken minutes of

my mind, where detritus
of hope lay withered, in
a groping of itself, beyond
the place where it could

hold any shape, which
was recognisable. Yawning
in that cavern of forgetting,
soul languished, and in

ancient palms, observed;
slowly counted out the
moments of becoming:
calling all to account. 

Thursday, June 22, 2017


These days they call
the Autumn of years,
are really no different
to those which would be

called a Summer or a
Spring, or even a Winter,
for, like the seasons, there
is the constant hold of our

being, and the changing
costumes, picked up each
day, dropped at night, found
again, and worn in different

ways. Through all the seasons,
earth, sky, tree remain as them
selves, but dressed in varying
ways, which give the feeling

that they are not the same, and
yet, of course they are, in essence
and form, the same as they have
always been. As are we ….

Wednesday, June 7, 2017

Moving house

Packing up the pieces
of a life now gone, soon
to be repeated, in another
home, and yet in the

moving, some things
will not last; different
time and spaces, their
own taste will cast.

In the ever-changing,
flow, of life and place,
there will be a change in
who and what you are.

Sift through those
belongings, treasure and
release, know they hold
no value, in any sense

that's real. People are
what matters, they're
the only plus - all the
rest will be reduced...

simply things and stuff.

Sunday, May 21, 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.