Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Doubt dressed

Doubt dressed my naked helpless mind
in robes of shivered cloth which dragged
with icy purity along the stones  of life.
In trail of darkened hem, it followed close behind,
and threatened with its tangled edge
to trip the feet of time.
The pull of reasoned certainty brought close
the fabric held, in folded deep imagining
the world and all that dwelled, in hidden
lost becomings, which only hope revealed.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Dark night of the Soul

When soul is lost in darkest night
And reason creeps on narrowed ledge,
Then hope will tremble in the corner
And whisper words of haunting death.
While spirit slides through gutted day
And takes my hand in offered dance,
That I may learn the steps which life
Has patterned on the breast of chance.

Friday, November 25, 2011

To honour what we have

To be prepared
to look the fool,
embrace a cruel rejection,
or lose our job
or home or life,
because we honour truth,
is something which
protects this world
and all we have to leave,
to those who will
come after - to those
with greatest need.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

To give thanks

To feel a sense of gratitude
for all we have and hold,
is to honour full the gifts of life;
the one true prayer bestowed.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011


The bonds of deep connectedness
are wrapped through years of love,
and cling like silken ribbons
to those we know as friends.
No time or test can ravel less
these strong but slender ties
which thread through endless memory
to bind us heart and mind.

Monday, November 21, 2011

The day in slivered creep....

The day in slivered creep peers closer through the dawn,
to pull with bright, sharp claws the dregs of night,
and dangle teasing breath on sunlight's brittle face,
slow toss of tangled locks on dreaming darkness.

Small Stones January challenge - River of Stones

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Saturday, November 19, 2011

The dragon

The dragon guards the door of timeless space,
and waits with fiery breath for all who walk,
towards the arms of serpentine embrace,
which draw us on to dark-held shining grace.

Friday, November 18, 2011

Laid upon life's clumsy lap

Laid upon life's clumsy lap in humbled drape,
the shreds of days dress mind,
and fall into forgettings' foolish arms,
to borrow yet again time's changeless shape.
I struggle to draw forth from her tight grip,
to fold myself through moments hardly shown,
that Soul may find the way to know her truth;
and Self in full becoming may be born.

My day

My day has wound itself around
in serpentine display,
and disappeared through
evenings' door, to find
itself again.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

The Wet

The sky in thundered shuddering
spits light and shivered fire,
before it flings to waiting soil
the rains the earth desires.
Born in the belly of the day,
the season's suck and soul,
in heralded becoming,
the Wet returns and holds.
In echoed, deep reflection
the roof throws back the fall,
and sings of nature's blessed gift;
that which succours all.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011


Scattered shreds ephemeral,
twist and turn through skies,
in billowed blown becoming,
of heaven's fulsome breath.
In blossomed, bright beginnings,
through staggered strips
and rents, the drifts and puffs
dress endless, ancient vision.
In measured steps of swirl
and turn, through dance of
light and dark, they birth
through day to night.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Magpie's song

The liquid, crystal carolling
of magpie's dining song,
a call to summon others
so not to eat alone.
In deliquescent serenade,
the rise of shivered  hymn,
rolls gloriously and richly,
to herald tasty gifts.
Mellifluous and mellow,
the magpie sings with joy,
in oceanic warbling;
an ancient, precious call.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

We tell ourselves that things are wrong

We tell ourselves that things are wrong,
that needs are still not met,
that we must have more than we do,
to find our heart's content.
This story that we tell ourselves,
will sour and spoil the life,
which comes to us as precious gift,
and which we now deny.
There is no perfect place to be,
there are no musts or shoulds,
but only the reality
of Now, which lives as truth.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

the web

Diaphonous drift of silvered thread,
weaves lightly through the night,
to hold in place this world and yet,
to capture and inspire.
She brings the gift of ancient light,
the flame of endless time,
and holds us in her dreaming web,
that we might know her mind.
This place of birth and death will hold,
with deliquescent touch,
and tangle tight the struggling Self;
release surrendered Soul. 

Monday, November 7, 2011

The words

The words were whispered loud and soft;
'pull yourself together now'
as if no more than shredded cloth,
which could be gathered, surely swept
into fresh-stitched and unknown shape.

Love settled on the face of time,
a shawled embrace, slow-knitted dreams,
to drape it's lace-held web of hope
upon my life eternally.

But dragging at its cornered edge,
the mouth of dribbled years took hold,
as one lost thread surrendered slow
unravelled all I've ever been.

The words were whispered soft and loud;
'pull yourself together now'
as if no more than frayed, lost soul,
which could be gathered, surely swept
and woven into unknown self.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Shattered night

I tossed and turned
through shattered night,
and brittle, pointed thoughts,
which led me through
the dead, dark hours
and bitter shreds of doubt.

Friday, November 4, 2011

I wondered who I was

I wondered who I was at ten,
and thought I knew by twenty,
only to to find, it wasn't so,
and thirty had no answer.
With forty promising at last,
the truth of Self and Soul,
I found myself some ten
years hence, not knowing,
even now - and seeing,
in uncertainty, the truth
of my own self, a
slow and sure unwinding;
a blossoming of soul.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

African dawn

The nights stretch long through darkness,
and sleep seduces soon,
when light has disappeared in wisps,
gives way to waning moon.

In ancient ways the hours are marked,
from when the sun sinks low,
and huddles into dreaming night;

deep sleep till day's return.

The sound of voices trail through dawn,
down Africa's long streets,
in dusty voice and straggled earth,
they greet the light once more.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011


The night in settled shadows breathed
beside my bed and then,
in captured arms of morning light,
transformed herself again.
In rustled shake of darkened robes,
she crept through cornered hours,
and breathed herself ephemeral;
through day's long shining rule.