My weakness is a broken bough bent at the place I will my way. But the gardener of my heart breaks off the branch that does not bear life and which grows astray. Like the ship which mistrusts its charts, and deigns a way of its own design comes to grief, we break at the … More A Poem: Weakness

Life is not a race to the grave. But about finding heaven right here in the still spot where the world turns. Life is not about chasing anything. But about finding love right back where we placed it down. Life is not about rush. Though so much is calling not every voice that sings to … More A Poem: Still Point

You ask me questions that are too much to answer. My certainty is only this – I have none. To talk in sureties and absolutes is to divide the world into segments. Is to quantify the worth of everything, by a measure of right and wrong. Now instead, ask me what it is I believe. … More A Poem: Certainty

What is this wisdom that confounds the wise. This learning that needs not books to expand, but still attention. What is this growth, that is more loss than gain, a shedding of ourselves, to find out what’s underneath. What is this knowledge, which is hardly built upon, but more a slow de-construct. A burning of … More A Poem: Wisdom

If we knew? If we knew how short the span of our attachment. When time is seen in the context of eternity, then our breath, less than brief, seems hardly worth the drawing. Our mark on eternity’s length of string less than the time it takes for a cicada, burrowing from the dark to lift … More A Poem: If We Knew

Is all life lived beyond the fence? At the extent of our limits. Or is there worth in stillness, the holy pause between breaths. I wonder if God speaks as much in the space between speech, as in the framed word. The pause between the Tui’s notes make up its song, the heart rests between … More A Poem: Holy Pause

I think we feel it before it comes. The dying of the day. It’s in the heat dissipating, almost imperceptibly. The light lengthening, to make long shadows of ourselves. The way everything feels like it must be lived before its lost, and each word is weighed hovering in the air, as moths near a flame. … More A Poem: Evening

That you would choose me? As your abode. This earthly rustic home. The trees make for you a cathedral in their heavenly reach, I could not hope with clay-bound feet to emulate. But the birds still fly, and the oceans move in this flimsy construct of mine. Within which, mathematics makes no sense, nor surface … More A Poem: A Home

I am a burning tree catching the flame sparks flying. For every leaf surrendered to the fire, for every shrivelled ashen piece of me, a new shoot, fed by my old remains, emerges. Burning tree, alight with holy flame, teach me, that death and life is a constant cycle turning. And as we are consumed … More A Poem: Burning

The landscape doesn’t change, the terrains the same. The challenges will test us as before. But what has changed at this threshold of the year, moment, brink of everything – are our eyes, surveying the view, for a moment cleansed as by falling rain. What has changed are our hearts desiring to put off the … More New Year Poetry: What has Changed