A Poem: Things

Things save us. Yet, we’re told to hang onto faith, to not put our trust in the concrete, the things susceptible to change. We are told to hold our beliefs safe in heaven, in a tomorrow eventually won. Not an earth that fails us, inconsistent at every turn. But I wonder if things, are not … More A Poem: Things

A Poem: Monsters

What do we do with the monsters? When we were children we would play with torches and with sheets. Do you remember? How we would run down hallways, jump around corners and scare each other in the dark. Maybe that is what we’re to remember in the moments that we recoil from fear or anger, … More A Poem: Monsters

A Poem: Climb

Climb the hill. Burdens are inclined to settle, find spots to rest on shoulders. And baggage has a penchant for backs causing us gradually to stoop, until to lift the head to see the hill is work. Climb the bank. Just one step, then two. When you’re climbing, looking up is seeing right in front. … More A Poem: Climb

A Poem: Pink

I didn’t know I was pink, or blue with a soft coral edge. I didn’t know the world and I could change colour according to the sky. Perhaps it’s the trees with their red tips lit. But tonight the world exhaled as lovers collapsing into quilts. And softened as a babe replete at the breast. … More A Poem: Pink

A Poem: To Fall

To fall is human, and to err a part of life. How the sun rises to then be obscured by cloud, that it might almost appear to be offset from course. Yes, we do not know when we might walking, all of a sudden trip. Like the sun leaving too soon. But it’s always a … More A Poem: To Fall

A Poem: Waking

I woke up today and it was like none of it mattered. The ghosts keeping me from sleep. The thoughts, that yesterday had seemed to have taken root, now have flown. And the mist come in, that all I can see are trees rising up, as though from the sea. And everything else has shed … More A Poem: Waking

A Poem: Consecrated

I opened the news today and thought, ‘what do I do with this?’ These stories hard to digest for being true. ‘What!’, and ‘why?’ and ‘how?’ – all question defying answers yet hanging in the air faintly as lost souls. I opened the news today, and found it wet with ink dripping, and dark red … More A Poem: Consecrated

A Poem: Half

When I walk I am half me at that, less even. My eyes look straight ahead, no hindsight. The past mostly a blank, apart from imagination. But when I walk I feel a memory through my ankles, not of shape so much as sense, like rising mist from which I step, not entirely myself – … More A Poem: Half