Today I hear not to fix so much as trust. When have I ever attempted to fix a thing that has not tried to wrest itself from grasp. The things that are mine to touch, they’ve already formed themselves into good without persuasion. Yes, sometimes it is better to defer an opinion. Today I heard … More A Poem: Fixing

Ah, we must make nests. Life is a bare limbed branch through which the winds move, or a flute hollowed out for music, or a ravine, open at each end, that the wind finds its singing voice. Yes, life, in its various stages of undress, is as a tree exposed to the elements, or a … More A Poem: Nests

Sometimes we need the quiet constant things. Like water that flows, ripples over pebbles, in eddies and currents of a stream. Sometimes it’s the certain things, the sure and solid things, like rock. Or it’s the translucent things, the clear fluidity of water running over stone. Sometimes we need the message, unspoken but clear, in … More A Poem: Constancy

Its how we live, like poetry. We start with a word, maybe two, but not too many that the flow is restricted. And then we follow, the constant thread, as a river looks for the lowest point, or as blossoms open under a warming sun. There is nothing that looks too much like force. Have … More A Poem: The Weight of Water

I have a sweet spot. It’s in the centre of a poem, threads coming together in the mystery of unfolding. There’s the wait, breath in and breath out, an awareness like antennae combing the airwaves. Its like standing on a precipice, the edge before the jump, where the winds meet. It’s like being in prayer. … More A Poem: The Sweet Spot

I never saw a rose I did not love. No two alike in colour, in shape, in their ways of unfolding. Some with petals curled in precision, others flushed and open, as dancers alighting from a floor. Some so translucent, delicate, we refrain from the picking, and watch the petals fan out, fade and fall. … More A Poem: La Rose

Its in the way we see. The way we stop to note, the blessing is not so much in the planned, the up ahead intent, but almost instead in the little scenes at centre left, the sacraments upon the way. The heaven meeting earth flashes, like shooting stars too frequent to recognise, but when seen … More A Poem: Reasons

  Time is a curtain drawn, like this dressing of new leaves upon the maple tree, delicate thin, green veil, which the wind whips and lifts that the sky shows through. And the future, and the past, seem to converge at this axis of trunk rising like a solid sign of continuity, branches pointing back … More A Poem: A Curtain

Did you want to be swayed by the wind, by the external things. Do you want to know how everything that is solid runs underneath, and through. Do you want your thoughts to lift you up or down, to live rudderless. Do you want to give credence to impressions that come and go, like mist … More A Poem: Swaying

What does it mean to follow? Sometimes it’s just to see your back, your feet, the dust of your sandaled prints in the earth. Sometimes it’s just a voice we hear to urge us on. Yes, some of us think to find you is to put out our hands in earnest supplication, for you to … More A Poem: To Follow