Treasures. I will put them in my kete. And I will be rich, with a wealth of blossom. The flushed cheek of dawn, and kiss of sun. Memories, I’ve been too hungry to put anywhere, and dreams too unformed yet, for shape. All the residue, now melted down, and the elements of future possibilities, carried … More A Poem: Treasures

Finding yourself is not so hard. There are pieces of us everywhere. Each day, we can select. A bit of blue, duck-pond from a languid sky, or turn around and retrieve a little steel from the cold front’s ragged edge. Hear, the silence or tune your ear to the birds, the crickets, or cicadas or … More A Poem: Finding Yourself

You love me even when, I’m all angles and brittle bones. And I realise how, it takes energy to nurse a hurt, or uphold a frown. So, you love me and soften me as kneaded dough under your gentleness. That I flex and stretch again, within the moulding of your hand. My tightness shed, as … More A Poem: You Love Me When

Love is hard when we forget how simple it is. When what is asked of us is questionable, love answers low and clear. Our questions echoing back to us, as love asks, ‘Who am I?’ So when love is hard, we remember how simple it is. We need not cling to what is right, for … More A Poem: What is Right

Blessed are the peacemakers. Those to whom the choice is clear. Forget the fence, and trying so hard to walk it. The ones who choose peace, see no walls to erect or scale. The things which would divide fade in their import, compared to love, and its far reaching hospitality. Blessed are those whose cause … More A Poem: The Peacemakers

I don’t receive you by being you. If difference is to be respected, then so should mine. If difference is to be recognised, it is because we do not blend, but stand out backlit so we shine. I receive you best by being me. This heart shaped to hold yours. This depository of sorts, like … More A Poem: Difference

Love is stronger. Water is a drop, on its own, insubstantial and as ethereal as dew fallen on grass. Almost weightless, its translucent form at half a gram, hardly bears our notice. At a spit we hardly register it, a handful we raise our face to feel the grace of its caress. Its pressure, finally … More A Poem: Love is Stronger

The evening is still and perfect hushed, but for a bird or a singing cricket, breaking the silence. Unearthly, this silence which, like a funeral shroud has fallen. Has laid its blanket wide, that any sound from man or beast seems out of place. A smudge has marred the landscape. A black mark not like … More A Poem: Sacrilege

And there was evening and there was morning. The first day. If something is decreed like the shadows falling, the light departing we need not fear it, or retreat from its appearance. As the dark has a certain softness that the blinding day hasn’t, a sort of Hallowed Eve, in which we take our solace. … More A Poem: Darkness

It is said that we cannot move, or breathe without some wind stirring a star somewhere. I think that must be how prayer works. That in the moment that I conjure you up, your help is on its way. Perhaps abit like Chinese whispers, a bird might tell an angel, whose wings then brush a … More A Poem: The Body