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

May my voice resound, with the writers, the poets, the philosophers, the artists, and makers of moments. To the Oscar Wilde’s who have said, ‘to live is the rarest thing…’. To the children who laugh at their onset, and the cicadas who finish with song. May my voice lift, may it ripple out and resonate, … More A Poem: The Rarest Thing

I record God’s faithfulness, that when asked I might say, whenever has a prayer gone unanswered, a night not turned to day by itself, a spring branch not borne its blossom, or an autumn tree not divested its green. Whenever has God not turned with the seasons on a branch, or a seed bursting in … More A Poem: Faithful

And while he was still at a distance, far back, a father caught a glimpse. The way we might perceive someone once known in a crowd, by the gait of their walk, or long familiar gesture And then look again, with heart suspended weightless in our mouth, hopeful and expectant. Yes, while he was small … More A Poem: At a Distance

Do you see how mountains erupt out of oceans. Do you see how tears can make a flood, but from the depths we still emerge. Do you see how seasons fill their purpose, though we might prefer the sun benign. Do you see how everything is clearer, and cleaner for the rain. Do you see … More A Poem: Alchemist

I have a gift for you, which like all gifts held in the width of two hands, is greater than the sum of its weight. I have a gift that I give without words, written or spoken. Sometimes words do not bear the hearing, or adequately carry themselves clothed. Instead, my gift is open, like … More A Poem: Rain from Heaven

We do not get over anything, move on, let go. We absorb things, like the earth does the rain and snow. Do we believe when spring thaws come that the earth has forsaken winter. Or was winter rather the preparation for summer’s flush, the blooming, which takes the rain to cause new growth. No, letting … More A Poem: Healing

I take my garden seat, and it’s as though the conductor opens the score just for me. Or perhaps, it’s that I’ve just broached the moment unawares, and the bees and the tui’s, the passing gull against the blue, see me but as colour in a collage, or a pattern in a landscape, or the … More A Poem: Musings

When you can say I do not know why, this joy? Your happiness will take wings, and climb and climb, not dependent on restraint. To where the dancing clouds catch the first beams of light. Joy has as little need to comprehend a why, as we do to know the reasons for being. The naysayers, … More A Poem: This

The sky is but a blanket to cover us in this garden of the world in which we play. I can hear your laughter ringing out, like youthful memories of summer evenings at the edge of dusk, when the first stars emerged and voices would be carried for miles. Yes, the sky is but a … More A Poem: Blanketed