poetry

  • edge

    Last nightIn a dreamA distant loverFrom years agoLay next to me. She didn’t speak. She held meIn silenceAnd let me find my own outlineAgainst her body. TodaySadnessYou are welcome. Sit with me. Press against my skinAnd know yourselfAt last.

  • hidden

    everything is hidden. as you open your eyesdreams, holy places, the world as it is,dissolve into a mistthat leaks silently, with each breath,through the skinto slough awaylike saw dustas you move against the oppressive grainof a lonely, numb, insistent kind of belonging.

  • signal

    this is where I stand.where else could I be?this signal has traveledsince the beginning of time. November, 2017

  • poetry as a key, a seed

    This was my feeling today. When spiritual experience compels a poet to write, her task is to sculpt a finite, discrete, material artefact out of a sprawling, unbounded, non-material object. The goal in producing such work is not to provide the reader with a replica of the inner experience, nor to make an absolute statement…

  • birth

    frail, lovely body.born to hold and be held.to roam like water, out acrossa landscape, so large. to find that spacious, breathing place.to melt and merge into that soft, quiet, receptive patch of earthbeneath your blistered feet.to sit still, dreaming, in the sweet, fertile soil. at last, to set your heart on fire.to give birth to…

  • the dreaming

    I sigh, and plead with hoped-for allies,for tools, knowledge, skills,for wit, charm, poise; for passion; for some unique quality and confidence and persuasivenessof voice or regard or movement or thought or turn of phrase; for humility; all this to honour the deep-felt callto channel the surging waters of the dreamingout across the overworld,out into all…

  • the network

    the network denies one’s need for darkness. for closed eyes. for the guidance of other senses. or for simply handing oneself over to the swelling current. 2019

  • sometimes

    sometimesyou deserve morethan pithy observations and optimistic poeticisms from prize-winning authors or mental health warriors.more than the everyday tropes about stigmaabout wilful ignoranceabout big pharma and natural remediesabout the evils of the social orderabout how to sleep and eat and breathe and move and be grateful. sometimesyou deserve acknowledgementthat your suffering is, right now, invulnerable…

  • a love that lets go

    I want to be a viscous liquid, golden honey. I want to be poured from jug to jug, one galaxy to the next, to shed my cocoon for another, then another. Life’s not about being unshielded, infinitely unencumbered. It’s about having a choice of cocoon, of wise elder. Being wrapped up tight in a love…

  • the edge

    I don’t knowif flames are rising anewor if the dark furnacehas only been uprootedto an unfamiliar corner of my desire. I don’t knowif my eyes are openor if the musculature of my faceonly casts new shadowswith age. I don’t knowif I am becoming the raw edge between the river and the rocksor if I remain…