collection of poetry
I am missing
'I am missing', said the Rabbit
'You are here', said the confused Badger
The Rabbit began to search for I
The Badger scratched its head
Underneath its pillow - 'No'
At the point of the horizon - 'No'
Inside, the inside of stuff - 'No'
3 days the Rabbit searched
3 days the Forest, the Rain and the Wind observed - amused by such a search
'It seems I have left', declared the Rabbit after 3 days
'Who are You?', asked the Snail
'A Rabbit who has lost its I'
The Snail pondered for a while
The Squirrel wondered if it too had lost its I
The Wind smiled and blew through the Trees
a Future greets a past
Horizons meet the ancient kings,
as the underworld finds the Light
the brush strokes through Time,
blending colours of Delight
makings drums on a Saturday
ribbon in and out
The Water gathers.
The Waiting arrives.
She will play the sound of Living
chocolate on her tongue
she's trying to feel better
this place is heavier
than she anticipated
colours on her skin
she's trying to look better
behind clocks and things
smile lines curving
she's trying to move better
this world to reach
'make my imitation real'* - said a man she had never met
fidgeting with astrolabes
fumbling through traffic lights
I am suspicious of you.
A light bulb in the night sky.
I read somewhere,
that You arrived.
I arrived too.
Perhaps we are the same.
We are after all,
both in love with the Sun.
the glorious funeral
Heavy, a weight on her cheeks,
from a long time ago
with the breaking of Worlds.
She’s walking in the labyrinth of a Rose,
and marvelling at the designs of Water,
a home fit for the King of Kings.
Intricate as the lace of Her home, a Spider
sits in the corner of this realm
pondering the Wisdom of Love.
Giants, and their invisible footprints,
walk with Angels on concrete highways
wondering,'when will we be seen?'
Inside a heart, the Beginning mocks an End,
as the sum of something, explodes into a
and Walls drawn by grey beards
stand ready for cremation.
Their hearts soften at the sound of clapping
from Butterfly wings...
drinking strawberry milkshake on street corners
memories weaved in warm blankets
heavy, to hold places where dreams are made
she stumbles onto the field
the wind swirls the dust of bones
she covers her mouth
swords in carcasses, shields rusting
the taste of coriander, plastic sweets and samosas
she drags her thoughts to the lands where
Candy floss is a king and Sunshine comes for tea
hooking herself into cracks, clutching the air
. . .
creaking, and desperate to be oiled
Imitation towers over her pink
bleeding into the gentle wind
back she goes,
walking in old shoes,
mismatched fabric -
poking the ground with her wand…
Query is wandering,
plaguing Curiosity with Wonder
and the 'it' seep's like an old teabag
inking her world with the smell of pavements
tennis balls on the roof
dried blood from scraped knees
fences from pulled hair yanked in backstreet quarrels
in white sandals
running to where the breath greats death
Quite Sentences flutter
knowing their dragon wings
hooded Red Lines
given life on street corners
here, there, now and tomorrow's
because of a rhythm
heard from a place
where anchors are thrown from vessels
just above terracotta chimney pots...
in the quite
sits a something
too great to approach
too great to draw near.
in this place, loud noises
makes a world kind and a heart thats blind.
with netflix, rum and prayer,
the suit stalks its prey the girl cautiously eats.
a tender cry
a cracked howl,
to be ugly
one day...it arrives at her doorstep
...so she builds...
she is ready for war.
beauty waxed and axed
bang bang - beats the drum-
drown this sound
drown this sound
drown the distant hum
By the River,
under a Great Tree,
from a window looking across a foggy street.
with that piano song playing on repeat….
with an orchestra of Colour,
...ingredients added to
The cold whip of misery,
brings a change of direction
and those coffee stained deaths in boardroom meetings….
...Created to make
Summons a figure
in this quest.
And finally at an edge,
Silence makes His
...And Quiet is crowned.
the shriek of MURDER...
folds a scaffolding
holding an idea,
the curse of movement.
And so it begins
Inside the golden prism of Sound.
Caught for days in the breath
of a thousand Stars.
At a bus stop, swept in a love story with Rain…
Here I am…
They gave ‘me’ a name
A wondrous box, silk… ribbons..glitter
One day it didn’t fit....The name
Or the kindly crafted box
'Shall I leave?'
waits out there'
Sat with Her
The One With The Drum
'Dum da dum da dum',
and We Danced to the Song
in the velvety darkness of a Heart
‘We are forged from the Sky
and each moment brings a different name,
Nur ala Nur ala Nur….’