We edge on

Heading towards


While existing in


Building our castles

Lush, pixalated gardens

We look out for portals to

A universal love, an infinite recognition

Of our

True names

While warding off

Zombie attacks

And the sadness of

A burnt down world






Love Exploded

Love exploded Splattered pink red All over the third floor window Hearts of bright light Made them gather on the balconies To be closer To inhale the aroma Of joy stained sky Small movements shift the midnight balance Tiny lungs, … Continue reading


The Stars

We swam in fine champagne
Danced on gold dust sand
Inserted our souls
Into diamond stars
Sweetly polished and set
In the back seat
Of a shiny blue midnight cab
Past one thousand roses
Delivered truly
Adorned with love



garden buddha

garden buddha (Photo credit: brendonhatcher)

A deep love calls from outside

I follow

But there is nothing

Only night sounds

A mountain climbed

Back down again


Sweetly Enveloped

What’s fresh
Will turn,
The sandy walls
Of our chamber
Echoing a Moroccan romance
Where we conceived our child
They go, become
The space
Of another pair of lovers
Still. Though. I
Continue to make plans
The being of my liveness
Requires a home
To be remade
And so, grateful
I make the bed
Sweetly enveloped
In the repetition of past domesticity
Those months went fast
Remembering, touched
By the warm glow
Summer sun
Open window



When Work is Resistance

I’ve thought a lot about resistance over the past year.  Read Stephen Pressfield’s book, been inspired and shaken by the rallying cry to recognise the insidious forms resistance takes.  For me this meant getting on with my work; with writing; no matter what it took.  The results were powerful, and productive.  I realised I did have it in me to do this thing.  To finish the thesis I have been working on for years.  To move on.  To use other forms of writing to take the pressure off the dissertation, to allow it to be what it is (an academic training exercise) rather than the bearer of all my memories and experience.

I’m handing it in in two weeks.  And the pressure is on to keep working.  To keep up the momentum and get it done.  And I’ve been there at the coal face.  Everyday, writing, editing, crafting.  Releasing the need for it to be perfect (it isn’t).  Releasing the need to know everything (I don’t).

So what’s gone wrong?

I got an inkling of it when my daughter fractured her arm in the playground last week and the first thought that flashed into my head was , “But what about my work?”

Then a dear friend extended an invitation to come to a surprise birthday celebration for her husband.  First response?  “But what about my work?”

Well, what about my work?  In pursuing it so single mindedly I have begun to exclude other daily practices that give my work life and purpose.  In the aftermath of the resistance to engage with what is happening elsewhere in my life, my work has begun to congeal.  I find that though I turn up everyday, progress is slow, the creative spark that was transforming the text vanished.  Resistance came in by the back door.  Not because I wasn’t turning up for work, but because I wasn’t turning off the work.

I see that Resistance is also about not participating fully in my own life.  That the single minded pursuit of work, when it is at the cost of a balanced Wheel, drains the life blood of what sustains the work in the first place.

The Love that keeps you turning up.

The Love that lets you leave when it’s time to.

Untangling the threads of these final weeks, I see that my challenge is not to simply turn up for work.  It is also to blur the boundary of work and play, to make work a long term satisfying practice that I return to, restoring the meaningfulness of work as part of my Life, rather than a crash diet I go on every now and again.

Pause to keep going.  Funny that.


Wedding Song

Migrant Sons & Daughters

Moved Across

Indian Oceans, Irish Seas

The mass of three continents

Set into this stone, one moment

In the midst of bravery

Stories of heroism that reach skywards, dazzling

Beware the crushing consequence of their weight

Embrace, instead

The sweetness of your wholeness

The endless stream of Love

Beginning now

Heading homewards

Speaking softly

On the Night Bus, Quarter to One


Standing on the Edge of the Sea of Love

Inhabiting the edge

Of the infinite vastness of love

She turns her head out to sea

And sees…. he

Fresh faced and smiling


They swim out with the tide

To make vows with the moonlight

Speaking softly till dawn

Here, on the edge

Of the infinite vastness of love