
Recent poetry
2020
Spirit
There’s a storyline
path like
a gossamer thread
infinite grace
delicately
suspended between
daffodils and magic
so fine
the thread
is invisible
that ties
my life to
this earth.
The Sound of Rain
Sometimes I hear
voices in the rain
clambering over each other
clattering through the drain pipe.
Then they sound
like a television sitcom
or neighbors chatting
in the street.
When the wind sails
through the trees
it can sound like
a carnival of tarot readers.
I understand why
some people
were locked away
for hearing voices.
It wouldn’t take much
to tweak the channel
and tune it to
‘voices in my head’.
I wonder whether
there is a strain
of people who are
so sensitive to sound
that they hear the wind and rain
as instruments
as instructions
as advisors.
Published by The Silent Word in Her Vase online magazine.

Deepwood
She pointed me
towards the horse chestnut
‘there’s a room in there’
so I wandered
across green themes
looking for the room
hiding in invisible edges
moving shadows
spattered light
how is nature a room
I ask?
How is a tree
a room?
especially the horse chestnut
where no liminal
spaces invite
a potential tea party
not like the moreton bay fig
also called the Australian
banyan tree
where huge bark
arms enfold
a child’s wild story
where the branches
re-enter the earth
forming caches
and larders
dungeons and castles.
Not even like Enid Blyton’s
Faraway Tree
where the inhabitants
like moon face
and the saucepan man
test the climber’s
tenacity on the
way to the top
where another land
or room awaits.
I stand confused
under the great horse chestnut
willing a room
to appear
and then i see it
a light
attached to the trunk
where there is a light
there is a room
I must be close!
I see no edges
no ladders
no moon face
but wait
I pause as
the sun shrieks
across a chestnut leaf
here is