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Recent poetry



There’s a storyline

path like

a gossamer thread

infinite grace


suspended between

daffodils and magic

so fine

the thread

is invisible

that ties

my life to

this earth.

Josie's visit 028.jpg

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.



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


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