Monday, 11 May 2015


One day you will look into someone's eyes and see a galaxy
like Hubble sees the galaxies that have never been explored
And you, too, will search for signs of life, of hope
And of a future for your dreams 

You will stare into their eyes
Looking at the shooting stars that chase the laughter
Hoping not to see the tears that cloud the colour
But you will keep looking because it's the last place to lose yourself,
To find yourself, in the stars in their eyes.

Monday, 6 April 2015

Reflecting Light

she stood on the shore, 
tracing lights with her fingers
as they trailed down his arm to his hand
anchoring them both in the night 
the waves moving through them 
mimicking the sea as it moved up the sand
the light distorted in her eyes 
as the dark water rippled around them
taking and giving
unable to move
or to stand still
as they drowned in the light
reflecting in the dark

Sunday, 5 April 2015

Lodestone - a poem


drawn to you, iron-will failing
pulled, by unknown force
magnetic, sure, certain
guiding me along this path
my lodestone,
newly known maps,
adventures and my guide
simplest to follow
held close, safety in
my lodestone.

Unrecognisable - a poem.

It came to me, somewhere between that glass of wine and the roadkill
I passed on the way home late last night when it was too dark to drive
Especially when you're me and don't like how the car hugs the white line,
Feeling like it should be following the stars, the flashes of amber and red
Sprinkled on the water in the lagoon and reflected on the black eyes of the houses.

It came to me, then, at that inlet near the place you drove to, so many years ago now
That it's less a memory, it's a daydream of a time that may only exist in this space
Between a glass of wine and the remains of something unrecognisable in the absence of life,
It came to me that you are best left there, at the inlet. Because the tide will take pieces of you
With it and eventually, I won't drive past here, holding my breath and waiting for my car
To follow yours into the high tide, to be with you.
It came to me there, because you are now unrecognisable in the absence of life.

Saturday, 21 March 2015

Sat at the edge

I sat, under the plastic roof,
Rain tiptoeing down the grooves.

Warmth held tight in my hands,
Thoughts of you not far from my heart.

My name in your voice was murmured by the wind,
As the leaves caught the tears I should have shed.

At the edge of the day I sat, watching the sun fight the clouds.

At the edge I sat, watching it win, willing it to win. For us.

Saturday, 28 February 2015

Silken Parachute - a poem

I strapped myself in, checked the straps were tight and secure
And gasping a deep breath, I jumped.
Rather, I tried to jump so I'd be clear of entanglement
But I stumbled on the run up
Caught myself in the words around my feet
The ones you'd put there for me
Words you'd spoken, quietly from behind a sad smile,
And placed with care in intricate patterns
I could have missed them had your voice not caught my attention,
Distracting me from checking where to put my feet, before running,
They caught me and I fell into your words, eyes and arms,
The silken parachute a different form of safety and escape.

Saturday, 21 February 2015

White Water

we swap words, easy, black on white
thoughts and ideas, hopes and dreams
fall out of our minds and onto white on black keys

we go with the flow, wading out beyond our depth
catching thoughts as we move downstream,
knowing that the safest waters are upstream
near the banks, on solid ground

but as we drift, we lose sight of the banks,
holding our breath, we plunge beneath the rapids,
reveling in the false calm underneath the swirling waters
we wait until the very last gasping second before we surface
clinging to the last time we saw the banks, clinging to the knowledge that they are still there
before we bump our heads on the rocks or catch the current to the other bank.

Thursday, 12 February 2015

no space for grey

she dances on the chalk lines drawn on the road
white on black - no space for grey -
she tiptoes along the road, stopping to see the way home
to the place she knows so well
she follows the white on black
to see where she ends up this time
hoping that if it hurts, she'll be able to go back.

Sunday, 1 February 2015

Do you?

sometimes i find myself wondering if you remember 
that night your hands spoke more than you'd ever said
do you remember the colour of the sofa with the red cushion 
I hid my face in as your hands spoke to my skin
or that night in the parking lot, the one by the beach, 
the waves crashing as we spoke of stars 
and you kissed me, my fingers caught in your hair
do you remember that morning we cuddled up 
under the memorial to someone long dead 
the sun rising over a lion's head 
granite steps pressed into our spine, cold and unforgiving
or that afternoon on the mountain, clover chains and laughing -
walking on the rail tracks, keeping close 
in case i fell again 
and when i did, your hands spoke again and i listened
distracted by the view and the sound of the oncoming train
i misheard and mistook the words of your hands as the truth of your voice.
there was that space
just between your neck 
and your collarbone
I could press my face into it
and the world would black out
the sounds muted around me
weights lifted as I fell into the space 
eyes closed and breath exhaled

there was that space
but now... 
I can't find my way to it.