Saturday, 4 October 2014

Creation or Destruction.

Poets and writers are thieves,
designing private worlds
which they inhabit.

They build houses
with many rooms
constructed
from the bits and pieces
stolen from your life.

Silently
they suck the marrow
from your bones and
leave you dying in the street.




Sunday, 11 May 2014

Not for the Faint of Heart

Love is not for the faint of heart.
To allow love, 
answering its only need
takes courage and a willingness
to surrender blindly to the journey
full of rocks and stony places.
To stumble but not falter
certain that love is a constant 
which will carry us to safety,
a straight line to the beloved 
our ultimate destination.



Friday, 11 April 2014

Unravelling Time
(For my mother lost to Alzheimers)

The knot that holds all my days together
is coming unravelled
and all the roads I have travelled
are separating, dispersing
and fading into forgotten days;
and all the ways of remembering
are dismembering themselves
like limbs lost in an accident,
scattering across the landscape
of a forgetful mind. 

I wonder if the transition into oblivion
will be painless.
Will I know how to go 
“gentle into that goodnight”
and slow the pace, concede the race
allowing amnesia to be my blanket?

Or will I fight, as the poet directed, 
for a reprieve, for more days 
to learn new ways to build a wall 
and forestall the unwanted invasion
of my wandering senses. 

It will be a prison without walls or wardens
yet when I am finally lost I will still be me.
Until then, I will be my own gatekeeper
while I am still free - 
and I can dream of better days.



Thursday, 20 March 2014

Longing

Longing slides through my veins -
molten lava instead of blood.
A slow process that threatens
to clog my arteries and,
far from setting me free,
will cremate me where I stand
in fiery bondage.

Saturday, 8 March 2014


Take me to the Edge

Take me to the ledge
of reason.
Dance me over the edge
of the precipice
into the unknown,
the danger zone,
where love lies waiting.

Surely it is waiting
and looking for me
to cut myself to ribbons
on its sharp edges.

Caught up in its thrall
I might fall - 
into that place
where there are
no prisoners.


Friday, 28 February 2014

Shades of Loneliness

Shades of loneliness
variations on only-ness,
washed out water colours saturating
the pure white pages of my story,
painting my days in ways
I never intended.
I search in strangers' faces for traces
of tears and smiles earned or lost
in the travellers' miles.

But empty spaces fill some of the places
I have travelled without a map or a guide.
Highways and hill ways
heavenly days, low ways and slow ways
and lanes leading only to hell.
No comfort to be found
even with the sound of my own heartbeat
my lips repeating a silent prayer.

My solace comes
when the words rage out of my mouth
and tumble randomly onto the page
colouring the lines with remnants of life.
I scavenge, I pick and I piece
and it is there that I find
the elusive lyrics to my song,
incandescent notes
indicating that I belong
and somewhere under heaven
there is a place for me to dance.

Thursday, 20 February 2014

The Sentence

The words are flung out
strung out across the page,
readying themselves
for an inky assault.
They line up in formation,
a determined column of ants
marching to their destination,
the full stop
at the end of the sentence.
The ending to the love story,
Destiny fulfilled.

Saturday, 15 February 2014

What about Love

What about love -
the silent stalker, night walker,
weaver of dreams,
and fanciful flight
melting reason 
and blinding our sight.

What about love -
wielder of nettles and rose petals,
teasing us, pleasing us - 
with this dangerous dance.

What about love -
in its disguise, breathing sighs,
delivering kisses - 
and the ultimate bliss is
we believe, we believe
............. and surrender.


Wednesday, 12 February 2014

Don't Cry (From JUST ME 2014)


Don’t Cry

Don’t cry
Stop crying
Cry-baby -
cruelly
carelessly
callously,
not kindly.
A reprimand
a command
in every syllable.

Dry your eyes
Don’t be silly
Nothing to cry about.

Waiting tears are silenced,
left unshed 
to calcify 
and turn 
my woman’s heart 
to stone.
A child’s inheritance!


Friday, 7 February 2014

A Book of Poetry

JUST ME - 
A BOOK OF POETRY

Acknowledgement: I am who I am because of my children who changed me into a woman and fulfilled that most basic of needs; the many friends and strangers who touched me as they passed through my life and to the special influence  of those who still walk beside me even though they are no longer here - my Jewish grandmother for whom I was named and my brave and unassuming mother - who both unconsciously showed me how to be steadfast when chaos reigns; to the ghosts of ancestors, some famous, some notorious and all colourful; and to the unique times that shaped me.

Because of them, I continue to enjoy the journey - all of it.
2014.

Refugee.

Sunlight pierces shadow
mingles mellow in the garden,
highlighting hibiscus -
home for hummingbirds,
only yards way
from teeming traffic
and feet pounding dreams
into the debris on the street.

Watching from that silent, inner space
I wonder then whose plan it was
to create such beauty
from the compost heap of life.
I am a refugee
waiting to be rescued
seeking solace in the sun.