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my gruelling garden
my garden of eighty feet is meant to be so sweet but instead it feels a foul: an annual source of scowl. those genetic green-ish thumbs missed me this time round. who cares about the lawn? mowing is...
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my mother’s best dish
She made my favourite the times I came to visit: lamb steak, succulent and softening in the oven; glass of red on the side, slinky in finest crystal. It was the only way she showed me she cared. My...
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a tritina for my enigmatic muse
You fragrance the warmth that resides in my heart. Your heat is implicit in my aromatic words, and yet consistency’s missed from your promised bouquet. I dream of wild lily to spice your bouquet. I...
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my forgotten blossom
They say the darkest hour is just before you wake, and so with my front-garden tree: just when I thought the fragile branches had succumbed to the fiercest April showers it blossomed so sweetly and...
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my fortune cookie poem
“True success is love, not power.” Power is so, well, potent: manipulating, cajoling, forcing one’s way to success. Love seems weak, in the shade of Power’s dazzling beams. Softer, more passive,...
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the conflict of lonely and alone
being alone is a heart-opening thing and the solitary self comes alive when alone, yet the yearning of lonely brings bitter-sweet tears that fall on a cheek with a splash and a sting. the bitter...
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And still I’m blocked…
All the work I’ve done on myself: the therapy, the healing, the certificates I’ve gained, the triumph of Masters degrees. And still I’m blocked. All the promises I’ve made, to stay true to my...
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NaPoWriMo Day 1: remembering to bloom
And so the month of memory begins to tickle my heart. A month to delve deep and recover my soul; for my barest branch to grow plump-pink blossoms. (pic copyright: Clairev)
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NaPoWriMo Day 2: soul recipe
My gluten-free pot creates a stir – and why not? The heart of my dish stirs the soul: sprinkle what’s forgot. pic credit: yayyayoy
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NaPoWriMo 2018 day 18: the wind on a not so brilliant day
I tried to tend it, but nature overwhelmed my efforts What’s the point of even trying with all that withering around me. Yes, take the leaves and petals, leave the ground free and clean as I want to...
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NaPoWriMo 2018 day 19: a poem for April heat
Heat today, hottest April record, left garden scorching, plants wilting: pot plant bowed head, thirst making humble. Heat relentless, leaving sweat on brows, blisters on hastily sandalled feet....
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a poem for spring reflection
The dark has been so long the cold has been so deep, the new buds barely there stretching in the springtime heat, reflecting on the roots of change time for fresh new thinking.
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Tit for tat, we shout insult here, grievance there. Why stay together when we’re both stressed out. Blame is the name of the game you think I’m playing. I’m tired of you pointing out my faults. In my...
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NaPoWriMo 2018 day 22: a poem for stars
The pattern of stars in the sky above my head – as I lie on my patio chairs, feeling the evening breeze – is scattered and twinkly, but not distinct. I ask them for an answer. The lights from planes...
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a poem for broken
I’m done in. So tired. Yet still I take on more. Can’t say no to needy souls. Leaving me broken. Shamed, emotionally sore. My life, I’m afraid, can’t unfold.
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Time ticks fast my legs can’t keep up my intentions are good but my output ain’t.
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NaPoWriMo 2018 day 25: remember to keep an open heart
Remember what it’s like to sew your heart: when you feel alone, yet yearn for love. Stress will charge your fears, your pulse, you forget to attach to what’s above. A sewn-up heart has...
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NaPoWriMo 2018 day 26: Senses of Spring
Come see with me, as the spring light fades, a delicate pale dusk that hints at May, a gentle hue that shimmers through the retreating winter mists. Come hear with me, as the birds make nests, a...
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a poem for nearly
I nearly completed all the days of poems in April’s haze. I nearly completed all the tasks of life that won’t leave me at half mast. I nearly committed to complete a job that at first seemed so neat....
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the secret of night blossom…?
What message for me in this fleeting fragment of spring? Street illuminations shift the softness of blossom to the moodiness of night. The pink-white petals cluster in midnight suspense like candy...
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