A place to put outside what’s inside, in whatever way with whatever opinion I may have at the time on whatever topic I fancy uplifting or admonishing. It may be of the self or society or about an apple that freaked me out. Mashing it up.

A Writers Chair

Words hung in the airs senses.
Time travels through lives
Witnessed, real,  imagined,
Surreal, from the unreal and real.

Filling space with heart. Existing,
leaving to question its birth.

Story tellers souls are moments
of everywhere and everyone.
The worlds tale heard.

Just words, but we breathe them
with our souls wrapped inside
everything’s silent hope

The journey of hearts – ours
and yours.

The story of being human.




Oceans Part Two

I see all this water as one,
though perhaps I am mistaken.
I recall a place where two oceans will not merge.
I don’t know the merging (or rather un-merging) point,
or even why it occurs – but I know it exists,
and I wonder if it is these? The Atlantic and Indian?
Or is it this sea that laps the shores of the continent
of the north and east of the Isle I now try to survive on?
The north sea I have not touched
except maybe through some one else’s fingertips.
Is she warmer than her other family?
Is she clean and fresh?
Does she merge easily with the currents
drift passed her caressing her sides?
Or is she like me?


(Oceans – Part One, of eight)


I have seen the shore
Where the Indian ocean places
Her warmth on the land.
In long days danced
The rhythm in my veins
Of the drums in the night
That embrace every breath
Of the air surrounding me.
I have dipped embodied hopes
Of children in her shimmering filth,
As too have I dipped their toes
In the Northern Atlantic. Only their toes,
The water and ways of this ocean are unfamiliar.
Cold. Uninviting. Stark.
I can’t make myself walk into its depths.
My soul will freeze in its clutches.