Wednesday, August 24, 2016


In me, butterflies—
pas de deux in scarlet hues,
boundless skies above.

Colour blinds your eyes—
misconstrue the things I do,
never see enough.

This way, trouble lies,
unless you begin anew—
offer the white dove.

When the flutter dies,
teach it to return to you—
then you’ll know true love.

About this piece

Lies about love leave us always looking for more. Love leaves when you don't nurture it—trust that you have enough, always enough.

Wednesday, August 17, 2016


Passed on.
now, for evermore
with the woman your heart adores.
To your bride, none can compare; the sweetest love you share.

About this piece

This piece is for my Opa, who passed on last Sunday, and whose love for my Oma was so great that I think he started dying the day she passed on, some twelve years ago. I never saw anyone else love like that.

And the dictionaries state that both forevermore and for evermore are correct, so I chose the latter, even though the former may have got me more hits from the Philippines. (In the US, forever more is also used, but that doesn't make quite so much sense to me.)

First published in Poetry in Form on

Monday, August 01, 2016


You leave.

once you’re out the door,
you realise you’ve left everything.
You’re nothing
on your own.

You remember:

smiles and sunshine,
love and laughter,

hugs and hateful words,
kisses and kicks and
pushing and punching and patronising and pretending and

playing, right? Just playing—
a little harmless fun.

You go back.

once you’re back
in smiles and sunshine,
love and laughter,
you’re playing
a rigged game, fighting
a losing battle
against an enemy you love
more than life.

And you don’t know
how to get out,
how to get away,
how to let go.

But you do.

And then, once it’s over, it fades.
It fades away until it doesn’t really feel like much at all
and you wonder if it was as bad as you thought
and maybe, just maybe, you left too soon.

You grieve.

when you’ve let it all go,
you realise: you’ve lost everything
you could measure, and nothing
of worth.

About this piece

This piece is just a little something I wrote about the lies we tell ourselves and the truths we discover when we think we have no strength to carry on. First published on

Thursday, July 28, 2016


Dissolving dust darkens the day;
Evening rushes with the wind;
Silence seeps into the
Earth, softening cracked clay;
Recently condensed clouds fall in
Thick, fat plops;

Rivulets of ochre flow;
Animals flee flash-bang fireworks heralding
Infinite and infinitesimal transformations:
Nature, sated, renewed.

About this piece

I started this poem some months back, but I needed to witness the effects of recent desert rain before I could complete it. I finished it after the World Rogaining Championships last weekend, where I travelled on foot through the East MacDonnell Ranges of the Northern Territory. First published in Poetry in Form on

Tuesday, July 26, 2016


Soft were her lips,
warm her breath.
Her kiss was sweet:
the kiss of death.

With racing heart, and
trembling fingers,
love may call, but
death: it lingers.

About this piece

I published the first verse of this piece on 17 January 1995. It stuck with me years after the rest of the small collection faded from my memory. I was about due to republish it when a second verse started itching, so here's the new extended version.

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Sacred space

You are the devotee;
I am your sacred space.

In my flesh, you seek enlightenment;
in my fingers, you feel fire;
in my face, you find the freedom you desire.

Leave your worldly worries at my threshold;
immerse yourself, gently at first,
lower yourself into the depths of my presence.

Grow in me as you swell with the possibility of new life.
Let awareness fall away into oblivion;
become lost in this moment.

Let life fall away into love;
become lost in me,

in your sacred space.

About this piece

You can hide behind a fa├žade or throw yourself headlong into love: either way, you lose yourself. First published in POETRY AFTER DARK on

Thursday, July 14, 2016


Pink and blue highlights
shimmer in the pre-dawn glow:
80s retro sky.

About this piece

As I walked my dog this morning, I looked up and saw that, for the nth day in the row, the sky was all blue and pink like the eyeshadow-and-lipstick combo best loved in the 80s. It was always shimmery, wasn't it? I snapped a photo as the words swirled around in my head. Twenty minutes later, at home, I raced to write them down, while my dog whimpered her protest at having to wait a minute for food. First published in Poetry in Form on