Posted in six word story

Happy Halloween…

just a little bit of madness…
Posted in a remembrance

My Mother’s eyes…

I lived inside my mother’s eyes,
I drank her tears,
she carried a deep woundedness that stole away the years…

I delighted in her fragrance
the softness of her form,
I inhabited her happiness,
I felt her inner warmth…

She dwelt among mortals
when sorrow came to dine,
there was no celebration, no juniper wine…

She’d lost her melody, her spark of life
buried by loneliness,
her wounds she tried to hide…

she had never been inconstant until that fateful day,
they said she was manic,
and locked her away!

I wish I had moved in
and scattered all her pain,
I wish I had entered the vortex of her shame…

I was there the moment
her life force ebbed away,
I held her gently
and begged her to stay…

on her deathbed her aura became so bright,
her breath eased
as she moved towards the light…

how could I hold her and keep her for my own,
when the table had been set
and she’d seen the glow of home…

without her I was rainless and devoid of faith,
and from my own shackles I needed an escape…

I still feel her legacy
burst inside my breath,
I see her in visions across the veil of death…

she lights up the night skies,
she has become my summer rain,
she’s planted in my spirit,
she trickles through my veins….

the sparkle of her blue eyes always captures my gaze,
through the mists of memory,
in black and white shades…


Posted in prayer

The sound track of my life…

Take me back
to the sound track of my life,
when libations of words poured out my desires…

when my sweet innocence
breathed holy rain,
and we danced in ceremonies

be attentive to my heartbeat,
gaze into my eyes,
look for the wildness that makes me feel alive…

Hold me and tell me that the dream is near,
speak to me in poetry and quell my deepest fears…

Listen to my ponderings, fluent in verse,
cover me
with the flowers
that carpet the earth…

Bring me symphonies, the music to my ears,
stay up with me in darkness
until the moon appears…

Transform me with love and make me bright,
bring back my vision
return me to sight…

tender me with favor, that I never feel alone,
make me forget that I was once disowned…

you are the reason
that I honor these days,
for you considered me worthy and adorned me with praise…

Art on the wall of the Beer Yard…

Posted in catharsis

A brand new song…

Sometimes in the night, I get drowned in my own thoughts. I realize they are not real, but they have the power to make me feel painful storylines.

I’m inspired by a poem by Carol Bialock called “A house by the sea”
I was also inspired by the documentary on Netflix called “My Octopus teacher”. It was shot in South Africa and is definitely worth watching…

I hold memories in my body,
I feel a scream in my head,
in the small hours
of darkness,
tears drown me in my bed…

I can’t stop overthinking,
I’ve scribbled down the words,
waiting on pins and needles
for the call of the early bird…

Hot tea and sad scenarios lie somberly in wait,
a grief that lies heavily,
a woundedness that won’t translate…

Remembrance arrives
like it was yesterday,
I’m plunged into gloomy narrations
and the pain ricochets….

As grief washes over me, like an incoming tide,
it moves me into deeper waters
feelings that I cannot hide…

Beneath the ocean
serpents call me
promising a watery grave,
coral landings,
sweet oblivion,
I don’t want to be saved…

Images of castle dwellings,
teachers who have tagged along,
lessons learnt underwater,
as I brace for
a brand new song…


Posted in Joy

Butterfly landings….

“What is magic? In the deepest sense, magic is an experience.
It’s the experience of finding oneself alive within a world that itself is alive.
It is the experience of contact and communication between oneself
and something that is profoundly different from oneself:
a swallow, a frog, a spider weaving its web.”
– David Abram

touch down on serenity,
come to rest in faith,
turn over your senses to a whimsical gaze…

gather the beauty of fiestas of light,
relinquish fear,
let bitterness take flight…

run from the chaos, keep your distance from harm,
kneel in the presence
of a butterfly’s charms…

and believe in the magic that keeps expanding,
lie down in meadows,
in butterfly landings…

may these messengers of hope quicken your soul,
summon you to communion,
where love extols…

and into the cosmos you will blissfully blend,
if you make these creatures your constant friends…


Posted in Me in real life

Childish ways…

In gardens
where secrets
are kept,
she lived a life
she could not forget…

Touching snapdragons
collecting dreams,
she’d stepped into
a time machine…

Taking her back
to childish ways,
to the music
of halcyon days…

A time lord sent
to be her guide
to show her the moments
when grace collides…

She recognized
her sacred call,
he’d come to lead her
through the squall,
to bring her back
to herself,
to be the movement
that love compels,

and show her pathways
of divine truth,
to hold onto gratitude,
and find her groove…


Posted in A tribute

My indigo child…

The month of October is particularly hard for me. It’s my Stevie’s birthday month. We celebrate his life in every year. I personally celebrate him everyday. I will be doing this until I see him again in the flesh in the new earth…
He was a man of many talents, and traveled the world, China, India, Israel, USA, UK, Europe. His next stop would have been Russia. He was passionate about God, his family, his friends, cricket, history, Indian food, and he loved a good debate. He developed a reading app for underprivileged kids in the USA. His favorite cities were Jerusalem & Paris. He walked in the steps of Jesus, from Bethlehem to Golgotha. He purchased houses for the homeless and befriended the destitute. He would sit on the pavement with beggars and chat to vagrants.
I miss his laugh, his dance, his humor, his enquiring mind, his generosity, his kindness, his compassion for the homeless and poor, holding his hand and his physical presence. His friends called him “sentimental Stevie” because he loved talking about deep things. You could say he was an old soul an *indigo child…
He had friends of every belief, Hindus Jains, Jews, Muslims, Atheists, Buddhists, Christians and he loved finding out more about people and what they believed.
He is not gone because I feel his presence all around me every single day, and he sends me many signs to tell me he is still with me…

Today is his birthday, he would have been 36, he changed worlds 3 years ago. I feel him all around me, guiding me, watching over me. I feel honored that he was given to me for 33 years, he was and still is one of my greatest teachers, he taught me how to forgive.
His friend’s from India named him Satish which in Sanskrit means “one who is truthful”.

I carved my grief
into the bark,
beyond the known,
beneath flickering sunlight
where fairies do roam,

and the forests sigh
in remembrance
of my child
for he once walked
in sacred woodlands
so free
and so wild…

his feet left a trace on foreign lands
he’s written into the marrow,
into the timeless expanse…

In clearings of exquisite light,
he glows,
steeped in the essence of indigo…


and after all, like John Lennon says…”we all shine on like the moon and the stars and the sun”….

one of his favorite bands…

*Indigo children are considered to be freethinkers with profound insight into the human condition and an ability to see the truth clearly. As spiritually gifted old souls, indigo children find it hard to fit into mainstream society and often become misunderstood, rejected, or misdiagnosed and medicated.