Humble Strings

Cry to me the tears of a violin,
or scold me with the hum of a cello.
When lost in the fears of this mortal skin,
cry to me the tears of a violin
to quell all the shouts that echo within.
Should ego become my new bedfellow:
cry to me the tears of a violin,
or scold me with the hum of a cello.

Sea Mist

Soon you will be washed upon the sands of time as a memory left on the tongue tips of the angels left behind. Your physical form will be gradually reborn from the glistening teardrops we’ll cry in chorus as your body is bid to the eternal dust. You’ll slip into the arms of family through the gap of our knowing and feeling; welcomed and soothed by the same loving presence you too once grieved. All the fear you feel in the shallows of this vast ocean will no longer matter as you begin to drift between the folding waves of a final sleep. Goodbyes won’t be whispered into the sea, but the thickening mist will nod, on my behalf, that we’ll meet again someday.

This Isn’t Home

Knotted tightly in my psyche is a feral call:
a plea to return to an unvisited place
where unfamiliar arms can bring rest.
Routine saps the life from my soul - 
within safety it writhes in silent agony
Lacking nourishment unknown - unnamed.
Hunger looks inward to survive famine. 
Ravenous claws stripping only prime cuts -
psychological filet, served bloody and rare. 

I will be the last to walk away from me. 
The world unrecognisably cold and damp
under the footsteps of a more fulfilling life

Static Socks

Stumble and dive
we just turned five -
each of us hold a balloon.

Run down the hall
stumble and fall -
scraping our knees before noon.

Slide on some socks
build static shocks -
zapping each other with grins.

Act like a brat
slide on the mat
Carpet burn stings on our shins.

Wearing our shoes
nothing to loose
we call out our parents bluffs

We ruin the lawn
now wearing a yawn -
our memories sketched in shoe scuffs


Bent toes cling to the surface that might fall.
Do I stand upon the ground or the wall?
Swaying in gentle breeze I brace
to plummet fast, but land with grace
if this dream deems me unworthy.

Clouds stream with torrential echoes of doubt
that nourish my inner progressions drought.
The grip of untrodden steps fails - 
I wait to land upon the shales
But fall upward into the stars.

Free floating among the weightless moonlight,
I look below with more pleasant hindsight.
I was bound in scared appeasement -
Now fear suffers a bereavement
as I cross into my own light.