All the trees of the field will clap their hands.

This is not a place for labels, or definitions. I no more presume to claim to know about what God is than I do to understand how a passionfruit vine can reach up and find a trellis. I know my own doubts and biases – pantheist? atheist? Do I literally believe in transubstantiation, or that…

Frozen in Time

“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.” ― Anais Nin This is the closest I have come to inventing a device for time travel. There is no other way I can imagine to find my way back to moments that were the most important of all. It is most of all…

Winter Sunshine

These days of winter sunshine,when the streets are emptyas follows the sweeping scythe of a great plague.And the air holds tight to the moisture in the skylike a gift in the hands of a small childThis stone remained white – too whitescoured by sulphur made rain,these red bricks are too new, too flat,only four centuries…

How the Flowers Feel

I know how the flowers feel, when the sun blesses my skin, and the breeze caresses me gentle. As though the whole world were made of light and quiet. The grass moves beneath me and I remember how I was told that light has weight, and I try to feel the sun’s rays pressing against…

Laughter Haiku

I am not alone,when I think about your laughit draws you to me.

The Mushroom Emperor

To be a mushroom hunter then, is an undertaking of some gravity. It connects us with a past practice we undertook out of necessity, when our nourishment was dependant more on our eyes and reflexes and wits, than the opening hours of the supermarket and the machinations of a largely imaginary economic system.

Waking confused at nights

A cuckoo calls, metronome slowat edge of hearing’s reason.A stream resounds with song below,of jade frogs in new season.A wall stands in the growing woodthe memory of stone fadinginto the realm of what we shouldrevere without persuading.Though whether ashes drift or layyour leaving made me hollow.Curl into earth your roots will playand dark the fears…

The Ghost of my Father

Last night I may have seen an Angel. He appears in front of me, and it is as if he grew taller somehow – all the weight of worry and pain is gone, and he towers over me as though I were a child. But I am not a child – not physically at least,…

Tiger moth prayer

Let my memory bring happiness for now. Let grief be a reminder of joy. Let me remain young, as I grow old

Lost in Time

The path takes a sharp left turn off the road and I turn up it into a winding path. A stand of wrist thick birch saplings press the shade on my right into a tone of darkness deeper than the dappled light the pines allow. The spaces between the trees are filled with ferns, the…

Yearning Haiku

I took a momentand touched the gravel footpathwhere you had once stood

Cinquain for a ruin

The saplings issue from the earth’s dark face,and break the stone that kings had set to rise,above the forest on this buckled place.We lose our sense of time but not of space,in every time we blink our fettered eyes.And to the life of gods on forest floor,we offer up the marrow of our soul.Don’t hesitate…

You hide from raindrops

The rain is an endless feedback loop of sound, until it stops, replaced by a metronome of leavesdripping, gutters drumming gentlyand the distant roar of storm water drainsdeep below the ground.Somewhere in the forest there was a place where the trains passed underground,and you could sit and waitignore the lizards, squirrels and birds,and feel a…

The last thing you gave me

Smells, I think, may be the last thing on earth to die.  Fern Schumer Chapman I was a room attendant in a large upscale hotel, and I’ll never forget Room 514 over that winter break of 1998. The time I walked in and was stopped in my tracks for a minute. That’s too long to stop,…