Other Words

Environmental Eros

Over the years I have written “fragments” (I prefer to not call them poems) and some of these I refer to as ‘Environmental Eros’ – collected moments of interaction with ‘the other’, in eros and love, through the four stages of the human sexual response cycle, and desire for union with the spiritual in all of its form. They aim to reflect some of that kinetic energy, the meeting and movement of our prismic selves with the infinite other.

The quiet sea’s skin disturbs

hairs on the back of my neck.

Sitting-pretty clouds sing of

twisted things in thin voices.

The heat, my breeze, the comb

that rakes blue skin

and me, is dancing, up to something.

I will not crack my lips or kiss

the day unknown.  Tell me.


I will love you until age

            has had his way with you

            has crumpled you in his knuckles

            and kneaded your heart into butter strings

when every gray hair curls

             with the weight of borrowed years

             and the glaze of eternal love

             cataracts your touch.

Atremble, akin to the clutching leaves

            ready to fall or clinging tight,

I will love you while the wind and light

             unfurls your wrinkled sail

             and takes me with you, to heaven.



The wind in the leaves is almost as loud as the seas’ throat breathing waves of hushed hope, repeating shush, repeating shush. Be calm, be still. Listen to me, don’t move. Licking my ear, repeating shush, resting dawn’s warm paw on my chest, hush.

My love, wind whispers, don’t move, relax, let us hold you, for today. Let water weave its way and float your heart. The feeding fish are gone, scattered by our sound, and strength. Shush. Sea only me, and us. Sea leaves and grass glitter, repeat gilded patterns around you. You are safe. Let our breath be yours, as you kiss morning’s frayed lips. Let us hold this moment in you, for the day.



We will walk and dance and swim together, flying into freedom born of us.  Palm to psalm singing, fingers weaving, safety between our skin, we walk together.

Good God of Love and Light we have lost our senses.  No words grace mouths or pen, our bodies numb, skin thin.

Lead us by the chest, pull us through this melting darkness. Paint people in our souls with eyes that can see closed, ears to catch unspoken sound.  Love let us feel the flight.  Carry us through this softest night.


Father's Day


From the beginning of the first sliver of light on the horizon – I was waiting.  It grew into the most magnificent veiled sunrise.  It spread, for a moment, all of its soft glory on the underbellies of clouds that stretch scudding the whole sky to stack, asleep over the mountains.  Through gaps, for a moment, I could see a clear day with all its promising colours.  Glimpses of brilliance I have never dreamed of.  Then the clouds merged, preparing to obey the order of a distant storm, and changed my palate, my meal.  I give thanks though, for I have seen what lies beyond the day and even if it is unknown, even if it is just another fleeting glimpse – the beauty and power of it has fed me.  I can live strong for this and more, now that I know my dreams are only as big as a beautiful sky that is hidden eternity.



Birdsong beat the morning blues
rise above the breaking news.
Feathered breast or bullet-proof chest
aim for my leg or kill with song.
Small beads shining while you sing
eye of the law vibrating
insanely trilling, chirping, riffing
ranks of bird feet marching.  Your cry
a command, licensed
to penetrate any life or heart.
Birdsong fill the city streets.