your voice is calling…..

You came tumbling out of the sky,

a star shard, alight with sound.

You came ringing through clouds

spinning like tumbleweed

on to warm earth, sweating soil.

A mind of  vastness  like the universe,

catacombs of wonder

waiting to open to the world.

Shake up your soul,

sound out your longing

on the breeze ….

your voice is calling to be heard..





~ The Voice ~
Alan Rickman 1946 – 2016

I feel as if I only had you
for a brief moment,
and now,

Somewhere out in
vast mystical wasteland,
there is vibration new ~
a chocolate velvet
clustered sound ~

floating ~
suspended ~
light ~

you belong to many
yet to no one at all…..
nothing could be
more right…..
Enjoy the Mystery.

Ethereal Paramour

Ethereal Paramour



I searched in the undergrowth of
dark, mysterious woods to find you…..
I called you by name – ‘David’.
You were the ethereal being who
championed my cause and
showed me the way to freedom’s path….
I heard your voice in the wind at night
like a whistling of trees when the skies
are fit to burst over a high summer night.
The moon dripped wax upon the clouds
creating wispy spectres in the trees.
Shapesifting in the changing light,
the owls took forms of Puck & Oberon
whispering within the racket of the vibrant forest floor….
I longed for you David, my paramour in the unseen world….
I searched for you and the wheels still turn…
I know you are there….. I hear your voice….
Lover of the Forest Wild.

Time’s Dance

Time’s Dance

Clock’s ticking now
while in the day the
sounds of life drown
clock’s voice away.
The vibes of things
humming now it’s night.
The cars all gone as
darkness comes winging
its shadowy flight.
While others sleep in
hollows of mysterious lands,
at least one soul is toiling,
thinking, searching while this
revolving world spins
right around its never ceasing span.




What shall I do with the rest of my little life?
It elludes me –
rattles me
frustrates the juices in my belly
and keeps me in the stench of struggle.
Am I STILL stuck in the birth canal?
Perhaps the creative seeds need a voice,
finally vibrating them out into the field of life.
Screaming is not very beautiful
but sometimes it is the only embodied voice available
when the fiscal appears more essential than the essence of soul.

Learning to Live

It’s not that the ticking of the clock, that beats down the door to my ears, just to be heard by me. It’s that this steady, warm, heart beat in the room only sounds like it does, calm and round and steady, when all is still at night and only my breath moves the air. The electrical storm in my head becomes audible as I listen with awareness, as computer, lights, appliances all vibrate to form the soundweave of 21stC existence;
Once upon a time I could sit beside my father and hear the woodworm eating a chair. I could lie in the clover patch and hear the Plovers overhead telling me where to find the four leaf specimens….. now there is little of that in our external world….
I find the four leaf clovers in me. I hear the mastication of ideas in my mind and I resolve to live and go on living, before it’s all too late.