Sunday, 26 September 2021


If I tilt my head

Narrow my eyes

Shapes of energy sway

The folds of your colour

Shifting in my corners

You always remain

Wednesday, 9 June 2021

All you

Scrolling through a list,

for some arbitrary task.

Your name speeds past. 

The other names aren't there.

Only you. 


Your label is not your essence.

But it captures it

and pulls out my heart.

Fills my eyes.

All you.

Tuesday, 18 May 2021

Moon child

Today I stumbled across my moon child ring. It's profoundly impractical and probably doesn't reflect my 46 years on this earthly plane. All this being said, I'm now wearing it with aplomb. It reminds me that I am a mystical child of the moon. I can weather the storm and I will, in time, emerge beautifully. 


Saturday, 15 May 2021

Midnight gospel

I've started watching Midnight Gospel again. It's wonderfully weird and strangely philosophical. Probably exactly the right thing, right now. 


I decided to read the urban dictionary's perspectives on the meaning of life. (There was nothing on Netflix and I'm avoiding the packing of boxes). I didn't expect to find anything of note there and yet.....

"It is like a drop of water that has risen from the sea and in a shower has fallen in a puddle, then drifts into a brook, finds its way into a stream, after that into a river, passing through mountain gorges and wide plains, winding this way and that, obstructed by rocks and fallen trees, till at least it reaches the boundless seas from which it rose. But that poor little drop of water, when it has once more become one with the sea, has surely lost its individuality.
You want to taste sugar, you don't want to become sugar. What is individuality but the expression of our egoism? Until the soul has shed the last trace of that it cannot become one with the Absolute."
by Heavyoak September 07, 2006

This is a reminder to keep an open mind. Only then will one find pearls of wisdom. 

Slow poetry

I finally found my way back to The Lake house today. I'd meant to watch it with you but somehow it never happened.  

I love its beautiful, slow poetry.  Its rolling landscape. The way it feels like an old photograph that connects times and simultaneously captures a moment of it.  

It transpires that one of the characters has your name. It's strange because once that name meant nothing to me. Now it means everything. I guess there is a nod towards transience there. No doubt you'd appreciate the symmetry. 

And yet, it's still you. Always here. Filling my moments with your absence, as much as you did with your presence. 



What is here without your ever-last?

Time becomes an enemy.

The silent mockingbird,

Of all that has passed. 

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