Sitting at a table old and alone

There on the plate a single white bone.

Outside the sky speeds to hide

The tears of the empty falling inside.

Seeking small strength enough just to lift

Veiled vapours of venom that generate and drift

Inside rude rumours too slow to be seen

Laughter and traces of all who convene.

Straining with bones so seldom to move

Waiting at tables for days to disprove

All whispers of patterns come new to this day

Held in this hand and frittered away.

Now stood apart from the intimate dance

Of motions notions bereft of all chance

The eye wakes to see what it cannot avoid

Born in the womb of a hope once destroyed.

Falling whispers rumours repeat

Wasted in tones of awkward defeat

Whilst there sitting silent seeking relief

The un-tethered tall shock that is grief.


Within this skin I slither in

I stumble and I fall

I witness my own destiny

And answer my own call

I look to see a private view

Of all that I’ve become

Singular in plurality

Two reside in One.

Doubting all these boundaries

Forever ceasing end

Lost in soft insanities

The I to the We as a nurse doth tend.


All we have are these tiny strands

The love that lies within our hands

And though we stand forthright and strong

It doesn’t take much for this to go wrong

So with each hour each passing cloud

We should revel in this love aloud

For as our bloom fades when winter has come

It is this our love that shows what we’ve done.

Wood for the Trees

Could we … is it … I mean would it be OK to … to … you know .. just take a piece of wood .. A branch … found on the floor of a forest on a breezy leaf-fallen day … and … and … well …. just hold it close to our hearts … could we just hold it for a second, every bark tortured curve rough against the skin … could we love it … could we love it enough for life to begin …

And would we … if we could … would we love it enough … would we understand the mystery we touch within … could we understand … could we love enough for life to begin … Do we need to know the tree to love the Branch that’s been … could we … should we …  I mean would we love enough …. to make life begin.