Friday, February 28, 2014


I caught a train
From here to there
I was more escaping here
Than going there

I caught a train
The tracks thrummed a beat
A subversive beat
I chose a more orthodox sound

I sat
And let myself be rocked to sleep
I was not ready
To wake up

I sat and watched
My life go by
It was my life
It was another me

I sat and watched
The stars come out
Pin pricks of light
Behind the glass of my life

Now I am there
Yet where is there?
I am not sure
Did I awake too soon?

The trouble is
I can’t go back to sleep
And the stars are now
Crystal tears

I caught a train
It took me down a different track
A lonely track
Yet it was mine to ride

I’ve ridden this track
Far enough
My soul is tired

Will blue eyes
Smile in greeting
Will warm lips kiss me?
Will you embrace me?

Or will we meet
The other side
Another station
Not here but there


Words swiftly form
A gaggle of school boys
Running to a fight

Words gambol across
The spaces of my mind
With never an
“oh excuse me”

Words stop and swerve
Distracted by a sight

Words cascade
A noisy torrent
Like water in full flight

Words dissipate
Subside, collapse
Under their weight

In the stillness
The soundless space
Of wordlessness

Wordless silence speaks
Slowly, without haste

It speaks my name

Thursday, February 27, 2014

those days

There were days
Just a few
Idle days

I can’t remember
When they were
They must have been
So few

Perhaps it’s only
In my mind
I think of days

With time to sit
And watch
Sun lit leaves

Time to lie on grass
And make believe
With shapes of clouds

Time to let
The dreams from night
Drift into the day

I think there were days
One or two
Days so long
I could live
A life or two

Those days
Are gone

Monday, February 24, 2014

The In-breathing of the Divine

Let me be caught
In Your in-breathing
Let me drift in Your inspiration
Drawn to Your lips by Your breath

Let me hear Your silence
Still my breathing
Let me drown in the stillness
Of your Presence

Let this weary me
Rest in Your security
Envelope me
With the melody of your peace

In Your thunderous silence
Wrap me in yourself
Carry me to the place
Where light fades into Light

Catch me as I fall
Into the spaces
Empty yet filled
With You

Caught in time
Call me
Bring me home

With your in-breathing

Sunday, February 23, 2014

Fragments of Love - 23 February

Rumi the Sufi Poet wrote of the need for spaces in our love.

Love needs to be both

Holy – in the sense of the bond between our Lover and ourselves being sacred; and

Holey – in the sense of porous, having spaces between us where we grow and support our Lover’s growth.

Love that has no space becomes a casket

Saturday, February 22, 2014

In Memory of Reza Berati

What was your final thought?
When breath took its leave
Did you see blue sky?
Above barbed wire
And as you took your leave
Did the irony strike?
You were finally free
Yet what a cost!

As your heart slowed
Did you see your father’s eyes?
And see your mother’s tears
You, young man whose spirit
Slipped through barbed wire
Above the noise and fear
I hope you heard,
You are a son; a much loved son

While suits with blue ties
Avert their eyes
Their tongues dipped in oil
Slide over inconvenient truths
And well greased hinges
Shut the door, and
Mirrors blackened to prevent
Conscience being seen

We, the people will remember
A son, like our sons
Sons who seek life
We will remember a man
Who lost his life behind barbed wire
And we, parents who have lost our sons
We will stand with your parents
And cry their grief

You are gone
But not forgotten.

Untitled - 22 February

This page of me is
Dried out, fragile, fragmented
A story …still in the writing

Let the sound of your voice
Touch me like drops of summer rain
Refresh, renew me

Let your words remind me
Of what is unwritten

Of us

Friday, February 21, 2014

Fragments of Love - 22 February

Love always starts with a story.  In the early days of love the story gets told and retold with pleasure.

The longer people are together, the story gets abbreviated, it is told in short hand.  The wonder, excitement are forgotten the story changes to a chronology.

Sadly many substitute a new story, a story of annoyance, a story of grievances, a story of checks and balances and we wonder why love hides.

We need to rediscover the mystery and excitement of retelling the story of our love

The Labyrinth

Through this maze
Frayed fragments of myself
Spool out, a tenuous thread
Of ancient DNA
My story, a coded mystery
Decoded in life’s labyrinth

In the centre
The Minotaur of me
DNA birthed in a spasm
Of guilt and icy unenjoyment
Half human, half divine
Clay built, in breathed

In the centre
Confronted by myself
What half would I annihilate?
Would I kill the human part?
And live without the thrill of sin
And the pain of guilt

Could I refuse to be a god
And not let my soul soar
When I hear you say
I love you
Content to live and die
As a man

I have been to the centre
It’s an age thing
There is no Minotaur
There is just me
Half human, half divine
Nothing to annihilate

In the centre
There is silence
The silence of presence
Not of absence
The silence of eternity
Distilled in my DNA

Thursday, February 20, 2014

Fragments of Love - 21 February

One of the mysteries of the act of sex is that at the point of orgasm the boundaries of the soul recede and we lose ourselves in the cosmic/divine oneness.

That is why afterwards "La petite mort", "the little death" is so important.  it allows our soul the opportunity to come back into this time and then be resurrected into daily life.

Times wrinkle

Yesterday I was
Where you are today

Today I am in your future
You are in my past

Yet your voice
Speaks to me now

Now, this moment
I hear your words

Accented strength
No longer hesitant

I love you
I love you too

My clock says Thursday
Two fifty pm

Your clock says Wednesday
Ten fifty pm

Strangers, still to meet
Yet already lovers

In between past lives
And the unfolding future

Beloved come dance with me
In the silent memory of God

Let us love in this moment

Caught in times wrinkle

Fragments of Love - 20 February

The greatest gift we can give our Lover is ourselves.

To give ourselves we first have to know ourselves.

To often, because we do not know ourselves we give our advice, our suggestions, our comments, our views, our judgements and we wonder why we have problems.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Fragments of Love - 19 February

Sometimes I chose to be a fool for love because the obstacles seem so insurmountable

I choose to be a fool and trust rather than losing hope and living in despair

I can live as a fool, to despair is to die before death arrives


PS I have missed a couple of days due to travelling to Melbourne for meetings.  The brain was befuddled by jet lag

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Fragments of Love - 17 February

We say "I love you" as if it were a statement that is definitive, final and complete.

Yet, to say "I love you" speaks more of our intention. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say, I am loving you. For love, in many senses must always be incomplete, there must always be room for growth, for deepening, for the wonder of the new.

Saturday, February 15, 2014

Fragments of Love - 16 Feb

Love is undying.

A relationship may end and the chapter of that love be closed but Love itself is undying.

How can I say this?  Because we still love those who have passed and are no longer in this reality.  We hold them with love in our hearts.

Friday, February 14, 2014

It was not enough

With baleful eyes
You stared
Breathing animosity
That life had rendered you
Like this

As if it were my fault
Aged had made a fool of you
The indignity of accepting your mortality
Was not the script
God had not read His part

With miserly discontent
You gripped each breath
Sucking its marrow
As if will power alone
Could stall approaching death

In your Gethsemane
There was no betrayal
Except the betrayal of yourself
Three times was love declared
Three times it was rejected

No cock crowed
To break your heart
A son’s love was not enough
To soften hardened eyes
And stony heart

I could only give my love
Yet it was not enough
My final words
Crucified on the cross
Of your hate

No glorious resurrection
Of acceptance
Just death creeping
Through baleful eyes
And stony heart

Fragments of Love - 15 February

The longer we are with someone the more prone we are to macro-degeneration of vision.  We lose sight of the wonder of ‘the other’ who is our Lover.

In long term relationships we need "periodic laser surgery" to sharpen our vision to the beauty and the wonder of the other who is our Lover.

Thursday, February 13, 2014

Fragments of Love - Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day – the day when expressions of love are supposed to be anonymous and half the thrill is the mystery of wondering who?

These days, we mostly know the Valentine.

Yet love remains a mystery.  Perhaps today we can rediscover the thrill, the enjoyment, the wild abandon of the mystery of love

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Fragments of Love - 13 February

A butterfly grasped in our grip dies and is destroyed but let a butterfly sit on an open palm and you can see its beauty, grace and colour.

So with love, hold the Lover lightly with an open hand and you will see clearly their beauty, their grace, their magnificence

The risk is the Lover may 'fly away' but a generous love takes generous risks


They are supposed to fit
These pieces,
Jigsaw pieces from a box
Life fitting in a pattern

A reason for being
A raison d’etre
A purpose, a rationale
A flag to unfurl

The box shows the picture
In so many pieces
But life unlike the box
Obscures the picture

The pattern does not fit
And by the time I’m in a box
Patterns and purposes
Will not be a talking point

If I could get the edges right
I could fill the middle in
But now the edges
Aren't all right

They’re unraveled
Fragged from too much fraying
Edges, the ragged line
Of expired rationales

I sit and ponder pieces
Pieces that do not fit
Past purposes and flags unfurled
The borders of ragged edges

I sit and ponder
Pasts that don’t fit
Pieces of edges
And flagging purposes

(fragged – made up word of frayed and ragged)

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Fragments of Love - 12 February

Mostly we want the comfort of love
Love, in its kindness, gives us what we want

This does not change the fact love costs
And there are few courageous enough to pay the cost of love

Love at its costliest, burns us
It strips away our illusions, our delusions, our make believe
Then remakes us

We have to learn to trust
Both the burning and the remaking

Monday, February 10, 2014

Fragments of Love - 11 February

We want to be in love
Thinking “being in love” is a feeling

“Being in love” is a state of being
Mindful of the Lover in the moment

It is the work of remaining
Present to the Lover

My Yearly Friend

You were waiting for me
On Beaufort St
Somewhere, there
I don’t know where
You fell in step

Grey and dreary
Soft as fog
A leering greeting
Another year!
Once more we meet

I know you now
Though still surprised
At the speed you arrive
Five years
And still you come

A male Persephone
I will go down
A consort in
This underworld
Of grief

So come my yearly friend
Do your worst
Rake your nails
Across my soul
Tear the scabs from my heart

Know this my friend
Grey grief who comes again
I have learnt a thing or two
I have learnt
I will survive

When my tears turn to ice
And I disconnect from life
Know this I will arise
I will come up from this
Underworld of grief

And you, my friend
Will again depart
Soft as fog
While I will bless
The sweet fragrance of life

Sunday, February 9, 2014

Fragments of Love - 10 February

Good sex is good sex
Great sex is still great sex
Intimate sex with the Lover
Becomes the potential doorway 
To Mystery

Saturday, February 8, 2014

Fragments of Love - 9 February

Love begins with the excitement of finding someone who we think will love us
Love grows when we realise we have to do the work of loving ourselves to truly love the other.

Friday, February 7, 2014

No Room

The census was a few years ago
There’ll be another soon
It helps the Government know
There is no room

No room in our land
For compassion
Though plenty of room
For greed

We mine it
We frack it
Deforest it
Drill it

But no room
For pity
Our borders are closed
As closed as our hearts

Dry and dusty
Denuded of care
Deforested by fear

Stables for Illegal’s
Behind barb wire fences
Human misery penned inside
Fear imprisoned on the outside

We process our fear
By labeling them other
Our policies are right
For they are Illegal’s

But they are the sons
Of mothers and fathers
They have loved and are loved
Just like us

Where is our compassion?
Is it towed out to sea?
Cast adrift in a life boat
To go somewhere else


When Politicians fall silent behind the barricade of military strategy
And compassion is re-framed as a border war
It is the poets, writers and artists who much speak.

It has been said the pen is mightier than the sword
And never has there been a time when courageous pens are needed
A time to remind people of the importance of compassion towards the outsider

When governments become pre-occupied with fear based policies
And ignore their responsibility to communicate to the electorate
Or communicate stories of fear and control

It is the poets, writers and artists who must become the guardians of courage
It is the poets, writers and artists who can speak truths and refashion them
Into the stories that give hope and freedom

Stories that point to a future
Stories of the Gandhi’s, the Luther Kings, the Mandela’s of the 21st century

That give hope in place of fear and compassion in place of paranoia 

Fragments of Love - 8 February

We think intimacy is what we create with the other - the Lover.
Yet intimacy (into me I see) begins with ourselves.
We first have to see into ourselves before we can see the other - the Lover and begin to create intimacy.

The Track

It was a track
Marked by being
A bush track
Like bush tracks

It was that hour
After lunch
When birds
More sensible than I
Siesta in the heat

Even insects
Hide beneath the leaves
And go to sleep
But I still had a way to go
As I walked that track

I found you
Standing in the shade
A shadow in a shadow
You smiled, and fell in step
As we walked that track

In dappled light, I watched
The shadows play
On your arm, the hairs
Cinnamon golden brown
Your laughter, warm and deep

Fingers lightly entwined
I turned
And you were gone
An empty hand was all I had
When you left me on that track

Were you a lover?
Or a friend?
I’m not sure
It was too brief
But I still look for you

A shadow in the shadows
On the track

Thursday, February 6, 2014

Fragments of Love 7 February

We say we want some one to love when most times what we want is a security blanket to cuddle

Dear God

Dear God
I’m not really praying
You see I don’t
Believe in prayer
But you know that
Or at least I think you do

You are supposed to know everything
It must be so boring
To know how everything works out
Perhaps that’s why you gave us
Free will -
That didn’t work out well

Atheists would say I am a disgrace
Prayer is just wishful thinking
The religious would say I’m a hypocrite
Not to believe yet pray
Well not really praying
Just mulling

I probably am a disgrace
Even a disgraceful hypocrite
Or perhaps it’s
Hypocritically disgraceful
I’m sure you would agree
I’ve never been good with belief

I’ve tried Baptists, and Anglicans,
Brethren and Quakers,
Catholics and Buddhists
Atheists and Agnostics
You can see
I gave it my best shot

But I’m never that good with belief
I happiest when puddling along
Meandering my way through life
And praying
Though let’s not call it praying
Mulling will do

So God I hope you
Aren’t offended if I don’t believe
But I’ll think of you as I mull
And I’d appreciate it
If you would answer a mull or two

And I might be tempted to believe.

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

Fragments of Love - 6 Feb

We have not failed because we loved and it did not work out as we expected.
Failure is not opening ourselves to the possibility of love.

The Traveller

I am a traveller
Holder of a visa
To another world
I have travelled far
Yet not that far

I walked the lines
The latitude and longitude
Of my mind, and
Crossed the equator
Of my heart

I have drifted on currents
On the sea of my soul
And felt the pull of the Divine
Yet resisted the lure
Of perfection

Darkness has often
Been my friend
While I’ve travelled
By the light of stars
Of crystalline tears

What can I tell you?
Of travelling my soul
Not much
The journey’s not finished
I still have a way to go

I can tell you this
For what it’s worth
I have come to accept
One day I’ll slip between the lines
And travel somewhere else

Another place
Another time
Other lines
And then I’ll yield

To the pull of the Divine

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Fragments of Love - 5 February

We want the security of being loved
Love asks us to risk the insecurity of loving

Sunday Afternoon at Hyde Park

 I lie under canopies of green
On green grass that is annoyed
Its leaves jabbing me, before submitting
To my weight

Ants grateful
For new discoveries
Explore legs smoothing with age
And rush to savour the odour of flip-flops

Lovers enthralled with each other
Oblivious to adventurous ants
And annoying grass
Feed their hunger with kissing

Canopied light of dappled leaves
Living mosaic of green and gold
Quiver in heat sodden air
Trying to keep cool

How long has it been?
Since I have lain like this
Under canopies of green
I wonder

Will I
Feed my hunger
With kissing my lover
Under canopies of green

Monday, February 3, 2014

Facets of Love - 4 February

Love is the courage to learn to love yourself in the shadow of the Lover rather than blaming them for what you do not love in yourself.

Saturday, February 1, 2014


Dried scratching
Of yellowed music scores
Anxious in the draught
Of retelling
To hear
Their notes played once more

Notes played in
Lower registers of
Brooding melodies
Of angst
Chromatic scales
Of trans-located loneliness
Practiced long enough

Aged memories
Bitter lees
That sours the taste
The parts and lines
Of roles I played
Still searching
Another stage

But I have grown
Tired of parts
Lines rehearsed too long
Praise and adulation, the
Dried, shrivelled souvenirs
For whom I never was
Fragments of a lesser me

Now notes and lines
And parts and roles
Lie, the rotting mulch
Of yester-years
The detritus of a soul
And from such waste

Seeds a truer self

Thank you

Thank you to Teresa - Publisher of Indie Scribe Magazine for publishing some of my poems.  I really appreciate what Teresa has done and for giving me this opportunity.

Thank you

The poems and interview can be read from the links below