The smell of pencil shavings Soft wooden curls lined with graphite The sharpener whirrs I blow on the blade Dust floats to the bin Tools made sharper I sit again The example is before me The rest makes sense I draw the lines Stitching neurons in my head The satisfaction of making sense Is a […]
my head has been full of words but no poetry no rhythm or rhyme of lilt It is like the birds stopped singing And the way the flowers from my birthday die brightly Yet they are still dead writing can be useful it can be sparse business like efficient It can explain Enable emailingggggg and […]
I cannot see the bird that sings Only hear its tune, threaded into the quiet. It comes at dawn a soft call to the sun, a hymn to light, then silence. It retreats. Not for fear, but for fullness. Its work is done. And in the hush that follows, I remember: Creation does not exist […]
And the trees begin to whisper like they are sharing a secret that only they can hear But if I’m very quiet And very clear I can hear it too *In silence, nature, everything becomes clear, it’s as if we too become our natural selves and blend into the breath of the earth, the breeze. […]
The revolution of a spiral. A circle. The wind-chime sound of movement. If all we are doing is constantly changing, who are we to claim authenticity? What does authenticity resemble when the self is disassembling daily? Somewhere in all the motion — the incomplete decisions, the conflicting inner opinions — is a small, anchored “I.” […]
I’m writing as my personal self on Instagram again. As writers, we have an audience — but not all audiences are the same. When I’m writing to the WordPress community, I come as I am. I always have. The fact that other people outside of WP can see what I write in my slippers and […]
If you don’t love what you make You won’t look after it when times are tough Imagine if you gave birth to your children And didn’t love them Didn’t love them like you would die in their place In a second Without a thought Not an inkling of hesitation Imagine what would happen to them […]
The Winton Writers Festival is drawing to a close. Some have already left. Some are off exploring dinosaurs or sitting quietly with new books and thoughts. There were sunset drinks and final conversations, photos taken in golden light, and that strange sense of holding something while it’s still happening — knowing it’s about to become […]
A dog digging a hole is happy Sometimes they are digging to bury a bone Or investigate a noise Lost in the digging they avoid all thought other than I Am Digging But when they surface happily panting A little wild eyed Is when the reality arrives And they wonder if perhaps that great and […]
Love is the catch in your chest Sometimes painful It’s the emotion that runs fingertips through your flesh And grips It’s nothing you can control I feel it when I think of this earth sometimes — People disappearing down the plughole of the internet Resurfacing “elsewhere” Uncaring for this aliveness Out here I try to […]
