The first song of Spring

The first song of Spring 

through drips icy arrives,

a lone bird for one that’s alone in it bringing 

the seed of expansion which stillness so hides. 


Hard is the bud where leaves lie in slumber 

as all of us dwellers still inwardly bide, 

listening, there, the bud in its slumber 

to the first song of spring, expecting its flight. 


“Sing to me, Spring, the seed of expansion, 

for winter in silence must too one day end

and all must emerge from its still, sharp embrace

which life doth protect from harshness and death.”

All there is

Drawing within

need not succumb all in shadow,

folding, what’s there,

weaving within one another

and without another.


All is within you

and all that’s within you in all,

it is only acceptance which differs.

Acceptance which comes from yielding, alone,

the stasis you offer yourself, and all.


Do not be afraid of all that’s within,

the dwellers that slowness and silence deliver.

In noise it is easy to drown out their whispers,

yet life without quiet will swallow all whole.


Admit all there is

for life is a flurry

only if stillness is too much to bear.

Your Caress Alone / Anticipation

I await your gaze,

your lips and touch and passion’s purpose

upon the skin that glows

for your caress alone.

 
To be lost in me,

rapture seeded in impulsive embrace,

as I fold around and hold you tender

much like fruit in petals spring foresees.

 
For when the body feels of lovers true

so sprouts in gleaming shine,

the yearning, budding,

for your caress alone.

 
This work is dedicated to all the lovers distanced by our current emergency; to the flow of nascent romance that must find its way through patience to maintain its grace.

Do not abandon, love, what was there for you before, as for you thereafter it shall remain. 

 
 

Living / Death


In darkness she walks the planes of thereafter

as death ‘round lives tender so mutedly preys

today then tomorrow draws her not closer

her presence through time shoring up in life’s bay.

A friend and a jester in shadows enveloped

she stands at my door asking with me to stay

the play of her forces draws me to greet her

for straying in blindness only time may delay.

Through pink and black leaves she outwardly beckons

and hands in cold terror belatedly folds

for both of us know she long here had treaded

leading our cycles unto the beyond.



In darkness we walk, praying together

her void with my tears I never did fill

and as I embrace her she weaves in all feeling

priming a heart for life’s waves never still.

The Sun of November / Fear rooted releasing

The Sun of November

on grey seas reflecting

through solitude waving

and with it I move.


Uncertainty seething

and others sense drowning

the depths of our being

in stillness consumed.


Resistance to yielding

in virtue transforming

through darkness and greeting

an ancestry formed.


The Sun of November

through solitude waving

Fear rooted releasing

and with it I moved.



On violence and the nervous system

If you want to judge the extent of violence a certain group faces, in all the different forms everyday violence can take, what you need to do is examine the state of the nervous system of people belonging to this group.

Trauma layers after each clash with violence, no matter how subtle or imperceptible, and each layer grips the tissues, nerves and muscles tighter and tighter. The reaction becomes chronic, creating a sense of panic and danger even if the danger that originated the gripping response is not immediately present.

We often fail to recognise the subtle violence in our environment because we are desensitised and lead to think that what we experience doesn’t classify as violence because it is ‘not serious enough’. Next time you feel your body gripping, see if you can identify the source of this reaction. Don’t judge yourself if you can’t immediately recognise it or confront it; it’s all a practice, and you can only eventually address an issue if you can feel it clearly first.

And if you find yourself gripping by just sitting on the street, as I do, then do accept there is a battle to be fought; and if you don’t and someone tells you that they do, believe them. The response of their nervous system is one triggered by their survival instinct, and this occurs because experience and patterns observed have taught this highly intelligent organism that there is a threat. This isn’t rooted in fiction, because it is being picked up on a level where we are most attuned – the one of an animal body existing in the physical realm. Work needs be dedicated to adjusting our world so the threat the body registers is no longer present and / or appropriate rehabilitation is offered, not in wasting breath on trying to disprove the violent structure’s existence. The latter is impossible, and violent in itself.