Wednesday 29 June 2011


Here is my movie debut!! Just thought you may like a view from the summit of Mount Snowdon...

Sunday 26 June 2011



I welcomed the Solstice sunrise
beside Oak of colossal height
until trunk and leaves, skin and hair
were bathed in golden light.

It illuminated the darker spots
within our living Souls
to leave us cleansed and free again
to fulfil our destined roles.

I sat down with my back against
the solid grainy bark,
and closed my eyes to meditate
to the warbling of skylark.

I felt the sap of this Forest King
rising up in me,
then my skin began to grow coarse and rough
while each arm sprouted branches three.

The veins in my hands became veins in my leaves
and I turned them to catch the Sun.
My roots anchored deep into the Earth.
Metamorphosis had begun.

I felt the currents of the land
coming alive with the summer tide.
My thoughts became more languid then,
and pushed trivial concerns aside.

From here, my awareness extended out
to commune with other trees
and I absorbed it all, the hurt the anger
toward humans - our greatest disease.

We're slaughtered to make their furniture,
build summer houses and sheds,
and then our remains are squashed to form
pretty edgings for their beds.

No memorial service is held for us
we're just tossed on an open fire,
and they never spare a thought for our pain
on this sacrificial pyre.

With fellow-feeling I was overwhelmed,
so the connection I had to break.
Then back once more in human form,
some action I had to take.

Ashamed of all we've inflicted on them,
such noble, yet defenceless friends,
I channelled the healing power of love
in an attempt to make amends.


I've learned a lot this Solstice Day
of the awareness of all living things,
and compassion has grown inside my heart.
This Druid has grown wings!

Thursday 16 June 2011


I was sorting the laundry when I found it,
the note, it fell
from your inside pocket and fluttered
like a white feather of cowardice
onto the carpet, so I picked up
the tiny square
of pressed tree corpse, and saw
a death warrant
for all we've ever been together.
It died there, in our bedroom,
my love for you, and I shrank
to a pinpoint.
I so wished I'd been born blind
then I couldn't have read:

Saturday 11 June 2011


The distinguishing characteristic of a nightmare is that it is always remembered.
W H R  Rivers

Last night I wandered alone through Highgate
Under moonless sky the colour of slate
Until I came to an old iron gate.

I hadn't realised I was in Swain's Lane
So I tried to retrace my steps again
But a menacing force took control of my brain.

A booming vibration compelled me to climb
Over the gate as I heard the twelfth chime
Of church bell and wished it wasn't that time.

In the dark and dank cemetery where all was decayed
A nauseating stench like an open grave
Assaulted my nostrils. I was mortally afraid.

Then out of the gloom and blacker than black
Loomed a tall ghastly figure and fearing attack
I tried to run, but was brutally yanked back.

As its shroud enclosed me, its eyes glowing red
The horrifying conclusion that I'd soon be dead
Struck me and I screamed - then awoke in my bed!

You're absolutely spot-on Dr Rivers, but I'd much rather not have remembered this one!!

Sunday 5 June 2011


I was visiting a friend in hospital
when I saw her.
She was leaving as I entered
through the automatic doors.
Her eyes, swollen and red raw
from endless weeping, met mine
and in that instant
utter hopelessness gripped me,
flicking a trip switch
inside my head
to self-survival.
I had to escape -fast - from this sad
little creature and the disturbing
memories that were resurfacing
too vividly for comfort.
For the rest of the day
I was haunted by her image.
Feeling uneasy and restless,
I had to shut her firmly out of my mind.
It was the only way
I could move on with my life.
But it didn't protect me from the acute awareness
that I was leaving her
to suffer alone.

Things could have been so different though,
had my heart been more open that day.
I should have smiled and asked
if she was OK, opening a channel of compassion
so she could unload the crippling burden
she was struggling to bear.
I wish I'd had the courage to override
the fear of my own emotional reactions
and reach out to that tortured Soul
with empathy,
to have told her I understood
those devastating feelings of uselessness
and inadequacy, that awful sense of guilt
for disappointing husband and parents,
by inadvertently bringing to a close
two ancestral lines of descent.

I should have reassured her
that she wasn't alone in feeling
a freak, a female eunuch;
nor in despising her barren womb and wishing
she had been born a boy.
I could have told her it's only human
to fake illness to avoid going out,
where the sight of mothers with children
torment her beyond endurance;
so is feeling envious and resentful
when friends and relatives
fall pregnant so effortlessly
- over and over again - just like
everyone else eventually did
at the infertility clinic,
until she was the only one
still attending,
still valiantly attempting to cling to hope.

If I could only relive that day,
I would comfort her with the promise
that everything will eventually be OK,
that there is a reason (and a time)
for the fulfilment
of our deepest desires.
How can I possibly make such a promise?
I am something of an expert
in this particular field,
because for ten demoralising years
I wore her shoes.