Friday 27 March 2015


We seek the teeth that made the wounds...

Once, I believed I was ordinary:
hid in my father's vegetable garden,
eating peas from the pod.
The caterpillars spoke to me then,
and when I was scared I took refuge in fairyland.

But then I realised she didn't loved me,
and he was too preoccupied.
Suddenly I was too old for fairy tales:
the peas became maggot-ridden
and the caterpillars were struck dumb.

Soon, the days expanded into months
and then the months to years. All the while
it was a harsh tongue that shaped me.
Mother, your castigation has kept me small:
only this body has grown.

The maternal instinct was absent in you,
at least when it came to me.
My mind won't close to that much pain.
Time continually rewinds to the reluctant womb
that formed me in bitter resentment.

I've tried so hard to rise above it.

Yet I remain the unwanted pregnancy -
that abhorrent thing that was such an encumbrance,
the scapegoat for all your frustrations.
Oh how I longed for a cuddle when I scraped my knee,
or your presence on school sports day.

But I guess it just wasn't to be.
Something within me must have stirred such powerful aversion -
perhaps a karmic debt was being repaid.
Did I wrong you in a previous life?
Could that explain such profound dislike of your youngest child?

Oh I wish I knew the answer,
but I probably never will.

Anyway, dear Mother, I forgave you long ago...
but I still have no name.

My heart-felt thanks, Margie...for helping me to recognise a karmic

I am off on my travels again tomorrow. I will try my hardest to visit you all, but sometimes I find myself in a connection black if I can't make it for a short while, I hope you'll forgive me...xoxoxo

Thursday 19 March 2015


From here, sheep are white dots. The bracing air
is damp with mountain mist (or Dragon's breath)
and the distant closes in.
A crow caws from it's lofty perch
in a nearby buck thorn, and others respond.
Then the flock of huge blue/black birds take off
to collectively descend on something dead.

Gorse and owl-hollowed oaks slant over
the remains of Vortigern's Tower, that dominates the summit;

while the silver river below snakes gracefully
into the lake, slightly distorting it's upside-down world.
Can you see the eyes of Emrys in the water?
For it's here His vocation in boyhood began
with revelations of warring Dragons within this sacred hill.

This place is reminiscent of the best of Constable.
Snakes and lizards rustle through lush green ferns,
feasting on unsuspecting insects;
while thistles and briers claw through my sleeve,
drawing blood; and a grey squirrel
darts across the path ahead, startling me.
And here is the legendary Hawthorne.

It is said, that if you sit and watch patiently at dusk,
you'll be rewarded with the spectacle
of Emrys emerging from His tree.
So I sit quietly in Druidic robe, carved staff in hand...
and wait...and watch...and wait...
Listen - there is a rustling! My heart begins pounding.
Then an owl swoops down...and I hear a dormouse scream.

Friday 13 March 2015


A barren field, unsown, awaiting
shortening night, lengthening day.
Every breath is within me awaking
anticipation, wishing winter away.

I'll smile and wave as I pass by,
recording forever this fleeting instant,
as it passes between my camera and I
and is shared by every worm and ant

traversing with me this land today
in rural Sussex - so far apart
from distant friends, to whom I say:
you're in my thoughts...and in my heart!

Thursday 5 March 2015


I'll come when you're in deep despair,
in the darkest dead of night;
when innermost terrors leave their lair
to fill a weary mind laid bare
with torment and abject fright.

I'll come when emotions overwhelm,
when they wear your heart away.
I'll quickly come and take the helm
and steer your mind to higher realm
where positive thoughts hold sway.

So listen! Fast approaches the hour
when from despair you long to flee:
now are there not creeping over you
strange sensations that comfort you -
forerunners of some alien power...
harbingers of me?