i have woken/ wrapped in barbed wire/ tightly wrapped/ in barbed wire//
its sharpness/ piercing my/ skin//

i know what to do//
don’t struggle/ or it will punish you/ with a relentless/ grip//

A poem about learning to dance in life.

Blessings and love is a collaborative poem written by five writers, all given the same question. The poem was written without seeing what the others had written. Constructed in the order of submissions. Reproduced in the way it was given. Five voices. One poem. A strange but beautiful way to create art.

an angel without wings/ she walks in the world/ barefoot and eager//
a fallen hero/ he kneels/ the grass prickles his knees/ as he stares blankly into space//
she walks along his horizon/ each day/ he does not see//

A poem from forty-nine and a half new moons ago.

little tree/ in a miniature/ forest/ of tiny/ pots//
bonsai//
magnificent/ in your smallness//

A little poem for a little tree, requested by The Bonsai Guy

comfort is/ a loving kiss/ long bath/ spaghetti//
bare feet/ a warm embrace/ holding hands/ confetti//

comfort is/ smiling eyes/ and/ soft sunshine//
a good book/ cup of tea/ with/ friends of mine//

i tore off a piece of me/ and held it up to the light/ examined it/ found fault in it/ cried//

i ripped off some more of me/ squeezed it between/ two panes of glass/ placed it under the microscope adjusted the focus/ and sighed//

A poem about picking myself apart.

in a garden like no other/ are five//
sitting in the dirt/ words writing in between their heart beats/ holding each other//

A poem of welcoming.

i am the weave/ i am the woven
the tangled yarn/ the unravelled

A poem without a title.

at the entrance of the cave/ and on a rock nearby/ sit the philosopher/ and the poet//
one held by thought/ one held by silence/ they let the words talk//

they have forgotten/ the young storyteller/ who sits behind the tree/ smiling/ at their backs//
she writes as/ the birds sing//

A poem about discovery and being human.

ten letters/ to say//
miss you dad//

Today I am grateful to have loved and known a great man.

i left her at the base of the mountain/ as i raced up/ climbing/ focused//
there was sweat/ it was worth it/ right?//

there were clear blue skies/ and beauty at the summit//
and yet, i was lonely/ not for others/ but for myself//…

A poem in honour of the second mountain and the journey there.

poetry forgotten/ is like a friend lost//

what does one remember/ of a life before a coma/ as you wake facing forward/ with sweat sticking to your skin//…

A small poem honouring the return of poetry. A small poem, which found me in early August this year.

it dawns on me/ like a slow moving fog/ a life promised/ gone//

trying to catch/ what could have been/ is like a child/ trying to catch/ the dust in the sunlight//…

A poem at 10.28pm, sometime in August.