Watching day

we spread
under pink
lavender skies,

sunset starfish
taken by clouds

tangling and untangling
in the unknown
lightness of air

until we awaken
to that
within and between
and of us.

We drop
into the sea
with the sun

wondering if
we are coloured

or if we are

of the sea


Storm Petrels

Hello readers,

I have a flash fiction story up on Page&Spine magazine this week. ‘The Freedom in Me‘- read it for free.

And tonight’s poem- Storm Petrels. Thanks for reading these and may you be safe through storms.

Black petrels,
sear through
storm clouds,

breaking the
with flight.

We, softer
must stay,
wrapping our
arms and legs
into one

Great wails
of wind and the
sea overturned
carries unknowns
across our
fragile shelter.

Between tridents
of lightning
and the blackness
of oyster-deep

we press our
hearts together
creating a moon
between our hands
fingers pointing

Along with
driftwood, kelp
and shells,
the petrels land
in a bright morning.

We, soft, stand
on shore
and begin our

hand entwined
in hand
pointing north.

To a Teacher

I had not
tried to meet him
for I felt too small,

so I was unprepared
when the grace
in his words
met me.

They say a
man can die
and his bones
lay in one place
hidden, underground.

His words
came to me
as I walked

golden, red and
brown leaves

and I was only

in autumn,
heading to

He turned my
mind to Spring.

They say the touch
of a teacher across
time, space, even death
is a blessing-

This is written to Sangharakshita who died in late October. I am in the Triratna Buddhist movement and have learned much from his books and teachings, though I had never met him.

Hills of Pine and Oak

Hills of pine and oak
stretch before you,
dun, golden and green,
the colors of a hillside
in autumn.

A lake is visible
below you,
in the valley.
reflections of clouds
move in its stillness.

There are houses
but not many,
most things here are
trees, water,
blue sky and birdsong.

Sit here
and let the cool,
fresh, pine-scented
air fill your lungs

as the sky
fills your eyes
and the land
fills your heart

and your blood
and the tree sap
and the streams
running through it all

with the same
bright, simple
of living.

This poem was inspired by the ever-reflective Loch Voil in Scotland.


comes to me,
a dim and starless

The truth
lays in lies
by what they

The flower
in a name – magnolia

the rain

wet green
bog vines


the rolling rumble
of the land

and the scent
of southern sweetbay

– Savannah.

I spent some time in the south and felt its heavy, rich presence which led my mind to this poem.

Faith, Moth and the Moon

A story came to me about faith. It might be an essay or a poem. Whatever it is, it told me something helpful so I share it with you:

I sat in an airless room one night thinking about faith and thinking I didn’t have any when a moth flew at the window. He was trying to get out into the night. The moth flew again and again at the glass with his cream-colored wings and wouldn’t stop. I admired his tenacity and faith that he could find the moon if only he kept trying. I opened the window and let him out into the night. I knew he wouldn’t make it to the moon, what a silly idea, though I could not help but admire his bright heart.

Later that night I sat down to meditate. A moth flew in the window and landed on my face. I realised at that moment I was the moon.

And the moth, at that moment, had achieved its goal.