The Rich Man


A heart is required.
You gave a stone.
Sons are called.
You chose to be judge.

With the witness of Pharisees
and by the Word you call divine,
(of your own making)
you are thoroughly screwed,

Here they are before you:
each man you ran down,
every woman you molested.
And the children cry out:

How surprised you look.
Not genuine, I’m sure.
“But,” you cry,
“I washed many times.”
And you point at the first
glue-sniffing thief
“Not like him! I’m not like him!”

Exactly.” pronounces the Father.

end of a long day


when i finally sit
down to breathe,
into the chair
my weight sinks
and i am lost.

with wild accusation
the square keys glare at me,
daring me to strike,
prodding me to pounce.

but i have forgotten
why i came to this sanctuary.
i can only silent stare
at the empty space.

after a year
i push up
with a sigh
and go to bed.

maybe tomorrow.



The silence
(in its intensity)
ruptures my eardrums.

Geckos bark at each other from behind picture frames.
Epauletted fruit bats squeak as they dip and dive between house and tree.
A Death’s head hawkmoth slams its body with furore
back-and-forth from wall-to-wall seeking, yet not finding, escape.
An elderly fat Ginger cat, curled up on the new sofa, revs his motor in fourth gear.
The silver wall clock in the kitchen dutifully imitates a metronome, plunking time like a dripping tap.
A big-shouldered fridge groans as it replicates the Arctic North.

Silence reverberates,
overpowering the clamouring undercurrent,
sucking up the report of my own heartbeat.

My ears ache
for the sound of your voice.


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like chalky cliffs above the sea,
I stood,

until wind whipped up a water fury
which threw salty fists,
relentlessly pounding me
from every angle.
I began crumbling
into the waves.

This evening,
weakened by the weathering,
I surrendered to the assault
and allowed the breakers
to carry me out to the briny deep.

Now I am resting on the ocean floor
waiting to be lifted up
once more.

You Were Beautiful


You were beautiful.
And creative.
And strong.
And wise.

You were a pillar,
A shining shaft of faith,
A comforter,
An encourager,
A mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a friend.

Now since you are gone,
there is a rent in the fabric of our lives.
We sit in stunned silence
(for the moon has covered her face)
and weep a torrent of tears
(not for you in glory)
for the hole in our hearts.

We are cheated out of tomorrow
and every tomorrow after that.
No matter how long it takes us to follow,
we will ache with missing you,
raise a fist in anger against malevolent disease
and pray that grace may use even this
to fashion worship.

tug of war


everything ages,
slowly gives in
to dust, decay and gravity.

ever pulling us down,
calling for a return to clay,
weighs our soles.

long to rise
above the clatter and clutter,
clashes and clouds.

heavily ladened,
weep themselves wispily dry.

dry as stale breadcrumbs,
battle-worn from entropic war,
gravity brings me to my knees in the rain
and i live again
under grace.

Farewell, NaPoWriMo


What a ride it has been!
Thirty days once again.
Some days easy, some days hard.
Some days a scribbler, some days a bard.

Sad to see it come to an end.
Sad to bid bye to new-met friends.
But time moves on and so must we —
On to meet our density.

Before we turn around, it’s known,
Three hundred & thirty-six days will have flown.
There it will be, knocking at our doors —
NaPoWriMo time once more.

See you all in 2016!

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