On the Shelf I did not – could not – weepFor years my tears driedYet on the plane outI wept convulsively The flight attendant thought meSad to be leavingShe saw it all the time It was relief that flood I never thought I’d I’d get read more

The Gaping Rooms Shriek I’ve washed folded and put awayRearranged a few shelvesFilled and emptied the dishwasherRead the paperGlanced at the crosswordAnd still the hollow houseshrieks – for youthe gaping roomsrefusing to let me bein what was – until this morning – ours Even outsideThe read more

I’ve washed folded and put away I’ve washed folded and put awayRearranged a few shelvesFilled and emptied the dishwasherRead the paperGlanced at the crosswordAnd still the hollow houseshrieksfor youthe gaping roomsrefusing to let me bein what was – until this morning – ours Even outsideThe read more

Our Separate Ways To Isabel Cecily Dowling We cast lots for you todayWe let the scrabble letters decidewho should treasure the bits and piecesslowly gathered to make your lodgings Less bare We all wanted the ring:A lifelong closeness to younever lost, forgotten, or surrendered,(though you read more

Small Things In the end we carried what was left of your thingsIn a bag marked PATIENTS PROPERTY I was not surprised they gave you no apostropheOn that plain brown bag with those thick black lettersbecausewithin hours of knowing your last dreamyou’d lost your name, read more

The fat toad Ill Feeling… It’s always there between usA fat toadSilently waiting to squawk We both feel itYet never mention itIt could explodeBecome a bomb we cannot defuseSo we hope that time or tearswill wash it away Well it may….but one dayWhether we want read more

Suffering is … Suffering is … Like a stone in a shoeOr grit in an oyster shellIt can become a blister orWith time and care a pearl On the other handIt can kill you. December 1995 in New Zealand

Sunday on Lismore Just outside my fenceA lamb chews her cudHer mother – fleece almost goneBar stubborn swathesNo hawthorn has claimed -Chews nearby, nose in the air They sing a Sunday airStaring at the first ferry- tourist laden –crossing on a gentle curve. The roses, read more

Presence is all To My Mother As I watch you moving nearer to memoryMy need to know you mushroomsSome days quite out of control You drift away from the landscape we sharedviews we thought permanent – dull evenshowing no sign of lossamused at my attempts read more

The Voice of Outrage The voice of outrage is never wantedjust craved so deeplywe learn to forget those who can’tslowly starve this knowing from hour to hour they die of being nice – inoffensive – suitable eventually rocking no boats they become becalmed on a read more

I cannot Be among strangers I cannot be among strangersI need an invitationto be redeemedand we all – all – must be redeemed free from sin we must bedelivered, pardoned and born againfrom not being allowedto not needing permission Space is essentialSometimes the slightest shift read more

It’s not your absence that pains me To Stuart It is not your absence that pains meit’s your presenceessence of Stuart everywhere. Like seeds in springyour daily deeds sproutand though you toil elsewherewild fruits fill my island world:that wall you built,those kindlings collected in old read more