Tuesday, 24 January 2017

“We are living in what the Greeks called the kairos—the right moment—for a ‘metamorphosis of the gods,’ of the fundamental principles and symbols. This peculiarity of our time is the expression of the unconscious human within us who is changing. Coming generations will have to take account of this momentous transformation if humanity is not to destroy itself through the might of its own technology and science. So much is at stake and so much depends on the psychological constitution of the modern human.” – Carl Jung

Saturday, 8 October 2016

wrapped and rapt in the fire of purification and you, unprepared for the gift of me raw and undone, i see you. you who is he, she, me. be not fooled by the smile. i see you.  behind the masks, beneath the skins, emerging unwavering, growing upwards and out of the fertile earth of your self. i think maybe you are a bolt of light. come closer.

Sunday, 25 September 2016

of honey and wounds

"like a snake, my heart
has shed its skin.
 i hold it here in my hand,
full of honey and wounds."

~ federico garcĂ­a lorca


Tuesday, 23 August 2016

to clench and release.

to touch the skins of the world
then push down deeper
to the wet coils at the edge of the centre
and realise that it and they
hold the answer
to every question you ever had.

place your ear
to your own heart.


a relentless thank you.

Sunday, 14 August 2016

a time not for promises,
but intentions set.
an expansion
into the inner realms,
for nocturnal stirrings and spectres
and fathoming what it all means.

if not fathoming,
then giving it all meaning.

a recalibration of sorts.

possessed always
with a forever love
of doorways and thresholds.

the garden of the body
stands poised and lightly rooted.
intent. ready
to place one foot in front of the other.

holding gentle in one hand
and might in the other.


the physical manifestation of emotions
along with the image of water
folding and crashing in on itself.

the knowing
of what is precious
and holding it safe.

no matter what.

the labour of my love.

there is a golden vein threaded through us all

I hold my light above you and you become
a composition of gold and shadows.

my dream self has thorns
growing from her abdomen.
frightening and painful.

still to flower.

but the dark lifts
and spring comes.


Wednesday, 3 August 2016

protective second skins in various forms hide our edges so as not to make others uncomfortable, they conceal the landscapes of the body's hidden geographies where memories are preserved in epidermal layers the way rocks hold their histories and most days the rib cage fluctuates between resembling the walls of a garden in full bloom and the bone frame of a home haunted by shadows.....


the outline of the scapula
mapped by fingertips tracing
those armoured remnants
of where your wings used to be,

protecting now your arms
spread wide
rendering the heart vulnerable,
unveiled, exposed,

and therefore you