The Memory Maker

I’m watching
the memory maker bleeding words
onto white cotton paper
from his dark quill of memories
sitting with a bow bent back
at the oak wood table of creation
stained by the lonely tears of history.
Seeing if
the candle of hope in his heart
dripping white wax onto dark ink
will survive the cold south wind
tucking at his old worn brown coat
touching the floor with a tenderness
from a distant time when all was new.

The Book of Emotions

The exhale of your sigh
ran the breadth of the desert
creating a wind to carry
gold, yellow and copper
pieces of sand
that whipped the letters
from the book of emotions
you dropped
at the oasis of alchemy
and blew them over my cheeks
in words of love and vulnerability
where I lay in the shade
of the tree of possibility
smiling at my stubborn refusal
to send them back to you.


Life breaks through fault lines
in wild acts of defiant rebellion.
It paints its wilful disobedience
in rainbows over the desert sand.
Dark cold and abandoned corners
swirling in flames of fiery passion.

Life builds bridges for the future
with the tearful bricks of failure.
It stubbornly refuses hopelessness
with bright green shoots in black ash.
Using its wounded bleeding hand
to rescue the broken dying man.

Life waits with imperfect silent wisdom
to create a perfect miraculous moment.
It builds a peaceful harmonious flow
in the chaotic rhythms of the savannah.
It refuses to be bound humiliated tamed
every time a new breath joyfully cries.