When the moment comes, will you see me, know me?
When the moment comes, will my soul rise within me?
When the moment comes, will time bend in on itself?
When this moment comes, will it reveal the me to myself?

Words fail me and I become a child, speechless.
My soul awakens and rises within me, fearless.
Love explodes within my heart, a warm fire glowing.
The real me but a red oak seedling, but growing.


How many countries must I leave
How many religions must I abandon
How many masks must I remove
How many people must come and go
How many times must the heart break
Before my I is naked enough

The sun always rises and sets
The waves forever crashing on the seashore
The galaxies speeding through the ever expanding universe
The cycle of life, birth and death, goes on perpetually
The moon continues to wax and wane without question
Maybe so it will be with the unraveling of me to become the I am.

The Beast

He had been running from the beast his entire life, yet was still caught by surprise when it dawned on him that it had already caught up to him.

The bitter and endless coldness that spread through the marrow of his bones the sign that the beast had finally sunk it’s teeth deep into his soul.

So profound was the coldness that it drove out all feeling warmth and emotions ahead of it, like a sponge being drained of water.


I remember the mountains of Africa where I use to seek my God in prayer, my face to the ground and my knees on the sharp rocks.

I swore I heard his voice in Jerusalem as I walked the streets of the old city, my heart open and my faith as big as the love I felt for Him.

In London, I felt Him guiding me along a very narrow line, my hope the flame that guided me when darkness wanted to overwhelm me.

In the Great Southland with its emerald city I looked for His people to be my new home, my kindness and generosity the treasure I bring.

The treasure spent the only voice I hear echoing in my hollow heart is my own, my god my creation is no more and his silence absolute.

I’ll pray a prayer to me. I’ll listen to my voice guiding me along the wide and winding road, my strength and generosity my hope my love for me.


Stumble, stumble ever forward
Tumbling, tumbling ever down
Darkness as thick as molasses
Clinging with unseen hands onto me

Swirling, swirling the fog dances
Taunting, taunting without words
White shadows haunting like ghost
Jumps at me with snarling teeth

Lost, lost wandering confused
Stumbling, stumbling through life
Memories like old movie reels
Looping against the walls of my mind

Crying, crying the leaves weep
Groaning, groaning branches bent
The forest engulfs like an old jacket
Covering but the cold creeps in

Then light shining, shining through
Rising, rising the sun breaks the fog
Hope leaps forward like a dear
Darting, escaping the dark hunter

See Me

There is a song, a melody my heart plays.

If you can hear it, if you can comprehend it,
then you will know me.

There is a story, a fable my mind creates.
If you can read it, if it speaks to your
then you will recognise me.

There is a poem, a rhyme that my lips whisper.
If you can understand it, know it’s meaning
then you will hold me.

There is endless treasure, riches that is in me.
If you can see, understand, know it true value,
then my soul will enfold you.

If not, beloved stranger,
My song, my story, my poem
goes on.
Reaching out with unseen hands to the ones that will.

The River

Down the centre of the borderlands, in the no mans land between what we believe we want and what we truly desire, runs a river.

It’s a river of revelation of purification and discernment, in which everything without a true anchor will be swept away into oblivion.

Its waters softly whispers deception, bringing confusing, testing the strength and the clarity of our professed and heartfelt needs.

Sending torrents of water to engulf us as we cling to the anchors of our so-called hopes and dreams, the things we believe might sustain us.

When waters turn so cold that it burns our skin like a fire, shooting pain into our desperate fingers as we cling onto the securities we built.

In the moment when relief comes, believing it is all done and tested, the demons of our worst fears attack from the dark depths below.

In the pain and exhaustion, we release, we let go but are held as if by a supernatural force, the anchor of our true unburdened beautiful selves.


What is hope if it is not the creative force of the universe contained within a seed.

What is the power of creation if not a single thought contained in the artist mind.

What is love if not the simple acts of kindness extended in complete unawareness?

What is joy but the act of recognising the simplistic wonder of being alive in the moment.

What is gratitude if it is not seeing the beautiful mosaic of life being build one moment at a time.


In the pale moonlight of my melancholy I walk these shores.

Where the waves of your beautiful mind crashes over my soul.

Turning dark sand into sparkling diamonds dancing in the night.

Your words a twirling mist, creating shapes and streaks of joy.

I could easily wrap myself up and disappear in this cloak of peace.

Let the ocean that is you throw itself over me and hide me from myself.