On my knees


The voice I say I don’t have
gets too much airplay
The ears I do have?
Just painted on.
Twenty years since I lay in bed
listening. Your mouth moves
but I only hear the track in my head.

My needs scream, my energy penetrates
my desires demand, my desperation radiates.

When I hear you
I forget me.
I fear.
When I pay attention
I lose me.
I don’t want to hear.
I want you
to see me.
I want you to hear.

The tune, the harmony, of yours and of the world
would enthrall me.
If I would only let them in.

Tear the mesh from my face.
Cut the bonds that limit my understanding.

That I should speak,
But also
invite me
– often
not to speak.

Your story, your melody, your song
belongs here too.

I want learn how to surrender to your pretty air.



I built an island from my stuff, and at least once a week I dive under to check that it is all there and in good order.
The ropes are tied, everything is accounted for. I’m rich.
The deeps are intoxicating and sweet even though I am better off with plain old air to breathe.

I wake up one day, my face resting on warm sand, and hear voices in my head.
“I had to hoard, because you never know
if it’s a rescuer or a tsunami that’s around the corner.”
“Those pirates tricked me, said you can’t have too many pairs of shoes
and, girl you look good in the jacket with the epaulettes.”
“You can send me out an SOS, anytime. I sleep with my message bottle under my pillow – you should too.”

It sounds like nonsense. I can’t weigh up any more
whether it’s all worth drowning for.

Terrified, I abandon my island.
With every stroke I try to distance myself from my treasures
but the island threatens to drag me under.

The damn thing is still tied around my waist – by a shoestring.

My stuff can
in the middle of the night
My things
unhinge me
when I try to put things right
My possessions turned into obsessions –
first a chest of sentimental baubles and now a mountain of memories that will not set sail, even if I say I want to cut loose.

Without all this, who’d I be?

I’d be swimming to open sea
I’d be a dolphin,
I’d be free.
I’d be visiting all the four corners of the world, sky and me.

I was a grown woman when I faced my hydrophobia,
so I’m still a novice when I tread water.
I fill my lungs with useless things like:
Ditch the extra anchor, faster, we only need one!
oh no, where is that rope, I really need it now
how will we pay for the island taxes next month?
too busy with hurling sandbags into the ocean, I forget to enjoy my husband and my children.

We can’t be good at everything, and
minimalism can be an addiction.

Someone’s throwing me a life line tonight. A ship’s captain who steers his own vessel on the same course as mine and keeps close watch over me, says:

You know how swim. Go slow. Just throw the ballast overboard bit by bit.
It’s what little you have on your travels that matter,
not how too much you don’t.
Transform that old fear into a rocksteady certainty that you do manage to keep your head above water. You always do.

Help is on its way.

Then, he puts his arm across my chest, I let my head rest on his breast,
and he brings me and my island safely back to shore.

He helps me make a trapdoor.
Stuff and ideas I don’t need anymore
go through that hole in the floor.
I’ve got a telescope
and a periscope
where I search for hope
that I can master both my memories and some things
yet still be free to spread my wings.



It is in our nature
to breathe
So much harder
when you’re trapped inside;
windows closed, shut off,
the only air you share is
with whoever is there.
What if you can’t breathe out?
inhale inhale inhale
until you’re fit to burst
it makes sense to get it all out
I was a natural, once
at this breathing trick
but it seems I’m losing the knack
I’m running low
on expiration
and I can’t handle
How do I unlock
the cage around my heart?
No one said how hard it would be to start


PoemItNote #1


AllbymyselfI was doing a walking meditation, clearly not meditating, after I’d written this piece.

I think I would strike out the first appearance of “the place of”, as I don’t like it popping up twice in such a short poem.

It would then read:

All by myself
with you
As you drift to
your dreaming, your imagines
Each time
one more time less
I cap my wish to disconnect
and instead I rest in your
rhythmic journeying, every night,
to that other place

In my little town


In my little town
you let strangers in
by keeping the curtains drawn wide open
inviting their gaze
into where you live and eat

In my little town
you call it like you see it
by opening your mouth
exhaling all your words
into the face right before you

In my little town
you truly see each other
by looking with open eyes,
cycling by or walking
into the windows of their soul

In my little town
we announce to all who come
by, riding past our curtains – closed or open – of the
loving of our daughter
into existence and without.

Word barren


So you see, I’m at a stage in my life where I want to
Down size
Let go
Live lean
Be mindful
Buy experiences, not things
Remember – there is always just enough
I want to consciously consume
Have a capsule wardrobe
Feel that every little thing I own sparks joy and puts spring in my step
keep one shelf in my house absolutely empty
Remove the junk drawer
Handmake my skincare
Wear no cosmetics
Think nose to tail, organic
Or better, vegetarian
Better still, go vegan
Make from scratch
I’m on a path to minimalism

I stumbled across a barren word desert
I copywrote the fibres out of my song!
When instead I should be indulgent in my poetry
This is the one place in my being where economy should not apply
Words should spill over the edges and fall out of the sky
Letters should clutter and be left out to spoil

or transform

In my mind I can burn my words till they rise to a better place, water them, shed light on them and let them rot to dust where they make rich soil for new ones
Let there be lots of words
Stuff my head with them, until they spew out from my jaws and make my throat ache
Words can tumble and rumble
Coil and untie
Whisper and cry
Appear and multiply
They can pile on each other
Go in weird orders or combinations
And even be obscured
And become monsters or creations

It was a mistake to sweep them away
let them disappear
I cannot let it happen again, for fear

It will close my mind
Silence my voice
Tie my hands
Lock my heart
Block my ears
Dry up my tears

Words are the one currency
That can move
And words are free
I can use them till my very last breath
There are no limitations
When it comes to these monsters or creations
And while they might disappoint, or contradict
Surprise or cause conflict
Maybe reconcile, unhinge, unlock or unite
I can let someone else inside my brain
I can feel interconnected like an intercity train
My words may miss the mark, or hit the nail in the middle of the eyes
Each word has a beginning and each word a last letter
I must let my words be born, breathe life and love into them


Words are my children
Like my genes, I can pass them on – but with one extra quality


A poem from my body


Hey! You fed me a negative thought
But man, I was so hungry for your attention, that
I took it, and I grew it
That’s how you trained me

A catch, a tickle, a thirst
An ahem, a bark
No meditation for you
Cough up, until your lungs flop out and your chest feels raw

Breathe fire, I can make you do anything

No rest for you
I interrupt your air
I make you think about it
I double back on you and let uncertainty creep in

And still, you feed me
You feed me
Every minus, un-, non, and doubt

Wait a minute, the energy here in this room is strong
You feed me a little more
But it’s neutral;
Maybe it’s positive.
Whatever it is, it is still.

We’ve lost our appetite for negativity, and grief.
Together we can lift this up, turn it around,
turn it back outside in.