I saw a tree cut down today
its remains cast aside to fade away
young branches a fresh lush green, decorated with buds
their youthful beauty now covered with mud
and as I looked at them they resembled me
those leaves my dreams never meant to be
but like those leaf-buds I ignore the pain
and put my hope into the rain
to sprout some roots, grow and transform
to become a tree unwavered by storm


A Writer’s Confession

Nothing infects me more than hearing you speak about your work.
Or the silence you express when you review yourself.
Your eyes transfixed onto your art, no interruptions welcome,
no phones, no words.
Your eyes speak so much truth, reveal your love,
conveying what’s going on inside your mind.
Your perception so exceptionally yours,
fuelled by experience and that hunger to be nothing but yourself.
Your dedication visible as you focus with a director’s eye,
the smile that follows sparking mine.



My soul is aching for you, my love
it lifts me up and hurts so much
the thought of you, your passing smile
the lust you bring, joy and denial
At night I toss and turn for you
call out your name, a lover’s fool
in dire hope to find you there
between my sheets, asleep and bare
not just a shadow from my dreams
a hopeless crush, or so it seems