Meditation During a Storm

Tyres rolling against tarmac.

My anxious heart.

The wind provokes something that has come loose on the roof,

the single beat of a drum, rising up against the symphony.

Drum beats against drum against heart.

A satisfying syncopation,

transforming the beats into something familiar,

a name and a memory

which, upon recalling, comforts.















When it rains in spring I imagine the water seeping into underground spaces,

little pockets of hope where seeds wait, wanting.

We are not quite enough just yet.

But with these few atoms and the tilt of the earth

we slide into existence, all vigour and vitality,

We emerge and for a moment we are prefect, potent, potential.


It waits at the end of dread,

that path I tread

each year.

and each year I said

I would no longer dread.

That I’d give it a miss

I’d no longer kiss under that parasitic branch.

Yet here I stand,

puckering up

with a fear in my gut

that my life is a sham,

that all that I am

for the rest of the year

is a careful facade

for although I try hard

I always end up

in line with the rest

of the herd

and at best

I’ll utter a protest

an unheard request

that we pass it by,

but a lovers sigh

is hard to deny.

and so at the Plain of Lethe

I arrive

born again, renewed,


to traverse the year

oblivious to

the ineluctable path

that will lead me

to you.