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.














Mother’s Day

I remember the day that changed me.
You sat opposite,
Dad inbetween.
We each held a hand
And when the moment came, I looked at you
And I could see that your only thought,
In your terrible grief,
Was me.
Holding it all in,
For me.
And when, on that other
Dark day
I came to you, breathless with fear
You looked me in the eye and said
โ€œIโ€™m ok, lookโ€
And I did, and I saw
Such courage and such love that I have never known since.


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.