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tiny poems

it's you
in the space between my hand and heart

i was thinking about the end of the world
when outside suddenly turned red
flaming through my kitchen curtains

it was only a car backing down the road -

.................... there's a simple explanation for everything
.................... there's a poem for everything too

I've met girls whose wings I almost see,
if not behind their shoulders then in their gaze
when they look up from flowers, novels, tears

the shape of you
is not the soul of you

she will leave a small flower
tucked into the dirty barbed wire

it's the best way she knows to save the world

there's a bird singing in the dark
it means nothing
it means everything
depending on what you want to hear

the tears you weep
were wept before
by women or forests
mountains or heroes
and have risen from sorrows
fallen from storms

you weep with the world

I want to remember I have a song even if it goes unheard
I have wings even if others can not see me in their sky

your words are flowers
pressed in my heart

flowers pulled from the river's edge
trailing roots and dirt
drenched flowers

you are not the poem I make to a wistful moon
you are not my oldest dream
you are not the song beneath my blood

you are you

the night is filled with rain.
there's such peace in a storm -
it's easier to breathe without empty spaces

the oak tree, hearing foresters,
hid its heart in a girl
with shy brown eyes, quiet feet,
and a book
held close to her own heart,
where only the most gentle of men
would be able to find it

I left my heart behind your smile

the opposite of love is not fear
but loneliness

every flower, every seed, is a wish made by the tree

she sat at the edge of rain
drinking tea, thinking poems

she wasn't waiting for the sun

there's a lot of talk lately about planets
but I'd rather know
what habitable places you have
in the darkness behind your own heart

the night relents but slowly, giving up first its stars
and then its dark; it lifts the sea
so the sky goes wild, water-coloured,
and birdsong sounds like shells riding a tide
and I, swaying into waves of cold wind,
weep for the night, the long fade of winter,
the dying (rebirthing, dying) god

its raining
the night is speaking my dialect

don't let it go just because it doesn't make you happy
maybe it makes you strong, or wise, or compassionate

I am no ocean
waves, tides
I am a woman who aches

it is enough


  1. I so love these <3 there is truly magic in your words, and music in your poetry

  2. many can be read as prayers, spoken as mantras... all are beautiful, thank you xx

  3. these are so touching
    full of the magic of life
    and you


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