The wounded sit in the sun

Applying salt and balms to wounds and to the leaches that puncture and drain and suck and creep

Removing them one by one

They are careful to find them all.

Those black worms that stretched themselves above the mire and down from wet leaves so they could launch and latch onto the warm blooded

They hide from the blazing sun as they lay in wait for the clouds and fog to impede the vision of their victims

The innocent thrash blindly and fearfully through the undergrowth

They may as well have waved a flag and harnessed themselves to a target

The enemy simply lay in wait

I remind myself to have patience and compassion for the innocent. They are the blind and the walking wounded

They shall see when they are ready

They shall heal after the firing squads have emptied their barrels and the Vampires have had their fill.



Eloquence and space will be required

For the innocent foolishly stumble through the mire and damp leaves that are laden with vampiric worms that would rather consume their victims as they live because they are impatient for their timely deaths.

They seek desperately with drooling mouths without care or compassion or kindness.

Their desires are for themselves only

Their victims discarded after they have had their fill

They seek out and return, only once the hunger reminds them that sustenance is required once again.

They hide from the sun and lie in wait for the fog.

This Little Light

A little art performance for you.

We don’t always shine at our best. It takes practice and self belief before we feel comfortable being us and challenging anyone who says otherwise. It’s ok to sputter and spurt before you become a blazing fire. Be kind to yourself, especially when the darkness feels overwhelming. You are valuable to this world as you are. You are the only one who can shine the way you do.

You are light.

The Recognition

I gaze upon those with whom I see as those who look like me

But as I stand to face them, and look into their eyes, I see things I do not recognise. Despite the skins they wear.

I peer into them as strange things.

Aliens and vacuous beings

The search begins to look into the eyes of those who carry the light

The light that shines the same as mine

The light I can warm myself with

So that not only do we look right together

But to also see into each other as equals

As one

As those who recognise each other as home, sustenance and pure energy.

The Performer

I am the fool and the wandering minstrel

I clap my hands and I play amongst the crowds

I wander around the grounds of palaces and scuttle through the alley’s and the gutters of the shanty towns

I am seen on every corner and on every stage

Thousands remember my face my charm my talent

I am flocked by the masses…..

But in the quiet and the silence at beginning or the end of the show

No one see’s who really sits behind the mask of the performer as he sadly wishes for a single one to love him when he sits there alone, silent and invisible in the darkened wings of the stage and before he emerges from the dressing room.

The New Moon 11/5/2021

I welcome you little stars as you shine the brightest this very night

I see you greater than you have ever been

As darkness surrounds you

This is the time you will be seen

Your greatest hour

The moon hides herself with intention

So shine gloriously

This night is yours

All are listening

The stage has been set

Stand together as a beautiful chorus of healing, love and brilliance.

As we navigate our paths by you.

We send you our love and gratitude for the honour you bestow

The Seated

People returned secretly at first

One by one, until they became a long line of seekers

They are those who are pulled by desires they do not understand

Remembering how abundance had rained upon them once

They remember tasting food from a table of foreign delicacies

They had secretly loved and wanted more of

But to their peers and to their allies

They pretended to despise the table

Choosing instead bland gruel lacking flavour, colour and nutrition

They turned up their nose at the foreigners

Their wisdom

Their skills

Their wealth.

They returned to their gruel, expecting to find satisfaction again as they had once before.

But they had to forcibly swallow and choke it down

They checked with the cooks

Who looked at them strangely – No one had ever complained before…

They added sugar

They added salt

They added cream

And although it helped a little

It did not satisfy

After all gruel is gruel

Boredom and dissatisfaction grew

And slowly, slowly

One at a time

They looked toward the foreigners and remembered how nice it had been

How fiery, satisfying, interesting and vibrant and warm it had been.

But pride held the loudest of those who had laughed, to sit with the gruel forever

But one by one, those who had secretly loved and desired the foreign table, visited the foreigners in secret

They sat at that table again so they could taste the riches and the wealth that they brought.

Knowing that by doing so, they would be forever changed and that is what they hoped for.

The Work

I see a mess

The garden is weed

Rocks sit as innocent as icebergs

They create infertility and broken backs

But there is no other space

And sustenance must be procured

One weed

One stone

One rock at a time

They must be destroyed



crushed or banished

It starts slowly


The overwhelm of where to start causes procrastination

But there is nothing to fear

You can start where you stand