Mirrors can be lovers or enemies, phony or true. They can tell you what you want to hear or reduce you to tears. How do you know which mirror is accurate? I’ve always wondered about that.


Sparrows ride the garlic stalks like seesaws
Up and down and bouncing in the wind
One pecks pointedly at tidy flowers
Purple posies offering sweet seed

Some days I feel tough and like a stalk
Strong enough to carry you a while
Flex and bounce and bolster all your weight
While other days I feel so infantile

On rarer days I bloom and multiply
Those are days you ought to feed on me
Spread my seed with love into the wind
My purple posies offer sweet bounty


why do snakes seek sunshine?
they need it to survive
they love to hiss and bask in it
and kiss to stay alive
why do snakes like hiding?
i’ll tell you why they do
for nobody would have them
if they ever told the truth


in the grass
lies skull of fox
and one of sheep
both climbed high
upon the hill
yet one climbed steep
and each decided
where to stop
and where to lie
upon the grass
and where they chose
they lay to die

it’s good to know
the shape and form
of one’s own skull
where side plates join
the ridge and crop
and where the rocks
stud growing grass
to know its hull
and sense its husk
its blackest holes
and highest peaks
from which to view
the fields below
where river runs
a squiggly line
that splits square fields
inscribes bleached hulls
bisects wild skulls



How does one love a cipher, spook or fraud?
An incubus who wishes he was dead,
Yet penetrates his succubus in bed —
Such symbiotic nurture I applaud
How does one grieve the loss of an illusion?
Can one apply the real to the fake?
Twin vanishing, chimera, come awake!
Must I consume and purchase a delusion?
This thing was never real, was just a gist
Infection with such vaguery I purge
And cleanse all lingering of fantasists
It’s time to salve the lesion of this scourge
To dress and heal the wound that does exist
Rebuild, let light and good again emerge


bare roots and mycelium
spans of trees
with wrinkled epithelium
lungs breathe in and now exhale
weight me here

stormy skies and sun and spire
point up to the spirit man
cleanse our souls of muck and mire
root my anchor
drop me here

bare my feet and feel the soil
stand firm ground and find it solid
acquiesce the need to toil
sit me down
my home is here

Mother Gaia is on fire


Mother Gaia is on fire
In her womb it burns and twists
Her flood of blood our exit wound
We are haemorrhaging
Caia Caecilia, goddess of fire
Protector of women
And hearth of home, container of fire
(Element of Gaia)
Save us all by shrinking flames
Create a heart(h) for our home
Our Mother Gaia
Contain the flames
But let the fire fuel our fight
Let it stay in our hearts
But not destroy us
Our anger’s bright
Our anger’s the thing that fuels the fight

While Gaia twists in uterine torsion
The head of her baby is squashed and dead
The brains of our leaders no longer work
They protect the tumour instead of the source
High ranking socios, psychos and pimps
They dance with the devil
In the dark of the shadows
Strangers to light they wander blind
Like moles out of tunnels
Can’t see what’s right Read More



The day of loss-tinged love is here, but
we all remember
when we were whole, when
things were real, if only in hope, if only in heaven; I
remember when you moved
me with your gentle glance, your tight embrace in
strong warm arms, you
and me, just us two and
a return to the womb, the
return to spirit both holy
and relieved like a released dove,
pure white and reaching for sky, our union was
moving towards thin air, moving
ever upwards, as we must too,
out of the darkness and
allow the light to enter every
cool wide breath
every heavy deep plunge. As we
moved in sync I drew
you deep in my lungs like air and it was
like life, it was like Hallelujah.

A Golden Shovel poem based on the following lines from Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah (via Jeff Buckley’s version).

“But remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah”