The Path (a poem)

I can’t find the path
All I can see is snow
Tall thin trees crowd in, block me
Twigs catch at my coat
Ice conspires to slip me up
As does fear

I give up and find another path
One made of dirt
More grounded
It doesn’t go far
I scramble through and up and over
Discover human artefacts
Evidence of existence

I head back Read More

New Year (after Rimbaud)


The sorrows of loss and
of times past collide with the
shock of the new.
We measure the year
review what is trailing
behind through thick mist
of sentiment that drags
us back to the
days we’ve squandered. Comforting folds Read More