Scattered Rose Petals

All along the savage path marked out for Him
He lovingly, voluntarily
scattered the tenderest of rose petals
through His Heart pulsing messages of love for John
the re-creating of an ear
stopping to comfort His Mom
a gift of an image for Veronica
petal after petal after petal
all along His path of pain
petal after petal after petal
rose petals
dipped in Blood


there seems to be a rhythm
like rocking back and forth
while trying to launch yourself
into Double Dutch ropes
the pattern being so out of sync
with my own inner melodies

and as much as I want to play
it may be that I have something else to offer
something where the music would be drowned out
if I finally mastered the rhythm
of Double Dutch ropes

To Feel Your Pleasure

I want to feel the pleasure that You feel
when you create
Your dreams and imaginings
taking form
and dazzling You
spinning galaxies
crafting caves of ice and quartz and amethyst
breathing out jungles heavy with humidity and life
and the quantum realm
poised on the brink of endless possibilities

I want to feel the pleasure that You felt
when You first envisioned colour
and the myriads of all its variations
I want to feel the pleasure that You felt
when you brought forth sound
and called into being creatures
who would weave it into song
I want to feel the pleasure that you felt
when love first reached back to You

I want to feel Your pleasure

The Most Dangerous Gift

what a dangerous gift You have given us
this gift of free will
the freedom to break our own hearts
and Yours along with them

Divine Romances

At rest in His infinite essence
He still longs to be known
By us who are
so small
Because of this He courts us
Allures us
Reveals Himself among the fingerprints
of our own
so that we can identify with Him in our responses
to our daily lives
Such intimate
and sometimes below the radar
Allowing each of us to
dance with Him
explore Him
feel with Him
in romantic
co-created universes of


Relocation is a de-construction
a colour-void painting-over of memories
turning a home into a house
exchanging individuality for the status quo
and moving out before you have even left


Brought forth into the visible world
On the wings of an angel
She is guided by an echo sensation
Of being brushed by feathers
And so
She stays close to birds
In her childhood
In her adulthood
Then crafts a nest of her own
With little chicks who she shelters and
Reveals the endless possibilities
Of the sky
All while feeling
The energy-infused wings of a Phoenix
Stirring in her soul

Sister Phoenix

In the fusion of fire and tenderness
A lust for life erupts
Wings unfurl
Lift off into the Wild Winds of Change

And it is such a beautiful thing
To see your colours fill the sky
To witness your unparalleled luminosity
To watch you soar




I thought that the colour for menopause was pink
an anemic form of red
speaking only of femininity and romance
basking in what it is and
what it not quite is
I thought this was logical
seeing as it followed after the deep purple
of heightened sex
and the blazing orange
of hot flashes and fiery
storms of emotions leading to
life-changing decisions

But it’s not pink
after all

It’s red
deep and spicy and smouldering
what is released after the supernova of the ovaries
not an ending but
an accumulation of all of the lessons
and colours
now incorporated and
burned into the fabric of being
flaming still


Appreciating Silver

silver has dulled to grey
mixed with smears of the earth
still sleeping
while I wait for colours to wake
with every flowering shade
to enliven my sensory-deprived mind
yet all too soon it will over-stimulate
with shimmering waves of heat
thus renewing my longing for silver
to cool and soothe and captivate
before a settled restlessness
returns to agitate my bones

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