Saturday, May 31, 2014


Blue and white combined in delicate dance of decoration,
dusted by the day and years, held upon a flimsy shelf,
in a shop, lost down languishing alleys of the city.
I found you, long ago, entranced by beauty, shape and
feel, that magic sense of china finely wrought, by
unknown hands, fired, painted, glazed and then brought
forth to be displayed and purchased. But for what?
The shape a cradling bowl, womb-like with narrowed
source, rising to fulsome hips, made to hold, contain,
preserve, nurture, protect, encase, with a small
but certain lid, which settles into shallow depths of neck
and mouth, the breath and memory held for  your eternity,
and the contents imprisoned for mine, as the glue set
hard around smooth edges which once were free, but
now denied access, knowledge, revelation of that which
someone wished to hide. I could dissolve that glue, break
the seal, open up and then reveal, lay waste your truth
upon the world - but I will not. Secrets are a precious
thing and you hold one in the heart of yourself for reasons
beyond my knowing and in which imagination can hold
hands with respect and rejoice in the silent mystery. 

Form in its reality
may be much less than truth,
can begin to allow.

There is no death

There is no death,
just emerging
from material form,
with a shake of damp,
fresh wings of
remembering, and
a smile for the familiar,
the known and what
has always been, and
was, even in the time
of earthly forgetting,
held within the
cocoon of incarnation,
protected by the shell
of Self which caressed
for that brief time,
your eternal Soul.


Mind did make uncertainty within the image found,
as retina detected, connected forms  profound,
and roiled in raddled groping the world outside, beyond
in drip of paint perfected; there was no solid ground.

In shadowed shape dissecting the brush was absolute,
vision rolled ungainly, stripped the older proof,
and in the shifting moments revealed another view;
eye surrendered gracefully, endorsed a greater truth.

This week’s prompt is a image prompt featuring “San Antonio Riverwalk #1″, an art piece by our Issue 2 cover artist, Angela (Alex) Weddle.

Friday, May 30, 2014


To relinquish all desire
and with it mortal need-
so life demands surrender,
no matter how we plead.

Termites and trees

Termite creep, regurgitate,
in crumbling, crusted rise,
bark disguised, trunk vandalised -
creature conquers all,
yet life maintains in steady
growth, despite the parasite;
dusty coat, dour detritus,
which holds and does not fall.

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

Crystal moments

I captured crystal moments
and scattered them like grain,
liquid light was seeding;
creation born again.



Force of chaos  raised her knife
sliced like alabaster bread, soon
crushed, in hands of sobbing grief.
Disaster in the moment of a shaking
broken earth, where soil like molten
plastic did swallow people whole;
rent asunder,   dusty vomit spewed,
in graphic, ghastly demonstration
of nature's force and inner fury, as
earthquake  then did mine the
horrors of the broken, shattered day.

Drought and fire

Mallee seared in distance,
horse made sullen steps,
day hung hot and brutal;
cattle lost and spread. 

The rider drawn as image,
dark, leathered skin not seen,
arm high to shade his vision;
a world devoid of green.

In snap and drying rustle,
twig, branch and lifeless scrub,
movement in a song of death;
drought did slowly suck.

Heat held shimmered court,
beat of rising day,
where crucible confronted;
mortality displayed.

Inhaling slow and steady,
inferno's raging breath,
bush and man became as one;
nothing else was left.

Friday, May 23, 2014


Life  does often seek to manage mind,
where sanity demands another face,
and reason edits out discordant sound;
so is the heart embraced in mental vice.

Reality  becomes a ghastly, raging foe,
where thoughts fill  narrow ranks as demons,
defies the bounds of what we want to know;
hope on salted ground is surely leavened.

Insanity can hold the upper stony ground,
and mock from echoed distance all we are,
so do the angels hold out waiting hand;
salvation shines although its touch is rare.

Slant does twist the world of outer truth,
invokes that dance polarity to then ensure,
a mirror which reflects what is, as both;
in opposites,  all then revealed as pure.

Thursday, May 22, 2014


Rose and Forest, Watercolour, Roslyn Ross 2013. (c)

Why do so many find
change  so hard
and resist beyond
all measure, when
softening, letting go,
releasing, embracing
or just accepting,
can relieve so much pain
and take us further
than we might
ever expect?

Would we rather face
ruin than accept change,
and reject something
new and unknown,
because we fear that
which is not familiar,
and which offers
no illusion of certainty,
to clothe the dark
places which fear so
carefully constructs?

For many the answer
is yes, yes, yes,
until the Fates take
us in hand and no
longer guide us but
drag us, to where
we are meant to be
and where we are
called to be, and
where, the pain of
the strange, unfamiliar
and unknown, will
shape us more clearly,
as the fine-edged
knife of transformation,
is wielded.

If we said yes to
Change, more often
than we said no,
would life be more
of a wonderful
adventure, a journey
through exotic lands,
and places of which
we had never dreamt,
even if sometimes
they are nightmares?

Unless we learn
to say yes, we will
never know.


As time caressed the desert dust, spread as living dreams,
so did the camel pass through needle's waiting eye,
and in that crushed, deep driving force delivered;
so was the myth made manifest through endless sky.

Those archetypes did drift in resinous waiting sleep,
as clouds like trees did hold,  and lifted desperate branch,
so angels roused from idleness were gathered round;
hope flounced dress in shivers, fragile as mere chance.

Tight the Goddess wove her truth into material, managed form,
where words held close to number, brought reality to birth,
and Fate does know who then to kiss and hold in settled place;
across the ditch which keeps pure heaven from this earth.

Souls did sit in patience, sipping slow their  all-forgetting tea,
that cup of brew which would remove all knowledge of the cost,
the cloth of memory wiped clean, brushed that dark, forgotten door;
thought falls  quietly into the hole of deep unknowing, and is lost.

As Snow White opened wide thin, reddened lips to surely bite,
upon the apple Eve had thrown delighted, into the cosmic ring,
so did the future stir and hopes of incarnation begin again to foam;
Self held hands with Spirit, smiled at Soul,  as dawn began to sing.

Bastet: eye camel living
Barbara: resinous crushed driving
Rick: sky sleep trees
Viv: idleness hope hold
Debi: shivers tight fragile
Hannah: truth knows words
Christopher: ditch kiss tea
Jules: sit cup cloth
Irene: dark hole door
Misky: apple stains thin
Yousei: stir foam dawn

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

When two are one

'If ever two were one then surely we,'
those words do resonate across the years,
found long ago in written form, believed;
reflecting the deep truth we both do feel.

In meeting there was made relationship,
as if twin souls had found each other then,
and left behind the years of separation;
soul union sealed as everlasting friends.

The script has faded slowly over years,
words no longer clear as they once were,
and yet the meaning shines eternally;
Love is always clear and never blurred.

'If ever two were one then surely we,'
spoke volumes to us both so long ago,
blossomed in the time that we have had;
continue their rejoicing - endless flow.

Monday, May 19, 2014


 Watercolour, Roslyn Ross, 2012 - Forest and Distance.

Eternity does cradle slow in  forming fractalicious shape,

that dance of pure becoming wrought in silent, perfect steps,
and in the doing so creation does display and twist as minuet;
time holds out the baton, determines when there will be rest.

Within the cultured moments of the endless active hours,
there comes a perfect balance  then made manifest,  revealed,
in purpose calligraphed upon the heavens truth has wrought;
so then is meaning, purpose and intent no more concealed.

Slow breathing into being is the call from angels sung,
and trusting that the process will endure, forever moving on,
then does the mind of God incarnate in the material world;
so are we birthed to our becoming, whether short or long. 

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Who am I?


I gave you my love
and you held it so near.
I gave you my heart
and you held it so dear.
You gathered my laughter,
and stood by my pain;
a guard by my fear
till I joined you again.
But when I gave you my anger
you lowered your arms,
and stepped from my side,
as if fleeing from harm.
And you turned from
my tears, when I gave them
to you and they fell to my heart
and washed my love through.
What I wanted you see,
was to give you myself,
but when I had finished
removing all that,
you wouldn't accept,
then I couldn't find me.


To search within the almost seen, scramble in the mind,
to rummage through the coats of past, seeking so to find,
who I am and who I was and who I still might be;
so does love draw gentle hands across eternity.

Who was I then, who am I now, and who will I become,
so do the questions roll and taunt when certainty is gone,
and who I might have been, or could, has drifted on the wind;
so do potentials reach an end, before we can begin.

That morning when I woke in fear and huddled into Self,
as dreams and deep imaginings were tumbling from the shelf,
so then I saw in scattered wreck the tramplings of my heart;
and realised, that who I was, had never played a part.

And yet it had been written, this tortured, searching path,
which led from birth and on to death, as pure and soulful art,
for in the journey to become, to know and render true;
I learned the shape of  what was me, perceived, what was called you.

) Who are you and whom do you love?
2) What else are you, that no one has seen before?
3) Describe a morning you woke without fear.
4) What lingers when all is said and done?

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

Wings of life

Wings of hidden life did slow arise in night,
blackbird of mind's grief in sorrow flies,
and in the broken moment light can see;
eyes of time are dead and soul is free.

Wings blackbird life arise eyes broken moment light see, dead night free