Thursday, February 26, 2015


Life births itself in rampant possibility,
seeds of probabiliy blown wildly free,
adrift on raging winds of pure potential,
so is our destiny laid out for none to see,
but left within imagination, what might be,
and so we walk, not seeing; experiential.

Monday, February 23, 2015

Where love lets go

Time stood still and called you out,
demanded that you stay and listen carefully,
that reason might then sure and truly see,
we had cause to bring an end to doubt,
and so ensure the future stood this bout,
of pure destructive power, you and me,
wherein relationship we now did drown;
with you revealed as thoughtless lout,
and I as helpless victim in your power:
your choice to set me sure and truly free,
gift liberation from these stormy seas,
that both of us can find some other path,
to walk through life without eternal chains,
where love lets go, releases both our hearts.


Sunday, February 22, 2015


In those places not born of experience,

nor sourced in cellular imaginings,

remembered as soul food consumed

by ancestors, there is a way of holding


to the edge; of standing, observant and

not immersed, watching the oceans of

mind, roll and turn in waves of new

understanding, and becoming; always


apart, never able to enter into the

river of life in the same way as those

who have suckled at the teat of Africa,

those who have wiped dust from hot


brows, slapped at deadly mosquitoes

in the night, licked clean the plastic

bowls, of the last, drying crusts of pale,

inadequate, but desperately devoured


maize; drawn in flimsy buckets, dusty

water, to slake deep thirst; stacked in

neat and ordered collation, dry sticks

for the fire, dipped wet hands in mud


to caress bricks into life, birthing the

hut which will hold off the worst of

 the drenching, thundering rains in

the Wet season; crept through dead,


crunching cornfields, to capture small

confused mice, which can be threaded

on sticks, stewed, roasted or grilled, to

be sold by the side of the road, or eaten


as a treat, and a respite from the boiled

greens and glutinous Nsima which

holds off death, even if  it does not give

Life, in those ways which so many others


take for granted, those who can only ever

stand and watch, never truly knowing

the depth and breadth of this being;

never touching the heart of darkness.


Roslyn Ross


Are you there for me?

Are you there for me, connected
in that unseen world of caring,
where love flings light but
powerful threads, out into the

unknown? Are you there for me,
even when you are far away,
and distance divides us, time
separates and flesh is denied

your presence? Are you there
for me, even when we do not
speak, for months at a time,
and yet, my heart holds you

close and tender? Are you
there for me, even when we
disagree, and the bonds
stretch tightly in anger and

in grieving? Are you there
for me, even when we no
longer understand each
other, or have forgotten

what we had? Are you there
for me, when life sets you
adrift, on a new journey, to
unknown lands where I can

never follow? I do not know
the answers to those questions
and can only say, in silence,
I am always there for you.



Perched on post of reason,
by river of desire,
hope's petals floated delicate;
uncut, the soul did sigh.

In helpless held imagining,
tiny love did rise,
that yearning for your touch;
forever now denied.

Reason then did raise itself,
umbrella of the mind,
protecting from insanity;
dreams then full declined.

Friday, February 20, 2015


Nights imprisoned in barbed imaginings,
horizons held in the realm of dreams,
searing fear and pounding hearts with
every knock, or unknown echo, hollow

in the long, breathless darkness, where
possibility weeps in crippled corners,
and nightmares huddle on edges of
mind, whispering in brittle, razor-edged

tones of what might come to pass; running
relentless images through endless reels
of thought, turning, over and over again
in tangled moments and maybes, lives

lived once, or not yet known, woven tight
in scramblings of horror; plaited into
greasy place, against pale, bloodless
cheeks, where warm tears course down,

beyond the place of hope and reason,
into pools of deep helplessness, where,
past, present and future become as one,
and that which had been left behind, was

now, a newly dressed reality, in a land
far beyond home, where bleaker truths,
stood waiting on bleached beaches, and
boats lay broken in useless torment.

Thursday, February 19, 2015


Content we are
in time and life,
that peacefulness
of mind, illusion
of deep certainty,
to satisfaction find.

Sober sit the
angels, pondering
our world, free
to cast asunder,
that we can evolve.

Content we are
in time and life,
that peacefulness
of mind, illusion
of deep certainty,
to satisfaction find.

Wednesday, February 18, 2015


Spread of scented petal,
dance of leaf and stem,
song of riot colours;
so do flowers begin.

Elegant in mystery,
deep in hidden soul,
healing in capacity;
floral gifts unroll.

Redolent the perfume,
myriad in smells,
source of pure medicine;
so we can revel.

Stories in the telling,
symbols held aloft,
each unique in planning;
for so little cost.

Grace in the revealing,
pure the sap devised,
delighting all the senses;
love as plant comprised.

Tuesday, February 17, 2015


So often we fear death,
when yet, there are those
days where life has drawn
blinds and closed curtains,

to render dark the minutes
imprison cold, chilled, endless
hours, and then, suddenly, the
ear listens more carefully for

the knock of the reaper, wishing
it would come sooner and bring
an end to torment; halting the cruel
echo of grief, silencing the tapping
fingers of memory; cutting loose

at last, the mortality which feels to
such depth of being, imprisoned
in flesh and weeping blood; but it
does not happen like that....


Sunday, February 15, 2015


When the world unravelled
in the earliest times, through
bright, sunny mornings of
childhood, and beckoned ever

onwards, as if life would
climb eternal, the mountains
which rose in mind, and
wander down into endless

valleys of possibility, where
expectation skipped along
with hopes, tap-dancing on
mirrored bitumen of meaning,

traversing all the bridges of
becoming, resting by the sides
of imaginings, never seeing
let alone nearing the horizon,

then, there were no boundaries
of being, no endings of people
or of circumstance, for all was
forever possible, in that birth

of Self, and it is only, as the
days dawn later and the nights
close more quickly, that we
realise living must be done in

the now, and not the future;
that what was and what might
be, have no solid ground on
which to stand and smile.




The cue was given cosmic,
it held to soul's new track,
the angel did administer,
a saintly salve to act.

Within the life eternal,
that crack in vested time,
to wrestle memory empty,
so is our world sublime.

Seconds fell like pebbles,
upon the road we walked,
science of self was tested;
purpose then was sought.

Saturday, February 14, 2015


Flesh made breath
as mind eternal.

Describe your life in six words.

By the side of myself

I sit, by the side of myself,
listening to the slow breathe
of grief in my body, watching
the pain, like some wounded

animal, curled into itself,
waiting to heal or to die,
counting the beats of heart,
remembering now and again,

to feel the sense of flesh,
sense the feel of being,
hold to the hope of new life,
held to the life of new hope,

knowing only that there is
no more than the moment,
and the quiet, still place of
loss, where, in the crept and

hidden corners, sleeps, the
truth of what once was,
dormant, silent, unknown;
and yet impossibly real.

Friday, February 13, 2015

Chinese whispers

Words did find their way without,
soon set sail and drifted on,
pushed by winds and many mouths;
tossed by waves in distant realms.

From the port where form was made,
stopping then so many times,
taking on new cargo as they went;
changing with each fall and rise.

When at last the journey's done,
what arrived was something new,
born through storms and heavy seas;
the truth now lost in heady brew.



There was a time I thought I knew,
when what we had was surely true;
and yet the links seem so frail
that you, I now so barely even  know.

What has brought it all to pass,
this rift so deep, truly dark
which yawns between us now,
and makes the world so stark?

When did the demons do their work,
to suck your love, to never shirk,
destroy connections heart had wrought;
stamp deep our bond in evil's dirt?

There was a time I thought I knew,
the fate our angels deeply drew,
but now I see it all destroyed;
fidelity made deathly, bitter brew.



Cast the moment singular,
dash the days to dust,
fling the weeks asunder;
hurl the years at last.

Cast the grief eternal,
pitch the pain to night,
sling the tears infernal;
toss the heart aside.

Cast the Self in darkness,
throw the Soul away,
hurl all hope to heaven;
hold to minutes brave.

Cast the mind to memory,
let the Fates decree,
press the shape of sorrow;
let the angels weep.

Monday, February 9, 2015

Sound of sorrow


The sound of sorrow echoed,
to burst the seal of pain,
emit the song of grieving;
so is the Soul remade.

The wound of loss does fill,
glass of mind displayed,
another moment honoured;
instill new life betrayed.

The Self so then does tumble,
wrapped tight in fear's fleece,
to fall upon the here and now;
so do we find new peace.

Thursday, February 5, 2015


Desire is birthed innately,
struck deep in cell and blood,
pure appetite for living;
destined to be known.

In shiver of pure time,
the soul excites, becomes,
as life does shake its being;
Self made, the work is done.

In passing years and moments,
the surge does wilt at last,
turns limp through steady aging;
and so our time is past.

Wednesday, February 4, 2015


White world, ice-world, frozen
in that place of wintered becoming,
held and hidden beneath chilled
coat; chaos, darkness, delight

sit silent and expectant, waiting for
the thaw, the melting away of icy
shawl, revealing, what was, dripping
with the remains of liquid memory;

sighing at the touch of forgotten sun,
remembering the sensations of
being free, of stretching into smiles
of warmth; released once more to life.

Sunday, February 1, 2015



Day did spend its minutes,
spread the hours around,
race the moments honoured;
rescue hidden ground.

Night did cloud the mind,
ticking through the dark,
measure of our dreams;
host as truths impart.

Life did state humility,
pressed the soul to learn,
patron of eternity;
so the spirit yearns.