On the Way to Nowhere

Aimless so it goes

Winding up the path to nowhere

With trips and tricks on the way

But no regret I feel instead

Aliveness in my step

I know this way, I’ve passed before

So ever aimless I will remain

With eyes wide and soul set free.

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You maker, you shaper, you mover of things

I hear all your voices

whispering to trees, telling lies to the hills

 hollering down valleys and screeching your name

you tickle the funny bone of my barn

and rattle this house

poking and punching like a 9-year old boy

you’re constant, forever, but nowhere to be seen

hands-free sculptor of fame

go on, go on screeching your name

                                         – Kristi



Can you see the waves behind my eyes
The deepest blue sea inside
Toing and froing like the tide
Washing my beach clean time and time and time again

                                                                 – Kristi

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Mountains to Climb

I dreamt of your crashing beauty

hugging the sky and reflecting silver

a crush of longing

chased by a tumbled knot of emptiness



Speaking of Wrong and Right

Speaking of Wrong and Right

Voice pushing to be free

Speak out out out speak speak out


Tongue cut out and gagged on blood

Spit out out out spit spit out

Stomach burnt and twisted

Mind follows suit

Beaten and punched down

Heart still beats, still pounds

Brain still dreams and knows

The difference between wrong and right

Restitch the tongue


Heart beats beats beats heart heart beats

Orvieto Face


Liar, Liar

My words for the current affairs…

Liar, Liar

 Liar, liar



bullshiter for hire

“poor me” crier

sink in the mire

liar, liar, pants on fire



Spritely spirits speaking in whispers

Tiptoe by below my open bedroom window

I hear the laughter in their footsteps

And long to join them bathing in the moonlight

Skipping across the yard

They stop to say good evening to the three ladies in the cottage

Then continue on into the veiled night


The painting above is Midsummer Eve (1908) by Edward Robert Hughes. It was a source of inspiration for my poem “Visitors”.


Freya’s Wrath

Freya's eyes (2)

Dark and lanky

Glossy sheen of a cover model

A slinking stretch inviting touch

Beware the wrath

Glinting white and sharp

Freya's Wrath


Morning Visitor

Late last week there was a gentle flutter at the door. I opened it to see what was in store. You landed with your leaf litter guise. What a beautiful good morning surprise.