solitude in the woods

16 11 2018

GA8 2

Sculpture by Georgiana Anstruther

i am no longer afraid
not of beasts
nor the wild.
somewhere between Earth and
Heaven, i unfurled
my armour of feathered wings
to stand naked,
upright.
i will now inhale
the wind
and the winter.





a wild dance among the oak

9 07 2018

i have not yet left the forest

nor the woodland nor the trust

the wild dance among the oak

a force of light with sweet kinfolk

oh how we spun

dizzy in the sun

forward and back

bodies slightly out of whack

pleading with the bramble

in new acquaintance and great counsel

i surrendered upon a bed of ferns

and now my heart forever yearns

to weave inside a dragons nest

and honour heavens in my quest

with knobbly knees and twisted limbs

embedded in some ancient hymns

i am the wood, i am the oak

i am at one with new kinfolk





How to move from fear to creativity

2 07 2018

If you think about it, what is the one profession that wakes up every day trying to move us from fear to creativity – there’s only one – and that’s artists. That is what artists do. There is not a single other profession that wakes up every day with this mandate, with this obligation. –  Steven Tepper, Dean Herberger Institute for Design and the Arts





let water flow through our children’s veins

19 02 2018

bring back the forests

bring back the rains

let Kaveri flow





modernism is a psychic love wave, a big gush of sky breath

6 11 2017

words of Robert Montgomery, outside Hammersmith Town Hall

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one day anyone died i guess

20 06 2017

e.e. cummings poem, anyone lived in a pretty how town, is glued onto the door that leads to our living room. i’ve kept it there since we built our house to serve as a reminder of aspects of world, of our humanness, that we are often up against.

i first read the poem at the age of 13 and it broke my heart to imagine all the people–the anonymous, nameless, “Anyones”–who make up our community but live their lives unnoticed. i was uncomfortable with the suggestion that seasons change but our consciousness stays much the same. the possibility that children (once wise) grow up none the wiser. and that the cycle repeats over and over. i didn’t want to live in a banal world filled with carless Someones and Everyones.

but there is more to this poem. while certainly a reflection of much our daily ongoings, it’s beauty lies in the stanzas that follow, in the individual love that No-one has for Any-one; when Anyone dies one day, it is Noone who stoops to kiss his face.

despite the disregard of the town (larger society, the state, the government) Anyone managed to thrive in life through the individual love and compassion shown by another nameless, anonymous member of society, her name: Noone.

days before the Glenfell Fire, Philomena came to me with her eyes filled with tears and said, “I don’t understand why everything is normal again, why life goes on as normal, how people die but after a short while, we aren’t meant to be sad about it anymore… the terrorist-thing that happened in Manchester well it’s as if it didn’t happen since we watched the Manchester LOVE concert. and then Borough Market happened and that now seems to be over too. but in reality it isn’t over, i’m not over it, any of it.”

in the days after the Glenfell Fire, however, Philomena said to me, “at least this isn’t like the terrorism thing or when someone gets cancer, when you can’t help death from happening. at least we can prevent a fire like this from ever happening again.”

let’s hope we can. and in the meantime, i send my blessings out to all the Noones who have opened their hearts and reached out their hands to comfort the Anyones–all those who are striving to make this place a pretty LOVED town.  

in memory of those who have lost their homes:





Hidden Places

17 06 2017

there are still hidden places where man hasn’t yet made his mark – Salero