I have always used the written word to explore ideas and gather in my thoughts; sometimes these can be longer pieces of prose, but more recently they seem to appear as poems that arrive almost fully-formed.

They feel like blurts … so that’s what I call them!

Words

An Invitation

(The River Calls)

Sticks in hair

And mud on skin

Gifts and treasures found within

Eyes turned skyward

Soothes the soul

Return to oneness makes us whole

Tear stained cheeks

And smiling face

Gently leaning into Grace

Peaceful wandering in the wild

Our ever loving

Own soul child

Moving onwards, come to know

Meet at the River,

Join the flow

Ode to a Crow

Oh Mr Crow

We thank you so

‘Tho much maligned

(which is unkind)

Once souls move on

To life anew

You flutter down

And take your due

Recycling discarded shells

You keep life’s cycle

Turning well

Garden Magic #2

Sandy, loamy, soggy clay

Find a garden

Go and play

Get that dirt

Beneath your nails

It is a balm

For all that ails

Sowing seeds

And tilling earth

Coppice wood

To fill the hearth

Growing veg

To fill your belly

Feels more worthwhile

Than watching telly

Planting flowers

Of every hue

Connects us to

Our nature true

So if you’re bored

Nothing to do

A garden somewhere

Waits for you

To co-create

And get involved

Whilst re-connecting

With your soul