Ode to Spring

baby delphinium


Tentative stretches

Life stirs in winter’s graveyard

Corpses are reborn


O Murky Depths


O murky depths,

you mesmerize;

you pull me places

I despise.

Your vortex calls,

compelling sound –

but if I choose,

I need not drown.

Your siren song

is but a lie,

a quick-fix hoax,

a warring cry.

You seek to drag

me to my grave;

I will not bow,

or be your slave.

The Friday Called Good


Which of me is real,

and which is the hoax?

Lies parading as truth,

nightmares pretending to be certain,

make down look high

and sky resemble grave.

Just such a grave once swallowed the Truth,

spat on Hope,

beat Justice into submission;

my fists flailed Saviour,

my arrogance gripped hammer.

As Dark grew blacker still,

Light split its circumference,

and the worst Friday in history