Daughter of the King



True colours are seen

When you let the Light shine through;

Royalty bleeds blue


cotoneaster brilliance


Unless you’re crushed, you cannot be poured,

Unless you’re struck, we can’t hear your chord;

Unless you’ve bled, you can’t feel my pain;

Unless you freeze, your colours are plain. 


It is only after the frost that our world puts on a show. 

Hang in there – your best is yet to come….


Catherine Woodbury twins


Delicate, yes.

Weak, no –

veins that bleed

for the world to see

hold volumes, streams,

encompass galaxies

and implode with atoms,

redefine strength

by tracing survival

by heart

in colours too true

to be seen

unless by naked eyes.


True Colours


A flash of dizzying brilliance –

and rainbows arc and dance,

Science defying gravity.

Remove the Light,

and the mystery implodes;

a vortex of chaotic, gaping grief-space



falls by warped way-side.

But once rainbows are born,

first-born suns illuminate

the pain-place,

and Wounded walk,

painted in surreal stripes,


True Colours…