Crooked, Small was ushered in,

Crooked,  Small grew crooked skin;

Crooked, spine housed crooked soul,

Small saw Straight, desired Whole –

Crooked, Small bowed low to Great,

Crooked, Small lost crooked weight;

Small now grows in rescued bark,

Reclaimed wood, destined for Ark.

Your Time to Season

Your time to season has had its season,

your useful bits have now long gone;

you struggle to rhyme without your reason,

the line in the sand has been overdrawn.

But in your structure, I see a spark

of a cunning, active, tactile mind;

your sunset days will leave their mark,

in beauty you’ll rest, when life’s resigned.


These chives have lost their primary purpose – and yet, in their decline, they are still beautiful. ┬áDon’t you agree?

Raise Your Eyes

Raise your eyes, little one.

Own no shame

for what your world has done –

battered and bruised,

torn, shattered, forsaken,

you hold within your bosom

the ultimate treasure.

Let go, little one.

Let the seeds borne through

heat and drought,

flood and famine,





Your beauty has faded,

but your heart will live on.

The seed planted in you

has been multiplied

like loaves and fishes;

your sacrifice

has purchased



raise your eyes to heaven,

where your seeds

will settle like dew

as angels reap

what you have sown.