Space

and it wasn't until
a gust of salt wind
struck the stiffened jaws
of my pinched face,
that I even knew
I was stuck

in a small, tight room
I had made my home;
unopened windows
now open,
billowing lungs
inspired to purge
and stretch
into the divine aroma
of a long breeze,

converging eddies
in deep pools,
wind and water
leave veins of salt
and empty riverbeds
exploding
with a passion
to breathe,
to feed life,
to live, and
to live well.

Consumed

all your life
you were consumed
by the fire
that raged on
in your embossed veins
and engraved breath,
now turning
its one-pointed gaze
to light up
and consume
your mortal form.

Be Careful!

'Be careful!'
I hear voices,
sometimes inside,
sometimes outside -
a fearful anticipation,
an unwelcome arrival,
a harsh denial,
that jars the present
and pickles a spirit
that doesn't want to hide;
'be-care-full'
is the voice
I choose to hear -
one voice,
soft and firm,
for each step
into the magical darkness
that I pour myself into.

Canvas

dip into
the silent palette
where
all colours
are born;
dream of
the exquisite
emptiness
of magic
and serendipity;
and then
with a swish
and a nonchalant twirl
of your steady breath,
let your hands speak
the strokes
that dance
in your veins,
your cells,
your marrow;
when words
sketch the dreams
of a dancing
singing heart
who's learned
at last
to listen
to the call
of a changing cosmos.

Passion

Passion is
a gurgling spring
on the brink,
ready to burst forth
and give of herself
to the whole of life.

Passion is a life-force -
the genesis of purpose,
the well spring of desire,
the undying flame
of hope and revival,
to thrive
in the sacred
web of life.

Passion is
to set yourself
and the world
on fire;
to breathe fire,
walk with fire,
through fire, and
into abundance.

Passion is love
on the edge
of being
made visible.

The Weaver

An old man sits crouched
behind an ancient loom,
his beady eyes gleam -
stardust caught
in thick black frames.

A mystical pattern
of warps and wefts
weave through his eyes,
and into his fingers,
dancing to pick up threads,
infusing them
with a heady mix
of love and passion.

A myriad connections,
trimmings
and intersections.

Trails of stardust
weave their magic
to keep us warm and safe.

Passion

a sliver of green
peeps out from
the dull brown loam,
a buxom rose bud
is kissed open
by the warm winter sun,
a monarch butterfly
emerges from
its self-imposed prison,
passion -
the life-force,
bursts forth, unbridled,
from the depths within.