He’s sleeping soft in sunbeam’s arms.
In basking, glowing features warm.
His stillness, but for gentle breath,
Belies the life that fills his form.
These hands reach out to tender touch
The warmth of him in soft caress,
But pause among the dust motes, so
To not disturb their lover’s rest.
For, asleep, he wears his pillow crease
Across his face where waking lines
The silent features of his brow,
On which the morning sunlight shines.
So peaceful lie his worries, tamed,
Serene allure in sunrise framed.


I never saw how small you were,
How birdlike was your frame,
I never saw those tiny hands,
How frail you became.

I never saw the sinking cheeks,
The papering of your skin,
I only saw the powerhouse,
The strength that burned within.

Yet now I sit beside your bed,
And watch you drift away,
I marvel at the life you’ve led,
And silently bid you stay.

It hurts to rise and leave your side,
To kiss you in farewell,
But in my heart your echo sounds,
Forever there to dwell.



Leaving Loved

Don’t go now
Don’t go yet
Yet you must
Yet you will
Will leave me
Will spirit hence
Hence my anger
Hence my tears
Tears for you
Tears for me
Me being selfish
Me who must let go
Go then softly
Go then gently
Gently wish farewell
Gently slip away
Away from pain
Away to him
Him who waits
Him your son
Son you lost
Son you’ll find
Find peace at last
Find peace together
Together we wait
Together we listen
Listen to your breath
Listen to your life
Life that’s leaving
Life now quiet
Quiet room
Quiet days
Days to wait
Days to share
Share the laughter
Share the memories
Memories that ache
Memories that sing
Sing the loss
Sing the love
Love is here
Love is here
Here with us
Here with you
You are loved
You are loved
Loved forever
Loved and leaving
Leaving …
Forever ….


For my Granny, for whom my world now holds it’s breath. 

Ego – an Overreaction

I cannot write a poem
for your wedding
and I’m dreading
the point at which
I’ll have to ditch
the spiel
about being honoured
and admit
I’m feeling bothered
by the whole damn thing.

It’s not that I don’t care;

I do.

But I’m not yet ready to share
and square
my words with you,
who, so quick to ask for
a poem of your own,
never asked to be shown
of my previous writing.

I have written poems for you.

The two of you,
who stick like glue
and live together in
your perfect love story.

I think you’d like to see them

and smile when they touch
on touching knowing,
tenderly showing
my love for you both.

But I can’t.

I won’t share my written soul
with one who reads
only to find herself.

I must not write
for your approval,
to earn validation
through my self-removal
from these poems that
were never
about you.

So please ask me
about my writing
and I’ll
delight in
the chance to
show you
the innermost workings
of my soul
but let that insight
be your goal.
And then,
you’ll know enough
to see
your self
reflected back at you,
through the story
of one who loves you.