Upon each tree hung with light,
cosmic fruits of love sway
beneath psyche’s soulful stars.
Over hill and silent shining lake,
a midnight journey of wonder
lights up this imaginal world.
Where stone, wood and water
naturally release reveries
to trees, who push their roots
down into swaddled dreamers,
offering the glow of intuition
and transformational symbols.
I dreamed of writing a poetry book all my life.
As I left home at eighteen with all my possessions in two carrier bags, tucked inside a blouse were thirteen of my teenage poems. Somehow I knew even then how precious they were, I knew they would help me, so I stored them away and added to them over the years. ‘Diaries’ I called them, diaries which documented my life should I ever find myself lost, alone and frightened again.
I am more than the name on my family tree.
This book is for you my loved ones and kindred poets on the road. I had the good fortune to find poetry or perhaps poetry found me as a teenager and without embellishment, on more than one occasion it has saved my life. Poetry has been one the kindest gifts I have received from this life, a love that runs deeper than all known. In the realm of the ancient Goddess I pay homage to my Muse.
Last night I dreamt I was a running stream with tumbling water
falling from my lips, and you, you were the hidden flower, a
compacted centrefold pressed deep inside my book of
hours, where an ancient summer burned and
petals scattered themselves, like soft
scented leaves, soaked in the
light of love that floated
across each page of
much I know: