Twenty-seven year bore

Ma, I’ve seen these dreams before,

from afar and terrifyingly up-close.

Seen them lived, shaken and faked,

fought for and perfectly dead;

their safety, their surety, their script

their sanity, their reality, their conceit-

I’m sorry but it’s been nothing more

but a twenty-seven year bore.


Even the truths of prophets

become unremarkable wrongs

if the taste of their proving has been

left unsavoured for long.


So when the hurricane comes flying by,

I will  get swept along,

to relearn every meaninglessness

to turn their rubbish to gold

and the weight of everything forgotten

drags me to the centre of earth.


I will return swimming in wounds

just to assure you

that, the thing we both secretly wondered about

is really true.


Photo - Jimmy McIntyre

Photo – Jimmy McIntyre


I am my mother’s wild future

I am my mother’s wild future,

her lost longings breathing in being,

woken from her ocean’s abyss,

trembling to thundering possibilities,

stolen from her eternal sleep;

dreams to abandon, to fall away,

to scatter as wild as the stars may.

This is why I’m her daughter –

her worldly obsession-

that she circles mystified, cautious,

abashed and ferocious,

because with every step I take she learns

that, I know the path to her secret garden.