Following the heron

The Firebowl

My garden awakens;
buds and blossoms are peeking
the tender air hums and whirrs
with hungry bees that grapple
with fragile rims of 
white comfrey bells.

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Wild Horses

I have been artist, singer, dancer
I have spun stories and held gatherings rapt
I have served wonder on platters
I have lived on the edges and spoken with the fungi
I have crowed bear-breasted at the moon
I have writhed with breathless passion
and have grieved with utter abandon

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She is coming, can’t you hear her? Can’t you feel the tingle, the goose-pimples? She is gathering momentum, gushing over the black waters of the angry estuary, searing through the marshes, belly torn ragged by the dried winter grasses.

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For the Love of Schiele

This is typical me. I decide I need to go deeper on a subject, and then I take a big tangent – go off-topic and get a bit lost there… For the sake of some drawing exercises, I copied a drawing by Egon Schiele. I had first been confronted by Schiele’s work as a schoolgirl […]

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Leaving Facebook

This poem needs a little introduction. I’m two weeks in to a 30-day Facebook fast. Having realised that I have no ability to focus on any task for longer than an hour without having to check Facebook (serving as a distraction or as avoidance of difficult, deep work that I need to do), I knew that I needed to tackle my addiction head on.

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Reawakening my curiosity

I feel like I am awakening from some kind of creative stupor – a miasma of intellectual apathy that has been softly suffocating my creative curiosity. Granted, the poetry has flowed more generously for me, but I was floundering on what to do with my pencils and paints.

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