They call the wind—behind the bars,
Tortured souls with countless scars,
Their sky holds no real shining stars.
Life’s bizarre, life’s bizarre.

They call the wind—can no one hear?
The fearful whispers creeping near,
The grief of children, sharp and clear.
Free us of fear, free us of fear.

They call the wind—once, twice, and thrice,
Men and women paid a high price
For cruel spirits cold as ice.
Chase out the mice, chase out the mice.

I should have known that times were tough when I turned against my poetry
When I turned against the only language I know
To speak in one that I could not understand.
I learnt his native tongue of vile words
With a nasty accent
And a curdled, scrunched face
And still, I wasn’t heard
So not only did I lose my language
I lost my voice and myself

As I begin to slowly emerge
from the depth of my emotions.
I am very much
like a safe
that has been closed
and shuttered
for a long period of time.
Some safes
open with a key.
My safe,
the safe in my mind,
required more than a key.
My mind required a specific code,
one tailored for my needs.
Once I had that code
the combination needed
became clear.
As I sit here
today,
I now have a combination
which works for me.
I am working
on this combination

Deep within the forest's heart, where whispers softly speak,
Stands the mighty Twin Oak, resplendent and unique.
Its roots run deep in earth's embrace, like kidneys pure and strong,
Filtering life's essence, in the dance of nature's song.
Its trunk, a steadfast column, the spine that bears the load,
Uplifts the weary branches as they lighten every road.
The branches stretch like arms to hold the sky's embrace,
With leaves like fingers, tender, caressing air and space.

I spoke to the Universe.

"I have faith in You," I said.
"You are wise and I am oh, so small."

I nestled in grass near a wandering brook,
wanting nothing more than its sounds to hold me.

"I am the messenger," it sang. And I listened,
falling asleep as the day passed around me,

the sun, rising then disappearing. The moon, the stars,
the milky way enfolding me with virgin lace sewn from remnants

It lie there in my path, recently fallen
in the blustery downpour,
having served its original purpose.

Still repelling the rain, not yet succumbing to the deluge,
allows it to form small round windows on its surface
magnifying the petite patterns of the arteries.

The leaf, having discovered a new ambition,
has found another calling; beckoning me
to notice its second act of beauty.

I have a pup called Cyril,
Nicer than a box of frogs.
In order to show my love,
I invited lots of dogs

We had a puppy Party,
With many frivolous things,
And even birthday cake,
To hear them doggies sing.

Now Cyril was so happy,
With a frantic wagging tail.
All manner of chaos,
Unfortunately did prevail.

The cake, it was sent flying,
A hoot, I will confess.
But the sticky coated doggies,
Got wrapped around my dress.

aboard the lunar craving tide
we, floating on an ocean wide
perceived a mist that lingered there
and mysticism we would share
as soundless as the fathoms where you hide

to us, in each, we soon confide
two secrets long ago that died
two perils, baring when and where
à bord de la marée lunaire

The wind is more than air that will flow
It enables us to understand all we know

It flows each and every day wild and free
Enabling us to choose what we will be

The wind whispers through every tree
Touching everything including me

I view the wind as the reminder of the past
And see it as something that will always last

The wind pushes away the sadness of the day
And ushers in new streams for us to play

The wind is an everlasting part of life
That allows us to move beyond the strife

On the absolute highest foothill
of the Dragon Bone Mountain,
she came to lay on grasses green
gazing into the crystal fountain.

A study of lake mirroring bluest sky,
all her dreaming days crystalline clear
gazing upon her hopes and dreams
without fear a heart young and pure.

knowing exactly where her destiny would lead
as she smiled she vowed to follow.
Her mind and thoughts highly focused,
she pursued not the sparrow, but the swallow.