This is an ongoing experiment and exploration in poetry writing. Poetry is different things to different people. I enjoy it and like music, film, lituature, photography, comedy, art and theatre – think it adds value to our culture. It’s actually needed more than ever.


// string

the roasted coffee danced onto the pavement
ordering an espresso he chooses the far back corner
flicking through the Guardian newspaper
the images and stories are a blur
they merge
they blend
one big story
one big mess
keeping the corner of his eye on the wooden interior
and his feet resting on the small round table feet
the music flexes to the sound of the coffee machine
he has a storyboard inside his mind
making notes and dark black pen bullets
his life is now is starting to string together
but the despair of unmet promises
has churned his night sleep into perplexities
but the dream is bigger than sleep
tomorrow comes
a new day opens
and the string is waiting patiently

July 2012



// james

My eyes are tired and
my bones frail
My heart is heavy and
my mind is questioning
My faith has been punched and
my face is broken
My body is bruised and
my energy deflated

To find resolution
is refused.

To find solace
is waiting patiently.

To discover truth
and to understand humanity
means to find life
is full of pain.

Valleys and deserts
Mountains and lakes

The truth of life
plays his symphony

that to discover true life
is to discover true pain

Tears stream down faces
Sadness pulls the soul throgh gravel
Mysterory is ever mysterious
And once told stories,
become gulps of weight

Love is waiting for her ticket
Pain meets her at crossroads

Pain is pushing for strength to come
A strength not yet here
A stength that hides from tomorrow
But a strength to come

Like the stars in Africas night sky
Like the energy of a cheateh in the Mara
Like the fish eagle soaring Lake Naivasha
Like the style of zebras stripes in Nakuru
Like the majesty of elephant herds in Aberdere

James fashioned true beauty
And lived for more than his eyes had seen

For the good news was given to the poor;
Mouths were feed
Books given to little hands
Shoes onto bare feet
Medications distributed freely

A legacy shown
A generous heart offered

James has written new history for his own county bacause;

Love was given
Grace was opened wide
Peace was offered

Rest in peace James.
My love always…

10 December 2009


// grief

grief is personal
grief has few answers

grief leaves permanant stains
grief has holes too wide for covering

a murder or suicide
a tradgedy or natural passing

death creeps and swallows
internal swiming to find a shoreline

too wide to gasp
too dark to see light

grief appears
then grief slashes hands

hands that once held love

a love is taken and space created

galexcies following the cosmos
oceans dancing in the same deep sea

a love is taken and space created

James I will love you forever: RIP

7 December 2009


// may it be a new song

Your time is now.

The pain of yesterday is living today.

Joy is not the melody.

You’re time is now.

Forgive me.
I feel the weight of your grief,
The brutality of your loss.
Forgive me.

This week is yours.
Scream at this world,
Activate your mourning,
We are listening this time.

A candle for your tears.
We forgot your trauma,
Ignoring your reality.
Forgive us.

Many times prayers are whispered,
Yet to few times movement is willing.

We remember your one hundred days.
Pure blood filling oceans of lakes.

Your children ravaged.
Your mothers raped.
Your men ruined.
Forgive us Rwanda.

You have led a new way.
Justice, mercy and forgiveness.
A way to future.

We are listening this time,
We are mourning this time,
We are learning this time.

You have crawled up from the ashes.
Rebuilding your land.

Let the world hear your rhythm.
May it be a new song.

8 April 2009


// in and out

I dream of running.

The beat of tribe.
The whisper of wind.
The smell of blue sky.

Could be a romantic idea and maybe no reality.
But the longing for freedom is throbbing these western eyes.

In my sleep, the music is honey.
Then in wake, life shows no mercy

Into the wild, where the wildflowers grow,
life could be simpler, or maybe not so.

I dream of running, but does running resolve?
I think of escape, but growing has caught me.

The longing for truth, has a new map to find.
To stay where I am, would cost me my soul.

2 April 2009


// tick

Time ticking. Clocks never misses their tick.
Second. Minute. Hour.

Everything is encapsulated in time. Everything is surrounded.
Cost of time. Deadline of time. Precious account of time.

Everything circulates the orientation of time. Everything is measured.
Dates in centuries. Days in a year. Seasons in months.

I say, I have no time. You say, time is slipping by.
Time is quick. In a hurry. Going faster than feet.

On its ship heading out to sea,
Is it waving goodbye?

Tonight the moon is glistening over the ocean,
But I seem blinded.

The trees are waving to glory of the wind,
But I seem lost.

Today time is silent.
And the universe is looking for answers.

27 March 2009


// winter

Holding their form for fear of cold. Naked.

Intrinsic branches. Delicate twigs. Black and brown.

Glorious yet fragile.
Tree details, display their beauty. Their Majesty across grey stretched skies.

The breathe from earth, blows her mist into trees maze.
The sun peaks white static light, encourage shadows.
Days have a their time limit.
And the sun is shy when winter is creeping around.

5 March 2009


I wrote ‘weekday sun at twilight’ on the Kapiti Coast beach in New Zealand in September 2008. It was the first piece I ever posted on my original blog. I wrote it at a time when I was moving from New Zealand and was going through some major changes and transitions. Sometimes-and sometimes more than sometimes-I look back on what Ive writen and wonder what on earth was thinking. This one though, still holds some significant meaning for me.

// weekday sun at twilight

Staring at The Sun at sunset my mind wonders.
Its weekday sun at twilight.
I decide it has a personality and also that it’s a woman.

Looking at this
perfectly round,
yellow colour scheme,
fire-breathing ball of glamour;
it strikes me how large and bigger than a dinner plate The Sun is.

She’s powerful yet ready to let us enjoy her parade.
She has a fierce command,
glowing warmth,
and magical attraction to her status.

Today The Sun has had a persistent persuasion to overwhelm my roaring emotion and stumbling doubts.

The Divine has this way too. Full of artistic genius, organic connection and as powerful the entire cosmos.

The Sun has become the best part of this day.

Septemer 2008

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