Rain roils like fire in flaming torrents,

sucking in the air, devouring vision,

thundering crackle, consuming distance,

sodden smoking of nature’s breath;

so do the heavens serenade the sighing

soil, drenching barren fear, sluicing

away the doubts of dying season, in

unexpected baring of glistening teeth,

lined at Winter’s long-dried mouth,

where voice of hope had been silenced,

flattened by dry, hard days and thirsty

nights, not even a sigh of dusty words,

as time surrendered to the certainty

of hopelessness, of looming death,

of crackled steps, wasted growth; until

that sudden moment when Life laughed

at Death, in glorious watered smile.

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The words contain the images,
of memories profound, slow
written through the pages
which life bestows around,

the separating minutes, the
seconds in slow drip, divided
into days then months, as fallow
years do slip; forgetting all

the dreams, and moments lost
in sleep, as if they never were,
as if the angels keep, our very
self and being, in places surely

hid, so do we make our way
through time, so do we ride
the grid, of this pure place
of being, of this material

world, of flesh and bone and
exile, of hopes and loss, full
hurled, into the whirling
firmament, into the stream

of time, which Soul requires
to find itself, bestowed on
us as Mind. So does the dance
begin and end as Word;

we creatures so defined.

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Hooded self describing,
huddled on cold shores,
dark horizon distant;
pebbled mind perforce.

Twinned in all displacing,
gripped by fevered hand,
bird of grief defacing;
silently we stand.

So my alter ego calls,
draws soul to her side,
lures me to water’s edge;
catch the morning tide.

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Soul tired

My soul was tired, worn,

huddled under weariness

which clothed the days,

and broken minutes of

my mind, where detritus

of hope lay withered, in

a groping of itself, beyond

the place where it could

hold any shape, which

was recognisable. Yawning

in that cavern of forgetting,

soul languished, and in

ancient palms, observed;

slowly counted out the

moments of becoming:
calling all to account.

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These days they call

the Autumn of years,

are really no different

to those which would be


called a Summer or a

Spring, or even a Winter,

for, like the seasons, there

is the constant hold of our


being, and the changing

costumes, picked up each

day, dropped at night, found

again, and worn in different


ways. Through all the seasons,

earth, sky, tree remain as them

selves, but dressed in varying

ways, which give the feeling


that they are not the same, and

yet, of course they are, in essence

and form, the same as they have

always been. As are we ….

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Moving house

Packing up the pieces
of a life now gone, soon
to be repeated, in another
home, and yet in the

moving, some things
will not last; different
time and spaces, their
own taste will cast.

In the ever-changing,
flow, of life and place,
there will be a change in
who and what you are.

Sift through those
belongings, treasure and
release, know they hold
no value, in any sense

that’s real. People are
what matters, they’re
the only plus – all the
rest will be reduced…

simply things and stuff.


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We may not like what someone says but we must defend their right to say it!

So Margaret Court says tennis is full of lesbians and she has concerns over the welfare of younger players.
Let’s not kid ourselves, there are variations on human sexuality wherever it appears and just as there was a Rolf Harris and his ilk at work in the world more commonly, or there was when attitudes were different, so too there are those in the world of homosexuality and lesbianism who overstep the mark and who groom and recruit.
Although in this day and age, as was the case when Harris was doing what he did, social attitudes not so much support such behaviour as refuse to acknowledge it might exist.
Court may well have more reasons to be concerned than even she will admit in public. What exempts some sexual proclivities from excesses like paedophilia? Human beings are human beings and when it comes to sex, less rational on many counts, whatever their sexual tastes might be.
But, in general, yes she may be over-reacting but she is a fundamentalist Christian so it is hardly likely to be a surprising view.
And now some of those lesbian tennis players and their supporters, are calling for Margaret Court Arena to be renamed because she does not support same-sex marriage?
Of course she doesn’t. It runs counter to teaching in most religions. Same-sex couples can marry, in civil unions, but not in religious marriages and that won’t change. Why should it?
Was the Arena named because of her views, which have now changed, or because of her brilliance as a tennis player? Methinks the latter. What levels of idiocy do we reach when censorship like this is unleashed on the world?
What is dangerous is seeking to punish people for expressing a different view. Sure the view might be silly, ill-informed, prejudiced, bigoted, unenlightened, or it might not, but freedom of speech is a fragile right and needs to be protected.
To paraphrase the saying:
I defend to my death your right to say what you think even if I disagree with you entirely.
Such a freedom is easily lost and difficult to win back. We betray it at our peril.
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