It is easier to see differences (poem)

Tears make their way down his face

while in solitude he trembles,

having been deemed ‘other’, the boy

was excluded from the human experience.

Something runs through him, a questioning

of that admiration for adults he was imbued with,

those adults who ran this world, those words were theirs.

At all times, there is a face wet with tears, somewhere.

Tears make their way down his sister’s face,

she places her head on his shoulder, a ready pillow.

The tears and the trembling have scarcely subsided.

The cycle of demarcation must end,

consolation is not consolation.

There are two paths in life

There are two paths you can take in this life, one of fear and one of fearlessness.

The first path is very like the existence of a control freak who is so afraid of anything outside their delicately constructed understanding of reality that they will hold on to this world they have constructed at all costs, anything perceived as different, as being outside their construction is a threat. Sanity hangs on a precipice.

That which may possibly separate  their understanding of the world, from that breast to which they eternally cling is met with hysterical suspicion at best and bitter resentment at worst, it is outside the confines of the circle which has drawn itself around them. The saying ‘people fear what they don’t understand is very apt here’.

The road less traveled in our society is the path of fearlessness which bravely anticipates and even trusts that which lies beyond the confines of the circle, there is no evil, dark, obscure force lurking in wait for them. The ‘other’ is not one to be feared, but a human to be learned from and lived alongside. The path of fearlessness gives us the humility that our understanding of the world is at best incomplete, if not flawed, is it not radical humility to take the step in opening up to the experiences and ideas of others?

The Quest of truth can only be pursued beyond the circle which is drawn around all humans. Truth and profound understanding is concluded by the individual with courage, humility and compassion.

Colonising Mars is a death sentence

Colonising Mars is not an act of self-sacrifice but an act of sacrificing others and the Earth in order to fulfill vain, jaded utopian ambitions. National Space programs are a broad attempt to dominate and exploit resources in the broadest possible sense. Observation of the universe through astronomy is a respectable pursuit which if done which a sense of awe and mythological reverence. However our increasingly globalized world is founded on the notion of consumption and commodification. This reveals itself in human attitudes toward the natural world, as something to be dominated and exploited.

Money being poured into these projects is immense, and it reveals how out of touch a particular class of people in the first or developed world are with the very real immediate dangers such as starvation, malnutrition, homelessness, drug addiction and displacement that the majority of people are facing on earth, and I say earth instead of ‘this planet’ because this is the only world we have and the moment we accept the narrative that there is more than one world in which we situate ourselves physically and psychologically, then the value of earth is immediately diminished by virtue of there being an alternative environment or resource for human life.

The neglect of the crisis we face as a species in favour of egotistical ventures intended to dominate and manipulate the solar system is the most selfish course of action a conscious adult could make. It is rooted in a desire to dominate nature and bend its fixed laws to individual human will, the idea that creation is there for your needs only, to serve you, on your terms. The commodification of the natural world (of which we are a part) is the ultimate act of violence and its guarantees our destruction.

In a room, against the wall (poem)

Where are you my love to tease me

in the greenest of spirits?

to tease me over for being aloof…

for those little things only lovers observe, then innocently mock.

Please be there, on the other side of the room,

if not at arms length.

My body, crooked against this wall,

can only be made straight again

by your words which fall like velvet upon my ears.

Guide my mind back to you

from its fearful, fitful wanderings

with your gazes softer still.

Paternal instinct (poem)

  Bright faced young girl,

my companion for an evening,

your innocence and vivacity

stir wonderment within.

   I could hardly know weariness,

barely conceive listlessness alongside you,

dear faery child, your face ever glowing like the sun.

  What of time? It cruelly disregards

our playful, unencumbered exchange.

Easy smiles and light-hearted laughter

belong, they’d have us believe, in another world.

  Renew my humanity magically faery child!

your face of rosy cheeks, glistening eyes and

milk white teeth, appearing with each smile,

are each and together that magick spell.

A child’s eyes are wider (poem)

And to a child’s eyes, being wider to take

in the light of the world,

those images burned into the imagination

flashing, flickering.


On the cusp of eleven years,

how ripe for the instilling of fear and prejudice!


Adjusting to the world as one adjusts to the light

having emerged from a place of darkness,

squinting, eyelids begin to draw apart, reluctantly.


A new millennium is underway, the world takes shape.

Recollecting scenes from a hazy chronology,

the period was soon fraught with hysteria and spectacular violence.


18 months pass, embedded in memory as if the very next day,

Wide eyes are captive to scenes of violence,

a child’s impressionable imagination, tender, all is vivid.


These killings are official,

black plumes rise unrhythmically,

the reflexive composure of a nation has to be enforced

in lieu of scattered, unofficial tears.


My eyes are still wide to let in light,

but I have learned to avert my eyes.

The circle (poem)

Those wry faces all tell the same tale,

anyone outside the circle in which you huddle

is beaten with words of demarcation.

Not to detect that barely concealed hatred

which at every gesture reveals itself anew,

is a painful, perennial lesson soon learned.

Of Blake’s smiles, theirs is conceit.