I Was Made


Image Credit: Pr. Stavroula Zoumboulis
Image Credit: Pr. Stavroula Zoumboulis


– For my Nona

I remain seemingly alone, unassuming, on a fringe lush and tender. Day-by-day cars whizz me by; as strangers we remain. The world of smiles and laughter, youthful chatter, bouncing life – like Eagles flying, unstoppable, dynamic – and life passes me by. Children take hold of my branches bare, lifting themselves to greater heights. Older folk, picking the wildest of greens, lean on my trunk taking yet one more breath. Those in between, by my side rest, in the shade of my leaves, seeking respite from the tyranny of dreams. And I dream to be like them, to walk and run and fly.

dare I take a step?
roots hold me fast to the earth –
for I was made a tree

Sometimes we are disabled, whether it by by illness, unfulfilled dreams or factors beyond our control. It is hard to watch while the rest of the world gets on with it seemingly happy, successful and fulfilled. Yet even then we have something to offer. The fruit of such suffering, like the humble earth, holds and nurtures all that settles on it often giving birth to new life where there was none.

The photo was taken by a dear friend of mine outside the village of Sellas in the Peloponnese (Greece), many thanks for the inspiration 🙂



(untitled #1)


Starry Night – Van Gogh

The waves rushed over my corpse, thrusting me to the ocean floor; suffocating me, tearing at my lungs. The sun that bathed me not long ago, seemed to hide its face before the persistent night-tide as I choked in my own tears. Swaddled in darkness I lost sight of the ‘little loves’ and my heart softly floated away; into forgetfulness. The tips of my fingers bled blue, as my body, weighed down, settled on the sandy earth. I quietly slipped beneath the watery sheets hoping to sleep that day away, every day…

Little stars peek through curtains dark. Their sparkle breaks through the watery surface, carving a break in the waves; calling to me. A force majestic, filled and overflowing, overthrows the swells, lifting me to the surface, though I barely noticed its touch. As the air fills my lungs once more, a warm gentle breeze caresses me, lovingly. The sun is still there.

forgetful world sleeps
merciless waves rise and fall –
sun ever present


Written for Haibun Thinking.


Blank Pages

The books sit on a lonely shelf as dust gathers round, on the outskirts of their pages.   Each page held, folded, underlined. Where lie years of study, adventure, discovery; and all is still the same. Ideas holding on a shelf as the winter falls. The snow gathers. All is but a memory.

O, the uselessness of words, when life remains the same; when hearts reborn unchanged!


being and words collide
sparks fall into the darkness –
life blossoms again


Living Tapestry



rain drops stir from sleep

colours divers weave and sing –

making room for all



Written for Heeding Haiku with Ha – A Haiku Moment. The prompt is to listen to the music, feel what it has to say to you and then write a haiku. Listening to this piece I could hear the distinct sound of both instruments and yet they came together beautifully and seamlessly. The harp reminded me of raindrops falling on dusty, lonely ground. In the eye of my mind, the voice of the violin was like streams of bright colours weaving through the air and the trees. The idea captured In the haiku is that although we are all unique, we have the potential to come together as a seamless whole, in a place where everyone belongs, both great and small. In doing so, we arise from our bed of idleness and despondency, because we realise that we are in fact not alone.


Remembering Footsteps

Image Credit: Anja Partin
Image Credit: Anja Partin

The grass soft and prickly, running along train tracks. Soaring on two wheels, falling through the cracks. Sunlight peaks through leaves, piercing outer shells. Delightful squeals of laughter, spontaneous tales of old. Muted dusk the day after, quiet soles fall on the porch. Snuggle into bed, tucked tight;sweet dreams my child, sleep well, goodnight.

cries the depths of night
where young footprints left their mark –
Tenderness e’er lives

Written for Haibun Thinking in response to the Art Prompt by Anja Partin. The prompt reminded me of my childhood memories. As a child my mum would take my brothers and I out to play at the park and I remember her telling us stories before bed and her sitting on the front porch on summer nights enjoying a port with my aunty as my brothers, cousins and I would ride our bikes up and down the streets.



In a quiet suburban street lies a small block of land; modest, somewhat unkempt. People pass it by, day-by-day, yet it remains unnoticed by most.  Fine yellow-green stems, waist-high, stand somewhere between life and death. As the breeze channels through it’s brittle stalks, gentle whispers fill the field. Anyone who walks it’s breadth feels at peace, whilst those who dare to venture into its depths know they are safe to just be. “Closed little lot of crumpled earth! But who would hazard a walk on a hidden land unswept? To level you down and raise up stories, to tear out all of your morning glories?  Or perhaps to bury within your soil rich, seeds to yield; wealth to make the heart grow yonder?

field plain and simple
odd markings unrecognised –
potentially claimed


Written for Prompt #76 “Self-Portrait”. The challenge is to write about yourself through the eyes of someone else. I found this was an impossible task as I don’t know how people really see me. However, I was saved by a friend who informed me that there are old Greek grannies going around telling handsome young men that they should consider taking me as their wife because apparently I have inherited properties from my predecessors! (Hehe, why hadn’t I thought of it sooner? Emoji ) Thus the metaphor…


‘Tis all unexpected really. Shells dig deep into my feet. Stinging blood seeps through layers of sand compact. I run along the soft wetness, arms outstretched, trying to catch the wind as the band plays in the background; drums beating, trumpets singing, feet tapping. Spiralling round and round, I hit the ground and the wet waves wilfully wrap me up.  Whisk me away, O fearful waves, to tear-filled graves, that I may swim again.

awkward textures chase
running up, down and around –
that joyful sorrow


Written for Heeding Haiku With HA: Instinctual Thoughts and Raw Creations.  I really enjoyed writing this one.  I just wrote whatever came to mind at the time, don’t know what it means yet!