I came to see you today. Walking in the winter bleakness foot crushing dead leaf and sparrow's wing frozen earth unrelenting; I made my way among the naked hazel to where you ran, crashing. I didn't expect to meet you there among the limestone rocks, where the ice made patterns of intricate filligree like lace or leaf vein but not of human fashion.  I thought I was alone accompanied only by memories and regrets, that this winter the hearts too are frozen, stand separate and insensible - like the trees that grace your flanks. And, looking up, there you were. I heard you first; your song a passionate torrent that nothing could stop, each syllable as transient as each droplet of your being, as momen...

Only yesterday I was at the centre of your world, holding the frame through which you saw and through which you became; I was part of the meaning and the weft of life. Now I am relegated to visitor status, like an uncle you can hardly bear to see, and your meanings - each heart moment of joy or sorrow or each musing on life and love pass through you without the need for paternal reference except a nod to the cells we share. Your disappointment is utterly mine. I, it seems, have given up the right to give you away: you prefer maternal arms to hold and release. Your womanhood you claim as a defense now against the failure of this man who so wounds and so disappoints.

One of my granddaughters gave me the idea for this article. She asked for some suggestions for a dessert she was making for a Pot-luck dinner with an Indian Theme. When I used to visit schools, one of the first questions I was asked was...What did Indians eat? The Three Sisters (Maize (Corn). Squash, and Beans, were the most commonly grown vegetables for many of the native people. They complimented each other as the bean vines climbed the corn stalks and the squash grew in between the stalks to keep out the weeds. According to many origin stories, they, along with tobacco, were the gift of First Woman (Mother Earth), to her children. They first grew from her body after she was buried. Before the people had to depend on wild plant...

JUST SUPPOSING Supposing this           Imagine if you can That everything is nothing           All is in a dream The dream is life is God and man           Good and evil Love and fear old age and youth           With all that comes between Before and after day and night           Sleep and dreams the same All part and parcelled right or wrong           Along with life and death Within this dream called life Yet all is just that part           Before we know we’re dreamers In Gods game called life           Until we know we’re dreaming We are crazy as can be           Thinking thoughts that hurt destroy All along the way           Blaming other beings in our dream For what we think a...

Like a freight train on a lazy Sunday, demolishing everything in sight, can't stand this city living. All these bodies, no longer human, moving to and fro in their wrapped up world. Like it fucking matters. You make however many million, spend it on shit, a new car, bigger pool. Do you think of those who have none, and if you do; what do you think? Do you see yourself as better than them? Do you pity the proles who live beneath you? The only reason you could be seen as better is in the eyes of this fucked up society you build up on a daily basis. Why not live for life, for the exploration of your mind and soul, rather than fuck up the world, our world, our home. Humanity is not infinite. Far from it, we lead a very finite exi...

I once heard that pearl divers use olive oil, poured onto a turbulent water surface it creates a patch of calm, a window to what lies beneath. If only such a thing existed for the human brain, a wonder solution to calm my troubled thoughts. What an escape, to be able to dive down, down into the pressing water. Eyes shut, ears rushing from the pressure all around. Sweeping faster through the void, arms pulling in powerful strokes, feeling the temperature change, the cold deepening with the blue of the water. Lungs aching now, it feels good, the slow burn of holding in breath beyond the norm, legs kicking towards the surface. Bursting suddenly into the fresh air, eyes blinking in the startling light. True freedom in the water. ...

Tear it down. Begin again. Does anyone care? The apocalypse could be nigh and facebook would be flooded with updates. No one reaching out, finding the ones they love for that final embrace, that last magic spark as flesh meets flesh. Just a generation, nay population, of blinkered sheep, bleating and twittering about what they wish they'd done. Well wake the fuck up and do it. Do it today, because tomorrow never comes, and yesterday was wasted. I have the same dream nightly, a world devoid of humans, no concrete abominations. Just nature and all its beautiful mystery just left to happen. Ice caves left to grow, great caverns of glistening crystalline frost. Huge rivers and underground water ways. Nature returning to balanc...

No more. No more fighting. No more bodies. Evil has had its fill.  The graves are full of long dead men, brave souls who gave their life. When the last shot has rung, clear and sharp across the land, who will remain? The champion, the winner, the last man standing.  What then?  A lonely life in victory. Do you understand the cause for which you fought, for which you killed.  Your soul was sold, beneath its worth, stolen from within you. Thou shalt not kill. Unless they disagree, then they must go, their crime to not believe. How can war be holy? Yet religion and war go hand in hand, two most unlikely comrades. Indeed, what would Jesus do?

I stand atop this pinnacle of stone as all I know floats in a rising tide around me, rising higher, once forgotten memories pushed far to the bottom of my soul now raised like some monster shipwreck, bobbing in the rising swells of my mind. The distant glow of what the world used to mean sputters like a dying flame in the winds of oblivion. All you hold dear will crumble, shatter in a rain around you, a mess of worn out party fiends, no momentum left now, you reap what you sow. A generation of mess-heads always eager for the next fix but oh so reluctant to pay with anything but their souls, sold to the neon gods for the highest bid, the promise of a better night and a darker tomorrow. The shattered dreams of a thousand drunken d...

How long, how long. Symphonies of thoughts crashing like a thousand waves, inside my skull, and I hear them scream behind my eyes. Longing for freedom, to spring destruction where they lay. My words will not inspire. I have no greater cause, no drive or dreams. I wear a blindfold of my own design, a handmade pair of rose glasses. I turn my tired eyes towards the sun, to burn away the image of this wretched world. I want to scream and smash and destroy, until nothing remains but my echo, cursing the stars for being so pure. Such reckless abandon cannot be sustained, how long before the elaborate farce is revealed, before my tongue cannot be held. My words will only divide.