The rows of cells are unroofed,
a flute for the wind's mouth,
who comes with a breath of ice
from the blue caves of the south.

O dark and fierce day:
the wind like an angry bee
hunts for the black honey
in the pits of the hollow sea.

Waves of shadow wash
the empty shell bone-bare,
and like a bone it sings
a bitter song of air.

Who built and laboured here?
The wind and the sea say
-Their cold nest is broken
and they are blown away-

They did not breed nor love,
each in his cell alone
cried as the wind now cries
through this flute of stone.

- Judith Wright

Labels: Poetry

Everyday I wake up,
I choose Love
I choose Light
And I try, it's too easy just to fall apart.

Labels: Songs

the cataclysmic sky
free fall and fly
down the parallel that
wipes the dreary eye;

grass roots head north
where the southern sun rose
above needles on the ground,
and the tumble tree fell forth;

too dry on summer day
with no shield from the rain,
those broken beads of water
soiled - even before the fray;

hear the western wind
that feeds the branched inferno,
prick the curved sides deep
into the hearts who’ve sinned;

beyond six feet underground
wide open with a gnash
the clouds are choke-filled with
a knotted string of voices abound.


we live and we die;
where shooting stars a-lie
felled down to the core
- don’t forget to cry.

Labels: Compositions, Ramblings