Saturday, August 12, 2017

A labour of love

You were born into majesty
an heir of land and sky,
blessed by the sun,
rocked by the moon,
sheltered by the earth
you thrived.
This castle was your cradle,
your playground,
your sanctuary.
Here, you've learned to stand your ground
and speak your name
and wonder at the beauty of your own hands
crafting things into being.

It was a labour of love.

As you grew up,
you castle grew smaller
and smaller.
The people came in.
wanderers, crusaders,
rogues and beggars,
hunters and soldiers,
priests and teachers
disguised as kings and queens,
all claiming a piece of your land,
the earth beneath your feet,
the waters from your well,
the fire from your belly,
the feathers from your wings.
You paid the price
so they would see you
and call out 'Your Majesty'.
But soon the well dried
and the fire died,
the air grew thinner,
the earth turned to quicksand.
Your castle came crumbling down.
And you were alone.

It was a labour of love.

Then, it began.
From your grief,
a crack in the wall
and the light came in.
All the pain,
al the hunger,
all the fear,
A tear here, a spark there,
a feather here, a stepping stone there,
Dissolving the defence
to rebuild your castle
from the ground up.
Your undefended heart,
taking the exquisite risk
of becoming vulnerable.

It was a labour of love.

Years have passed
and you grew older.
It seems like your labour has just begun.
Your castle is still fragile.
The floors squeak,
the walls creak and moan
bearing the scars of ancient wars,
the ghosts of all life still unlived
haunting the dark corridors.
Yet as the crows herald your homecoming
the front doors are wide open.
People still come in.
They carve their names on your trees
in fear of being forsaken.
Sometimes they flood your rooms
with their tears of neglect.
Sometimes they leave
without saying goodbye.
Still, most of the times,
they come together
in humbleness
to seek refuge and redemption
to heal and be healed
to pay their respects
and offer their gifts,
to bless the heart of your heart,
to honour the cradle of life.
You welcome them
as you welcome yourself
It is still a work in progress.

It is the labour of love.

*dedicated to Steven, lord of Hayton Castle and his labour of love, with humbleness and gratitude for the shelter of his heart

Thursday, July 27, 2017


all you who seek refuge
from the harshness of all that is named
from the rawness of all that is untamed
from the bleeding of all that is wounded
from the crying of all that is unloved,
and you shall find shelter.

all you who seek redemption
for the sins of all who came before you
for the hollow of all life that is unlived
for the hunger of all children who are unnurtured
for the hurt of all men and women who deny each other,
and you shall receive forgiveness.

all you who suffer
against the true nature of all that is you
against the way all things are
against the ruthless mine fields drenched in all the cold blood
against the wisdom of all that is unknowable,
and you shall be touched by grace.

Here, you are all welcome
to come as you are,
wounded and bleeding
shattered and broken
hurt and lonely
limping and dragging your bodies
to the doorway of this moment
to fall at your own feet
to find the one waiting beyond the door
the one who shelters
the one who forgives
the gracious one
who offers sanctuary.


Thursday, June 22, 2017

Brutally soft

I am a brutally soft woman
I melt under your skin
through the crack in your wall
tearing your defence down
tearing you down
tearing you down
with the soft curves
of my hips
with the moist darkness
of my womb
with the soothing fulness
of my breast
with the gentle radiance
of my face
with the silent music
of my heart
I tear you down
so you may rise above
your walls
your defence
your past
and become
brutally soft
with your self.

I am a brutally soft woman
I challenge you
where it hurts the most
where you raped me
and blamed me
and forced me to cage my wings
and seal my lips
and cover my hair
and hide my face
and shame my body
and silence my song
where your father did the same
his father's father did
as my mother tolerated
and shame
and promiscuity
and punished my father for it
so we may finally learn
to forgive each other
and be brutally soft

Saturday, June 17, 2017

It's in the little things

It's in the little things
in the little things
where love is hidden
and the big things
become more little
as you breathe in
and out
zooming in
and out
It's in between things
in between
where life just is.

Monday, June 5, 2017

Father, may I breathe in church?

My sweet child,
I have built a home for you
to shelter your innocence
and safe keep the seeds of your dreams
Yet in the building I have lost myself
I held my breath
and could not bear to look at you
for in you I saw the innocence I had lost.

My wild rose,
I have built a temple for you
to shelter your prayers
and echo the voice of God back to you,
yet in the building I have lost myself,
I held my breath
and I could not hear the choir of angels
singing through your voice.

Forgive me,
for in my last prayer inside this temple
I can finally hear you
and your voice is the sound of grace
reclaiming the gift of breath
inside the church of this body.

Forgive me,
for in my last breath
I am whispering to you
I can finally see you
and you are beautiful,
You are precious,
You are strong
like the wild roses
in the garden I have forsaken for so long.

I thought I was here to protect you
and teach you the ruthless ways of this world
yet in the end, I see
it was you all along
teaching me that
I am safe to be here,
I am safe to surrender my breath to this love.

*To Cecilia and her garden of oak trees and wild roses, with love and reverence

Tuesday, April 18, 2017


We are pilgrims,

We have come a long way
To kneel our burdens
before these shrines
where hope glitters
framed in golden temples.

We pray,

We pray for redemption
We pray for someone
to please come save us
to please come love us
Love our bodies
Love our land
Love our castles
Made of sand.

And still,

The only prayer that matters
Is the song of the mockingbird
Sheltered by a willow tree
kneeled above the water
where the sky bends over
to pour it's tears of grace.

This prayer,

Is the whisper of the heart
fierce and silent like the wind
Is the fire in the belly
the ocean of breath
Is the song that makes the body dance
all the love sheltered in these pilgrim bones.

Saturday, February 25, 2017


Blessed be your silence
and all the tales it births,
the flowers in my garden,
the bodies in my earth.

Blessed be my tears
and all the floods they make
to summon up my fears
from underneath the lake.

Blessed be this heartache
and all the walls it builds
to make you climb the mountain,
to make me drop my shields.

Blessed be our loving
and all the light it shines
to get us through the darkness,
to read between the lines.