Photo: NLB 2018









How seamlessly my breathing slows.

How naturally I eat with my hands,

my fingers enjoying the texture & warmth-

a few weeks freedom from the hard metal cutlery

we use to take the place of our hands,

of ourselves.


How easily I boil water to cool & drink,

and pour steaming water from the kettle

into my bucket to bath.


How easily I tilt my speech to bend to your accent,

my effort to shorten the distance between us,

As we now sit and smile

face to face,

Where just hours before the gap was an ocean.

How easily this feels home.


Photo: NLB 2018


A poetry night

I took a dear friend to a Poetry event last week; we listened & watched poetry students share their work and then listened to the established, well-published poet of the eve be interviewed about his work & creativity….this is one of a few short poems I wrote as the evening unfolded:

A poetry night:

Soft blue lights on black-

Sophisticated sexy chic.

White spotlights bear down, interrogating our reactions;

Ensuring we are awake in the musky air,

Heavy with pretentious anticipation, appreciation, sweat and silent respect.

As we Listen…

And clink… & sip… & critique…

White faces watch and listen as white men speak.

Photo: Robert Peake