What’s the use

What’s the use of reading

When there are no trees for printed pages?

What’s the use of films

With nothing to watch them on?

What’s the use of shelter

When there is no ground to build upon?

What’s the use of water

That we can’t drink but drown?

What’s the use of breathing

With no air left to inhale?

What’s the use of living

If we destroy ourselves first?



Home is in the smell 

After a long journey 

Climbing up the same 

Narrow staircase,

Peeling and chipped steps. 

The welcome scent 

That has grown strange

As a distant memory.

Home is where love surrounds you,

Enveloping and washing away 

The sore and ache

Carried from worlds away. 

Sometimes home

Is not the material construction

But the embrace 

Of arms that envelop, protect 

And at last again 

You feel safe. 

We of the World

We of the world- 

Seduced by pleasures.

Enthralled by our image


In funhouse mirrors, 

Ballooning up to twice our size,

Twisted, contorted

The self reflected on all sides

Ground to sky.

We of the world – 

Drinking poison,

As we laugh in that frightened way

To reassure ourselves 

That everything is fine.

That creeping slowly 

Up our spines –

Is doubt 

That we are meant 

To live this way.

Panic nipping at our heels 

Pushing us forwards, 

Faster. Bigger. Greater. 

More contorted 

Looming larger

Expanding to all sides 

Rapid and radically unchained 

Like a massive balloon inflating 

Darkening the sky – 

But a single pinprick – 

And poof! We fly 

It’s Burning

Sometimes I wish 

I did not have this gift

Of feeling too deeply 

Or caring this much. 

When I close my eyes 

I see it 

Burning, roaring flames

Consuming life ravenously. 

When will it be satisfied?

The pain in my heart

Is the pain of this planet

The collective cry 

Of millions of animals,

Humans and trees

Reminding us 

We don’t deserve what we have.


The teachers say 

“Stay present”.

As rain washes down my window 

The sky transformed 

From ominous gray 

To tears pouring 

Down and out 

Washing the world clean. 

Hard-hitting drops

Reverberate against cement 

The sky’s released anguish

Echoes across the street. 

I close the windows 

And the roar becomes a trickle.

But pain demands to be felt 

It does not like to be shut out.

Would it be better

To shout at the rain?

Tell it to go away 

And stop ruining my day?

Or lie down in puddles till

I’m soaked and refuse 

To get dry?

Or to just sit and watch

Quiet and patient 

Waiting for it 

To pass by.

The Road

I know it is a long journey
To where I need to get.

I see a road lay before me,
Of dirt and rock
And hard terrain.
I see mountains
I will climb and look
Out over the wide
and lush land
With love in my heart.

I see rivers I will cross
With wild water and
Slippery stones
Where I will lose my footing
And rushing, churning
Current reaches
past my head

I may gasp for air
But I will not drown.

I see rustling leaves
Lining the road
Trees, flowers, grass
Bird’s song alongside
My own
As footsteps pound
A rhythm to the ground.

I see heavy winter coating
Of snow and slippery ice
A quiet, white world
With only echoes
And tracks of life.

I can’t run ahead,
I can’t cut across
I have no wheels
I have no horse
I can only walk.

When I cannot walk
I will crawl.
When I cannot crawl
I will rest.

Hoping, maybe
Knowing certainly
What is waiting
At the end.