Thursday, November 28, 2013

The Constant

Meeting with you is like a light
giving beauty in the evening's hour
bringing dreams into being
for when I am yours I am who I was supposed to be
all this life

Do not leave me now
for if you would my world will be without god

How I long to see you tonight
and all I can do is speak to the stars
to tell you that I am waiting

kissing the sky
pulsing my body into the night's velvet touch

see me arising into your arms

In Our Other Lives

If you would come now
I would kiss you
stroke your hair, gaze at you
surrender like liquid as you put your mouth on my breast
and fingers soft, then like heat rose up inside me

I would open my mouth to receive the communion of you
put my lips around your hardness
gasp as you pushed into me
awakening sacredness

I would move my mouth towards yours
as you held my hair, kissing me over and over

I would pray as you put your divinity at the beginning of me
with your still, hot breath held a fraction from my face

and after, like a kitten in your arms, as we lay
I would be this forever

and in our other world
in our other lives

this is what we are

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

The Cracked Harvest

this magic of night and electric chances
stroking my own lips to remember what it is to kiss
I see his face turn, that moment of our eyes meeting
an ovulation of desire

whilst downtown the poetry is torn from the streets
and rough hands try to silence the sound of water
but they forget that it is shapeless
and used to inhabit their own beings when they were children and unformed

these hands of forgetting fix upon the bodies of young girls
who raise sunflowers for the summer sacrifices
the dried blood has not fed the land for the soil is no more
and it is a djinn tree that grows coldly

Monday, November 4, 2013

The Visit

He said I should have stayed the night
and how can I say that I wanted to but was scared
for my love is so strong how can I leave again if I stay
and does any of this make sense
how can love make one want to be absent
dont you know I just want to be in your arms
yes, you know
and we continue with our seasons
the sun of our returns always so majestic

Sunday, October 20, 2013

My New Poetry Film - Kill Your Darlings

My new poetry film!!!

It is a short film based on an excerpt from my new work 'Kill Your Darlings'.  To be shown in Melbourne, November 3rd in a show curated by Karen Kerkhoven.  Thank youuuuuuuuu to two of the best guys in the world; Alban Eiafilms (film) and David Lanni (music).

Et voila!

and an update! Part 2 has now just been made - finally!

The entire text for the complete work is here:

Friday, October 11, 2013

Kill Your Darlings

The 1st in the trilogy of poetry films for  Kill Your Darlings is here:

Listen to the complete track here:

He is running after a pigeon, his parasol fluttering behind him, his little legs unsteady yet wilful to the quest, towards the bird. The fountain is arching its waters to the sky and the river is lulling afternoon dreams. He is 5 years old and full of wonder.

I wish I'd had a grandmother who had told me stories of old and taught me how to love, but my grandmother was crazy, drunk and broken from too much pain.

Hush, little baby, don't say a word.
Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird

The bird moves ahead of him, hopping, twitching its petrol coloured head side to side. He runs little steps, nearly trips, tries to clap but the parasol falls and as it sweeps down cutting across the sun the bird flaps its wings upwards and is gone.

I wish I'd had a mother who had took me in her arms and taught me how to love, but my mother was angry, hardened and broken from too much pain.

And if that mockingbird won't sing,
Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring

He wanted me to meet him but I couldn't, I was too tired of it all, of the fire and the dying of the fire, and my body showed its sadness. I was standing near the fountain in Trafalgar Square, those great shots of water surging to my heart, those lions mute roar somehow still able to stir my passion but ever so slightly. It was fairly cold, but actually I cannot remember anything of the temperature, for I was consumed and yet absent. Let it go, I thought.

I'm meeting someone, I'm meeting my lover from many years ago, I'm meeting myself as I am now, the furious sound of the train. And I met you.

Strange, Time. And Love. Or what, was it something other? Something other than Love? I had held myself back, or not even had to, I just didn't feel anything significant. In fact it felt like a chore to go, a command I was following from the one who used to be my Master and now was weak in my mind. For others had replaced the pain so many times, I could no longer find my addiction to him. It was no longer itching below my skin. But yet, I went, and gradually over those hours I warmed and became coquettish once more, knew his desire and liked it, and I let him place those passionate caresses and kisses all over my body. He awoke me. But having awoken me, he disappeared. Again.

The bedside book. Hard silk. Hot ice cream. Memories of him.

Intimacy does not mean anything.

The excitement (rapture) of hide and seek

Circles of time, yet still the same place. The place is there, the place, the place is I wish I'd had a father who had sat me on his knee and taught me how to love, but my father was in another country, silent and broken from too much pain.

And if that diamond ring turns brass,
Papa's gonna buy you a looking glass

The family tree, roots that I have escaped from, branches that cannot hold me, and I - always I - having to search alone for the water to keep giving me Life.

The roots are the hands of my ancestors; rough with hard work, stretched with yearning, empty of children, clutching suitcases, wiping silent tears, burying the dead.

This tree is one I cannot climb, its arms will not hold me, it has no fruit. It offers no shade nor food.

Instead there is an empty space. Could be a cut out of my father, could be a cut out of my lovers, could be a cut out of my hopes.

And if that looking glass gets broke,
Papa's gonna buy you a billy goat

18 years I waited from child to woman, waited for one letter to come.

I stared at the words, going over his lines in that one letter – the thoughts becoming engrained facts; heavy with ink

And on I waited, although I heard many words and was seduced by many with their eyes full of my light, and their words and poetry flooding my heart, yet like Psyche who at the moment of trust looks upon her lover so then they would leave. And my star heart would die again.

And if that billy goat won't pull,
Papa's gonna buy you a cart and bull

I see them between my legs, each one in that same place, it is like a madness, a psychotic audition, each one with his own style, some blend into one, some stand out.  Dangerous angels.

One day you realise you don't know the exact date anymore; the date it began or ended. That date which before marched in front of your head and gripped your heart tight - is lost. Just as the memories of touch are gone. Though I can remember your smile and your eyes. Thoughts of what happened come in flashes, sometimes after months of respite – only yesterday I tried to remember the last time you left the house, the final closing of the door - and I couldn't hear a sound. I closed my eyes to hear it; that angry shutting, that end; but the sound wasn't there. And then I remembered that it hadn't happened that way, with you. With you it was through the telephone only and you said you wouldn't come again, that there was nothing you needed to explain. For your heart had nothing to forget.

And if that cart and bull turn over,
Papa's gonna buy you a dog named Rover

Now those men like ghosts, I watch their faces; perhaps I am the ghost and what an advantage, those ravaged faces, time held upon them, magic and flirtations no longer available in their eyes – only age and the catching up of the body that has eaten them.

And behind their ghosts are the priestesses of Babylon in the temples of healing and the fish head priests, is the lapidarium, the stones standing as a providence within the realm of creation, epigraphs testify to the great importances now replaced, the musty odor of the fall of the Romans, the air of lovers now all gone, nations and empires now columns and fragments, the gates to historic cities dissembled to tombstones for their song, is the torn down theatre, citing fire hazard, some of the beauty remains but much has become defaced, ugly, built over, now one has to find charm in concrete. Some dirty charm. Like a stolen fuck behind an abandoned building.

And if that dog named Rover won't bark
Papa's gonna buy you a horse and cart

Yet for him the tree was emanating light. It quivered and moved, an archaic divine bird, a super conscious being; sparkling, remembering, opening, responding, speaking, awakening. Bright, white light. So much so, that it hurt his eyes. He was looking for a way out of there, for a more comfortable place within that forest for them both to lie down. Perhaps there was a hut or covered area, for they were cold. He was stumbling in the dark, trying to give out that he had a plan, that everything was alright, that he could protect her – keep her warm – that it was just the night and nothing more, just some dark hours to wait through. And then as he trod slowly over the dead bracken and tried in vain to find a resting place there suddenly was the tree – somehow lit – alive with light.

And if that horse and cart fall down,
You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town.

Do you remember when we experienced the tide turn, that very moment, that magical flip of the water's pull as it started to recede – just as we had begun to be oceaned yet still danced with our veils to our mistress' song. It was you and I and the great blue sea, it was you and I and an alchemical spell that formed a priestesses' alliance in our hearts. Do you remember when we felt that joy, sister, of embracing the path of the heart.

Memory, is like another land with no bridge. Only water that is too strong and too wide to traverse.

The absence of everything kills me.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

The Compliance

In the human silk factory
the weavers do as they wish
kisses of stealth upon their treasures
thieves plucking feathers
ensuring no more flight
they unravel the bloodied yarn
whilst crowds gather and applause
satisfied that their own clapping hands are clean
the garments are made
the parade begins
no camouflage needed with so much acceptance
'let's watch as each praying mantis takes a bite
for the heads that are rolling should never have been there
and now is the good fight'
but the people forget the coat needs many threads
a shroud upon the nation
with each name obscured

Thursday, June 6, 2013


And dead I am
suffocated with memories
the traces of your hands
phantasms that I close my eyes to receive
Dead I am covered with a cowl
so noone may see my tears
thirsting to the seeds outside of me
my own unborn children within
Dead I am with lips that utter not one word
and eyes that forget the blue
fields of cornflowers were once my promise
now the rains of Africa upon my soul

And alive I am
breathing with presence
the traces of your hands
verities that I open my eyes to receive
Alive I am uncovered by any hindrance
so all may see my eyes
drinking of the seeds inside of me
my own creations are born
Alive I am with communion
and eyes of topaz blue
fields of cornflowers are my promise
the rains of Africa upon my soul

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Let Your Heart Break

Let your heart break and fill the cracks with gold, let your heart break and rub it with salt water for the oceans of time, let your heart break and know that it will never mend, let your heart break and feel its tearing into your very bones, let your heart break and know it is the breaking of everything - from your childhood till now, for every suffering that occurred, for every hope that became a fire, for every death. Let your heart break so that you may know what your heart is. Let your heart break to come closer to Love - for Love is the only way - Love of all sentient beings. Let your heart break to discern what it is to act with honour, respect and clarity and how it feels to receive and how it feels to give and how it feels to be denied such basic rights and honorable practices. Let your heart break because only by allowing it to break do you follow the path of unprotected Love, do you stand naked in the unknown, do you risk everything for the belief in being truly vulnerable and allowing what will come to pass to be, in consciousness and truth, with compassion and kindness. And may one day I be given such kindness and may one day I be awarded such honour and may one day I be awarded such Love. And all is well and will be well*
Tell me, tell me, whisper it well; what are the co-ordinates of an abstract noun in a language with no 'to be'?

How Are You

How are you?

The question reveals layers, skin shedding, memories out
it's all out
it's collecting ahead of itself, unable to look behind
to trail the myths of who has been and watch the coming ones
with their words

I saw you
I see you
the many faces
on walls, in doorways, everywhere
I don't know why

How are you?

I am OK
I am half crazed
I am fabulous
I don't know
I'm changing


I can't keep up
I am lost, never had a compass

I'm tired, want to be held and to be treasured

How are you?

The sky is blue

Sunday, June 2, 2013

My Hands Let Go

You stroked a bliss into my being
tell me our nights were a lie
and the lotus called me from her waiting
bidding me to open my heart

So we danced in the river
collecting the stories of salmon
did you not hear them too
their wisdom said to allow

But now the moon turns with only one face
and the night grew cold and starless
the light flew out of my hands
perhaps this heart was a bird

The Circus

Stay alone in your myth
and I will ride in the circus
with the elephant cycling, an umbrella in hand to hide from all that rain that never comes down
and the lions robbed of their power, trapped in their cages
and the clowns crying, wishing to be naked and seen by only the sea
Stay alone in the past
and I will fly the trapeze in green glitter
trying to catch my heart as it falls from the sky
Only the horses are free here, for one moment of fire
see my thighs astride their bare back
Stay alone in your night
and I will sleep with a thousand stars
the sound of the wolves alive in my soul
those moon led magicians with their blood song
alchemical power that kisses the beast

Thursday, May 30, 2013

So It Is Written

You darkened the beauty
with that cold wine
and I watched it spill across my heart
pulling it tight

the lock was made
and you fastened the door
my roses at your feet, crushed
stains upon your fingertips

I know the truth, it is written above
yet still I tried to dance
that awkward dance of love
that crucifying desire

and still the moon, and still the moon
opens her milk to the vastness of sky

Friday, May 24, 2013


when someone comes along and you share the telling of your soul it opens you, to the stars above and the dark waters, and as the hopes start to fire so the fears start to itch, one card with two sides, and there are those of us who jump from the precipice - we fly we do fly - and we smash many times. But in our flight we see the moon and drink from her silken lips. Oh milk of moon, calm our hearts. And let me live in gloriousness it is all I wish for*

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Essay on Love -via a letter to Giuseppe Conoci who had asked me to write about the subject

Caro Giuseppe

I can speak about the issue of love and separateness for a long time. Yes like two points on a rope; the heart is the measure in all things – as I have said before –everything can be determined by how near or far we are from that central point.

I feel human beings are making choices all the time; conscious and unconscious; to turn away, to close down,to disconnect. People seem to think that the less involvement they have the easier life is, all the time you can see it, people making decisions to be cool instead of warm. I dont understand it, I cant understand it; I am like a child running towards the playground of life and becoming upset when people don't want to play.

People think love is a prison, but I see it as the most perfect anarchy; it sets people free. When love comes to town then all stuck habits and fixed ideas get thrown around. People often fight love because very often it isn't comfortable or easy. Love brings up the deepest feelings, the hidden memories, the fears; it brings them up so they can be presented to the light but in that surfacing of fear many people become terrified and push it back down again. They stop love so that they can stay the same, remain unchanged.

I sometimes feel like I am not made for this world, because I am like a fool, I burn everytime on the fires of love, I drown in the seas, I run into the experience – my heart open. But I will continue to do it, because if I close my heart then I die.

I like what you say about homesickness– yes, a person separated from the heart is in exile from themselves and cannot reach home. And yet when another person comes to hold out a hand to them very often they turn away, they would rather stay in their distant land, because they dont know what will happen to them if they come back home, because maybe the last time they were home something bad happened.

And yet, it only takes meeting one person for maybe one minute and our faith can be restored, we can find magic again in our hearts and souls. And maybe people search for the one ideal romantic love, for that story, so that they can believe, because they really want to believe. And at the same time love can be in many places, with many people. But for how long? Is it the life long sustainable love that we crave? Because once we were babies, and our umbilical cord was cut, and now all we crave is to have that closeness again, to have that sea of life around us,that warmth, that trust.. even if actually our childhoods were not so beautiful .. inside ourselves, deep inside – we know the possibilities, the beauty, the safety of love. Unconditional love.

I dont think we should make our decisions in life because of our fears.. fear should not be our guide. Our scars should be worn with pride and experience; we can say 'I loved and I was hurt, I loved and I received joy.' We can love in a limitless way. Because the whole world is full of love. We can have unprotected love!

And yet, in my tired times, in my reflective times, my pain is so great that I can't feel the love that I want to feel and the waves of isolation come over me. Then I want the love of my father, the lovers that left me, I dont look at the many people here and now that love me with strength – no, I look at the ones that turned away and my pain swallows me, it is like a pain deep inside that wont let me go. But as the years go by, I learn to let it go, I learn to believe different things, I learn different stories about who I am, better stories. When I am in exile, when I am in pain, then I feel a long way from myself and the yearning in me is huge, all my soul, my core yearns for connectedness, and the desire for that becomes so great I feel that life is impossible to live. So, I have to soothe myself, and just get through until i come to a lighter place.

And I am my ancestors, painted blue, riding on magical horses – with the heart as the only measure.

Saturday, May 11, 2013

Passion (Minotaur homage)

there is a thunderous roar under the earth
do you hear it
coming into your dreams

it is seeking you

and I

opening my legs with a power

a minotaur is on the loose
to make love with life
and throw out all the non believers

such a wonderous thing
to ascend into the night's grace
heated with an animal passion
annointed with kisses

kiss me
let us climax                 as a star                   galaxy

Monday, May 6, 2013

The Lost Elephant

I asked you to free the bears from the zoo
all the animals
but only if you could guarantee them safe passage to a Promised Land
it reminded you of your dream, an elephant that walked to your left then right
It had escaped you said
It's your memory I said
and for all the fears and the talking
won't you just feel my lips place a true kiss upon your scars and scarecrows
Don't you know for you I would open the Gardens of Babylon
for I know where their lush green lies, the map is within each poet's heart
with each fresh spring divined

Let me take you by the hand to the healing temples of Sumeria
to be consecrated by sacred water
and given back your song

Why would I do this you ask?
Because we have seen the moon together and for a moment became one being I said
even though your dark rememberings still push you underground

Sunday, April 28, 2013

The Deeper Conversation

in the bed of our secret lake
give the sky new heat
heat of our bodies and feelings
sex as a poem
poem as bilingual love


the rites of emergence
replete with crowns of loss
from the dead winter
our salvaged dreams are carried

a hare with promise
springs from this confinement
an ancient image of moon and hare
a knotted knowledge of wise women

she stands upon a curve
a proclamation with outstreched stars

Saturday, April 27, 2013

Moon Kiss

  art work by Reda Khalil

The waters glistened, rippling their messages, calling to the moon above with yearnings of desire. The moon in all her beauty stroked their surface, iridescent fingers smoothed and caressed, the water undulated underneath

you are that moon and my being is rising up to kiss your beauty

this is what she said to the night, waking with a snake uncoiled descending with jaws open out of her being

and the night said desire

and we were moon led, seduced by the opal spell, our blood charged with the current of each other

you kissed me

and we danced


a ripe flower, a fruit, a moon fruit, a taste, a wish, a kiss, a night sky song

the sky of me opening into your blue

where is the next kiss? I said

upon St Catherine's, we are dancing under the moon you replied

I want an orchestra, jazz, with saxophone and we agreed and I would wear a red velvet dress and you your blue shirt

For our third kiss let's kiss underwater I said In a magical pool. Our breath never ending

Just as the soul does not end

and a rightful journey will always begin, no matter, no matter

Friday, April 19, 2013

An UnOrdinary Belief

What if I wrote the truth
wrote it all down upon the page
held my heart for you to see
let you read its tears and joys

would you bring me one feather?

what if my soul was a china cup
already chipped through the ages
yet still a treasure with all its cracks
filled in my dreams with gold

could you believe in my flight?

I saw you
walk on water
perform miracles
rise from the dead

just an ordinary man they said was my father
just an ordinary father they said lived elsewhere

this is another poem

what if I didn't delete a word
and put all my mistakes
out to dry

but these edits are too tempting
as we redraft our lives

and love is a miracle in an ordinary world

The Lover

The painters came here to deliver a message from God
No, they did not
these deserts are a kiss from a lover who will not leave
who vowed his heart to the scarab's magic and the wind's caress

In this starlit space
we see each other
not just you and I but all our selves, yearning explosions of life
I dance on the cosmic ground and hold all I know of you

The curve of beauty is everywhere
golden seams and quartz melodies
there is no perfect there is no one and same
Somehow I am still alive in this madness, singing

and in the question came the answer
and in the journey came the home
and in the paradox came the embrace

Saturday, March 9, 2013

The Mermen of Lake Qarun (Or How the Dragonfly Got Its Colour)

The mermen of Lake Qarun
came to shores scented with the hearts of those that kissed
dipping with the waves
these sons of sacred water
rose up
crowned with gohanamia
and necklaces of baladi rose
adorning their fine necks

The tarfa led them through oasis groves
and fields of sugarcane
where with songs of Sa'idi on their sweetened lips
they danced the steps of oceans
leaving their tails to silver the night

In the House of Watermelon
Tarek, the gracious host
gave each one a magic duck feather
its mantra iridescent in their blue green eyes

These mermen fell enchanted with the girls of Tunis
who kept their beauty veiled
as hidden verses
prayers to the crocodile
that some said loved them in the night
biting with an ardour
they could not forget
so they whispered 'Ya Sobek, ya Sobek,' as they slept

The mermen untouched by mortal hands
made their dreaming under olive trees
imagining the sky as their lake
and the moon their treasured pearl
searching the map of stars
willing the path home to come

Noone saw their return
for their shanties lulled the village
to sleep through three suns
and dream of underwater temples
of sights which they would never speak

But you only have to see a dragonfly
and notice its shining scales
to know a merman passed by
and touched its shimmering soul

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Audio Tracks of Cairo - Recorded Live at Radio Lewa, Cairo

I am REALLY excited to share my new track working with Kemoslang Mohamed KamalThis was recorded live at Radio Lewa last week. I hope you enjoy!

My homage to Cairo

*see within the poetry section under Cairo for the poem