Sunday, November 19, 2017

Sky Breathing

What if a hand came from the sky
and took yours, lifted you and
put you amongst the clouds
What then
Would you want to stay
Would that supreme love be enough

Today you go from one place to another
but do you stop at the door of your own heart
Who is living there?

Every day we are given the grace to live
yet instead we see pain on our brothers' and sisters' faces
Be not the blade that wounds
Be instead the earth that supports

Say the names of love in your heart
Say the names of love in your heart

Sunday, September 10, 2017


Summer is over
and even the trees weep
leaves, under our feet

Friday, August 25, 2017

The Wave

The sea rearranged itself
like the cosmos changing its arena
reassembling the concrete nouns into other forms, still present but unrecognisable
When it came it was not like Hokusai's painting, nor from any film we had seen, it was slow, low and steady
a stealth of black water, cold and carrying our lives
It was a death within life
and we had not seen it upon our palms, nor in any dream
The worst was seeing the mothers, waiting through the night
for the children they said must be up in the mountains and would come down soon
when things were safe
We learnt that day that nothing is ever safe

Sunday, June 25, 2017


Here in this place
putting my trust in wind and water
in serendipity
I turn away from making anything happen

This is my new life
my other lives have been recorded
for anyone to view anytime
I am not re-enacting

I am in a beautiful otherness
perhaps to rejoin elsewhere
or be joined here or somewhere
a planet in an outer circuit

Sometimes I am screaming Find Me
Sometimes I delight in all

Without compulsion nor detachment, there I am, unfinished and inbetween

Straddling Fate.

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

A Language of Absence

I will leave the pressed flower in the book I never read

the one you placed into my hand so many moons ago

your own moon long eclipsed

I cannot now believe I carried those books thousands of miles

and your shadow longer

Thursday, March 30, 2017


I was woken by a fire
the telephone cable stretched against the night sky
a dancing blaze of orange
the sound of so many conversations chattering in the flames
whispers of love
laughter and tears
decisions for sofas and items for dinner
A demarcation line between then and now
your entrance ritualised, brighter than the morning sun to come

Sunday, March 5, 2017

Kill Your Darlings - Poetry Film Part 2

My new poetry film!!!

Woo Hoo!

I'm so excited and proud of myself    

I just made my OWN poetry film! It's the long awaited Part 2 to my Kill Your Darlings trilogy!

Please go see my efforts and let me know your thoughts!   

If anyone would like to collaborate with me to make Part 3 then please let me know!

If you never saw Part 1 or want to re-view then you can grab the link here: 

And - the entire text for the complete work is here:

Thanks for watching and reading!  Linda

Wednesday, February 1, 2017

The Absurd

The weather report says there is sunshine
as I look at the grey sky and wind ravaged trees
whilst reading online posts of people trying to outguess the strategists
who have already known the lines of thought they would take
and prepared for it
All my friends, even the insular ones, the neurotics and depressives
are doing more than me
and I wonder if life's pulse is set on a timer for each of us
a sudden citrus burst with the inevitable analogies before and after
and here I am
sitting in my chair, awaiting a delivery of a chair
though of course the courier cannot give me a defined time


Saturday, January 28, 2017

The Sea Ramble

Peter strolled along the sea front and thought about the indisputable facts; but as the tide swelled and turned he soon lost his metallic edge. Were the set of events laid out in his mind, and the established conclusion of that trajectory, truly facts? Or were permutations possible? Indeed was it not that fiction was the gold in the cracks, giving rich story where nothing lay? He thought about his half sister; whom he had never met and knew very little about; what was she doing, how was she living her life and where? Was she even still alive? Had she ever existed in reality or had the one statement of her existence been a conjuring by his mother – using the fact of her as an emotional weapon against the rosy tinted image of his absent father held in his boyhood mind? He recalled that one time he met his father; the short walk they'd taken across the field in Tuam. His father did not speak until they saw a small group of horses standing by a tree and then he had pointed into the mid distance and exclaimed that it was raining on the other side of the field – and how for a moment they were held in another space and time. Another reality. A charm. And how they had walked back to the family smallholding, silent but for their breathing and then once back his father had pressed a piece of gold into his hand before moving away down the hall. The only thing his father ever gave him. His mind moved on and he thought about the woman in the next street to his whom everyone talked ill of. Joan loved a man called John but John had killed a woman and was serving life in some prison somewhere. Was Joan negating the facts surrounding this man, to use the phrase 'in spite of' or did she not even perceive the facts as truth? What were Joan's set of facts? Peter walked on, muttering in his mind of how the Buddhists say there is no truth.