Lions and Rockets



There is noise in this house,

my mind

extreme roaring like

lions and rockets

it brandishes its false bravado across the valley

and loses me

branch to branch like a monkey

the external being is neatly fooled

by stimulants,

touch and wine

by a bouncing, noisy love that

travels, wrapped in blankets

huddled in big eyes

dancing across smiles and swinging

hand to hand on frightened squeals

this morning the band

is set to screamer

when I would sincerely

prefer Vivaldi




Beautiful Disorder


when my feet touch down

and dust in armfuls spread

like orange sunset

when heat permeates my bones

forcing my chin up

and spine to spark and spin

when my tongue alights on pepper

and my neck twists to engage

when my heart breaks free

to meet the wind

when my words match the angels song

that swirl in echo blue

when elastic skin is rolling under seraphim palms

and my hair is taken up in a cosmic fist

when paint streams from fingertips and soul spreads like water across this land

when lips soft envelop a new dawn in a birth of existential madness

I become

a melody of perfume

a tidal song,

a hot wet bed of divine

I am

my own supplicant

consumed by beautiful disorder


The Artist’s Model


a flower

on her shoulder

in black

and in white,

her soul twines




There are birds

in a circle

that swoop to a call

from deep

in the loop

surpassing it all…

The conscious sky beats

to time


in a frenzy of sweet

inner chime

on the stage….

Pools of light

hold her heart,

soft on your eye

keeping exquisite, forever alive.



Falling Open



A question

spreads in me,

turning keys

and slipping locks.

Molten steel whips my spirit

in long lines of burning rush.

Inexplicably it rivers lava through my obstinate reality

sliding bolts and throwing open doors.

Sashes hit the walls

and sprays of light enter me

like water to the floor


in thick crystal sheets

washing me out.


a bright orange flash of spirited sexuality

and I am returned to colour.




listen to the glisten

at the edges of the mouth

with a tip of the hat

spy the twist

of the lips

and the words

on the tongue

note the warmth in the wet

slide the lines

on the page

turn the corners

of the look

on the side of the eye

and a glance or a shift

of perspective

and light

at the window

of mind

under wraps is a glow

like a worm

in an apple

in a cloak

i n c o g n i t o

A lie is a lie no matter how small if it sits on the heart

keeping people apart

and the pain

is a dream

bare the light

breaking in

to the night

peeling back

from the fruit

or the fright.

Revel in your truth, be proud of your fleece

let the flowers in your mouth

fall soft on your feet

wipe the dust off your knees and blow old off your book

be the queen of the universe

and king of your nook.

Colours Of Woman

Hello Friends!

I would love to invite YOU ALL to the release of my online exhibition 

I hope you can pop through on the link above and join us for a little bit of fine art.

Please remember to leave your thoughts on the guestbook page, 
as an artist striving to better my technique and connection with others, your feedback is of great value to me. 

Feel free to share the link with anyone you may think would enjoy my work, I appreciate the exposure. 

Thankyou for all your support,

Warm wishes and a sky full of fabulous LOVE


Sweet-Skin Child



I offer my cup to you,



sweet-skin child

woman not quite.

I stroke your mind



encouraging in their colour.

Your hopeful eyes

hardly blink.

Your body tips forward

floating flowers fill your ears,

l o v e yourself l o v e yourself l o v e yourself

My mother thumbs

gently mould,

I can see


Wings sail your soul and your glory a spray of ultra marine

my palms and heart are clean,

my mind a pillow for your fear.

Take your silver coin

my darling,

ride the light be free.



Sweet Me



Finding the sweet me

is a forever journey

a soul trip

to inner space

amongst the mist

worlds that

exist ed

before I could think

When my heart was  jupiter

and you my mother

my father

my feathered gods that

swung me left and right

up up

missing the fan blades

instilling a grounded earthly love

for something

blue and green

a painterly  lean

a thick  plastering of sensational life

I flew the roads and climbed the mountainous peaks

dancing the backs of cashmere  goats

I have breathed shallow on the arsenicum ridges

been plaintive in my call

but strength becomes me now

and oceans float my

salty toes

to shore

Finding the


in the folds of satin ink

amongst wildflowers and faces

a journey


and incomplete

Green Shoots Unseen


AH such keen thrill

to this cold,

this ice in my bones

I run through the house naked

a flying queen in snow cloak

to stand skin first

pressed against fire

I squeal with

life biting


sucks me closer….

Like old love

yesterday moments that should remain buried

but are not quite dead

and bitterness that masks rusty pain

that masks desire

that masks yearning

love of self…

a winter growth, green shoots, un seen.

BUT for now I lay him underneath the coals

and raise my arms in supplication

to my god

of fire, skin and soul


The Wasp The Rose


The wasp


and the rose too

I press my face into this life

and on fluttering petals they find my portal

they sting and sing

in glorious waves

of mystery, the rose the wasp

and propel a gyroscopic spin

on my ribbons

my universe

they travel

I am


and these intoxicants are journeying through stars