clay thoughts

backs bent over the

swirling wheel; a burst

of momentum swaying

between fingers; gliding

across coral mud, black

earth, peppered neutrals

doused with fine grains of

soil and dust; as speckles

coiled from nature’s siphon

hardens into tangible function.




mr. moon

at the nape of twilight

the moon is glazing

itself in the distance.

in preparation for his

appearance, he gleans

himself several times

over; in anticipation

of us whom he graces.

with his wondrous presence,

bearing a white light;

corners in soft

emergence; dispersing

freckled reflections

amidst this night scape.


olive green

light spills

through the

dent between

foils of rustled olive.

reoccurring patterns; a

series of solidified bubbles

united at their pointed

corners, an

asymmetrical balance –

their rightful way

towards equality.


all is temporal.

the soul of longing

has engraved it’s desire

into visiting pebbles

sitting by the seaside; they are

bathing under twilight – too,

a shifting hue of

washed-out reflections.

they are awaiting, the

approaching tides; expectant

and eager to dissolve

all that has been worn and

carried; into the

forgiving under tide.



as I peer into

a distance,

not yet microscopic or

drifting at a speed

too swift; the

spaces between

loosely woven bundles,

are gathering.

as they churn and

roll into each other, their

gaps at once, faint

lines; seamless.

moon tales

it was a little before 11.38 pm, on a saturday night i should have been tucked beneath my covers in preparation for an early rising. i stood before the wooden arched window frame, lining the concrete walls around our kitchen sink. gently tapping my supplements from the bottle and into my palm, i moved across tiles in search for a glass of water.

behind the peeling frames, was a faint glimmer of something bright. this caught my eye upon looking up and around whilst gulping down swallows of fluid. mistaking it at first, for a street lamp, awkwardly and placed at random; it took me a little longer than it should have, to discover that this was indeed our moon.

certainly, a remarkable beauty. it’s glow radiating in soft circles across our night sky. i felt warm and encouraged, at the sight and experience of having seen a tiny bright, shimmer amidst such dark, indigo planes. it was nothing like a sparkle, nor did the sky appear to be set on fire; it was a simple, ever so common sighting. there was nothing extravagant, nor peculiar about it.

perhaps it’s unexpected appearance had propelled the essence of what had occurred before me. the value of a light no matter how microscopic, amidst vast darkness; dense and heavy was something to be thankful for. the purpose of this light, was simply to offer light unto the earth; first beginning with it’s home up in our night sky.

the moon continued to sit in stillness, despite knowing of it’s setting in a mere few hours. it was there to just be, for these few moments, and for this present one – now.



desert ground

like the summer snake

slithering across

bare dessert grounds,

I, shed scales;

thin slivers of skin

peppered throughout

trails of powdery grains.

etched prints, from men

who once thread

this path;




wild call

the call of wilderness; an urge to be set free. dissatisfied with the mere shuffling of houses, not a place to be called home; but one that provokes within me the comfort of settlement. allowing things to simply be, as they are. to fall where they are strewn; decided upon a gentle toss up, into rippling air. before, they make a wild dash into permanence, soften your hands into a blooming lotus. wide, open and steady. ready for an awakening. no matter the pain you will deal for it’s arrival. your willingness and grit is a dear trait, definitive not of the outcome but essential, in moulding your experience of the suffering to come.

grey gloom

drooping pearls

strung into seamless

cords; green vines

swaying to the

hum and buzz of

stippling ripples.

a vibration

circulating the still,

air; at a sudden

damp with weight, and

looming grey.




green tree

an intersection,

skins of wood,

peeling bark, and

littered seeds, circulate

the curling roots –

grounding age old life.

in sturdy spins; trapping

the unraveling breeze,

between green flocks

of tidied fragments.