crunchy morning walk
crow flies by with shakey call
were just traveling though

crisp splash on cool morn
naked to the rising sun
creation in awe

sneaky sand grains tease
brush & shake they still persist
sleeping bag dramas

camp oven secrets
teasing aromas waft out
is it ready yet

rapids pulsing wet
sun glinting off eyes blinded
river dances by

coals of wonder glow
holding secrets not yet dreamed
drawing us all in

sweet swag of the night
camping under the crystal
stars shooting on by

river rushing by
kids giggles bring sweet delight
splash from the tree swing

years end rolls over
new beginnings new folders
fresh start flows on in

roundness of the moon
my mothers voice still echoes
on my pillowcase

a peaceful sound scape
i hear the sound of dads snore
through the open door

hair stuck to my neck
sucking thirsty on my lip
sweet blue metal bath

the river flows on
far from my current country
still i ride in streams

a self willed woman
finding her way in the world
single file footprints

a woman alone
making all the decisions
empty toilet roll

visitor so cold
coaching me with right questions
my fathers wisdom

blank page of new thoughts
guitar plucks out lifes rhythm
washing over clean

alone or lonely
pulse commits to living on
connection beyond

pan pipes pondering
levels of conciousness breached
exploring edges

heart to heart we speak
words or song sounds vibrating
love truth pulsing through

dusty white chrystals
covering cars and grasses
hanging on so tight

thanatologist
soothing passing and rising
harpist plays his song

two girls book looking
reading hearts alphabet book
at the days ending

on a mouldy day
the flanelette nightie
feels like a ball gown

complete with ugg boots
and the bright star dvd
tucked up on the couch

sobbing feels natural
on the stage of my lifemare
where no light can shine

those red itchy mounds
of my eczema running wild
tapping athletes foot

displayed on the blog
weapons of mass destruction
model with a smoke

sneezing & snotting
red eyed weary headed kids
hayfever season

the seasons first day
a fleeting hope and dreamings
for a snowy morn

smokey dusty nights
the orange glow slinks away
fire flies arise

missing the bird calls
still smelling sweet straw like grass
heavy with the dew