Self Titled Poem


The hare unseen, the distant, melting snow,

the buds just opening all up the wall.

It’s cold, still! Or is it?

The question lights the fire!

Inside I sit, outside, all!

The hare, the wasp, the ivy and all.

No geckos here, they’re far away!

Hot and cold, where all that lives lives each day,

in a web of torment.

Tooth and claw,

each a friend, each a foe.

The hare, the mite, the mighty kite,

the peregrine, the cheetah.

Fast as light all creatures named,

all creatures framed,

would take me deep into the night.

The endless night where life goes on,

and under her cloak she is the most beautiful thing.




Cloaked within there are great depths,

secrets kept hidden despite our looking.

Distractions for our senses.

Wonder, joy, disbelief, confusion.

Colours hewn in sunset wisps,

on calm reflective evenings,

belie eons gone of rules long smithed,

in the furnaces of time.

We chip away, lest we find,

the core, the key, the blueprint.

Equations strewn across countless boards, 

just as lost in time as once proud ancestors,

in the chalk, in ourselves, in our very bones.

Both the same, all the same,

recycled, lost in time.

But always, churning on, the answers.

Beyond theory, the truth…

Unified in perpetuity,

always one step ahead.

Yet also always within our grasp,

deep within, waiting to be reconciled.

Waiting to be felt and understood.

Cloaked, she waits,

to be understood.




Sudden. Brilliant. Resonant.

Awkward growth comes of age.

And out of time unveils, uncloaks awareness, a glimpse,

shattering the light, the world, into something vital,

as the light through dark before it.

Transcendent. Resplendent. Something new.

Or something old and always there?

Contemplation, a delight.

An invigoration a burst of life.

An old cloak or a new?

Comfort. Homely. It fits so well,

containing all secrets and the answers,

it is the very reason!

There the whole time, her cloak is mine,

and her secrets too.

The depths inside to infinity go.

There is no outside, no lack of.

It’s all the same, foundational.

It is I, the hare, the buds, a cloak.

You, the seas and tides of time.

Thee absolute,