i love you. life is short.

the inner circle

of my mind’s eye

likes to think that they are friends

my inner ear

with the binds that tie

is pondering these loose ends

of the things you have said

that I don’t understand

the hands of the clock

are made up of sand

if you’ve noticed

grit flowing

refining my thoughts

into panic

and fun things

the calendar has taught

please excuse

squinting ears now


they’re impatient.








crocheting continuity

in the weaving waves

of sound sublimity,


the embossing of the

dimensional trinity


by the cerebral unity,


g(r)asped by incredulous senses converted

to heights of clarity –


the aching symphony


scaffolding the wholing

of peace.

Christian, Poetry

“adam and eve”

Fiction, prose

it’s January second afterall…

Confused by the vapid voices of renewal that languided out of the new year cake,
they did used to jump, she recalled,
she thought it was time to do something.
Something had to be done with this pile of the unsaid.

She searched for that wisdom file, the one they’d all spilt wine on at the new year’s eve party. How they laughed. Such a good night.

She wondered if she should rake through those coals over there. Some were still smoldering.

Melancholied by the cold she had a better idea.
As she cast the pile onto her knitting needles, she was struck by how colourful it was…



Fiction, Poetry

could you please stop tilting our equipoise

Remember that time we had an original thought?


Started by his voice

she put down her book.

The book with no pages.

Removing her glasses,

the ones with no lenses.

Her mouth stinging from a memory she couldn’t share,

the one she kept in that book.


Started by her inner voice

she paced towards him,

measuring the equidistance between them

to that thought.

Still right where it should be.


I must write this in my book she posed,

right after I find my glasses


originally posted Nov 22nd, 2016



a favourite from December last year:


attempts to alienate confusion

decaf, a necessary intrusion

I miss you.


float me past the contusions

the knots in my shadow crave fusion

I spill you.


the fragments in frosty perfection

arranging the shards of reflection

I see you.


memory’s space incandescing

cauterise weds convalescing

I place you.


the pieces not lifed in competing

the peace not in ice but the heating

tapestried sensed in the meeting

I love you.




personal, Poetry

forget you (k)nots

General bewilderment, personal, Poetry

pretty sure my mouth is shoe shaped


so, is it my mouth

or my soul

shaped this way?


or is mind

in sibling rivalry

with heart?


vying for the approval

of discordant voices,

the lens of reality between –


distorting blood.


I look at the music

pooling at my feet-

the beauty of its reflection

tearing my comprehension,

sweetly serenading me

from the red of the truth.


Poetry, Uncategorizable

I’m not sure where this is going, or at what speed…

The grey sky and sea are one today.

The only discernible difference,

the texture of the latter.

The encumbrance of the matter

in mind’s funnel

distracts and disturbs.

Protracts and perturbs

still the distilling,

the stone at my neck

is blunt from the milling.

I ponder this song about addiction.

Another one I’m addicted to.

The frictionless sky

and the turbulent sea,

I sway between

the knowing way you look at me,

oh mind’s eye,

and the mystery of unease,

the sky gets me there so soon

compared to the past,

on the sea,

in a tempested moon.

Christian, personal, Poetry


I had the most interesting conversation with a dear, elderly friend recently. Every time I do, it makes me lament even more how our culture doesn’t value the wisdom of the elderly. There are times when I truly grieve over stories lost forever.

We talked about the fear of man…

the fear of God…

the misunderstanding of the fear of God and how radically it is exacerbated by the growing fear of other humans, the context being, that we believe humans were created in God’s image.

The astonishing kindness of anonymous bloggers, their anonymity injecting poignancy straight into my veins.

I told him about the phenomenon of hikikomori which fascinated him, but he immediately responded with words straight from his mature, listening heart, ‘no wonder people are afraid of God. We are forever doomed to create him in our image…’ or something to that affect. Ugh, my awful memory does not do him justice.

And this post does not do this issue justice. but I want to get in the habit of writing more regularly so this will have to do for now.


personal, prose

Post Vocalic Stress Disorder

lake bonney

Disorders. We all have them. One of mine is that I am an Australian married to an American. I kid you not. The exact nature of this disorder is a conversation for another time.

So we met at the seminary he was attending a few (cough) 20+ years ago, and what ensued were years of discussing the ‘problem’ Australians have with pronouncing post vocalic ‘Rs’. To say we are still in pretty intense negotiations over this, well…

But it seems, the whole world is suffering from PTSD.
And yet, we continue discussing things that don’t matter quite as much… like PVSD. (Especially because we know I’m right about PVSD…)

So really, Basil, my blog instigator, is about balance. Or, at least, one of the things he is about.