Dying/broken/forgiven.... now I begin

Born: 17-06-56....gemini.... monkey
re-born: 3-09-80
born again\found: 14-04-08
other notable dates: 10-03-68; 03-09-87; 23-03-96;
1-05-98; 31-01-02; 5-04-04

Interests: movement, stressed/transgressive embodiment, lived experience (body\space\time\relation)
expression ( word, dance, text, image, story, music, poetics)
learning, yielding......

Hopes for the blog:
offer up the wild intersectedness of lived experience and engage others in creative, expressive, perhaps irreverant, hopefully playful, and respectful encounters....
enact kindness
create moments of pause for disclosure, discovery, stillness

Monday, May 13, 2019



The howling began with sounds and syllables, at first
only a buzz
responding at an elemental level to a terrifying felt sense

then, the words and phrases, wailing
axes off kilter
scrabbling and frantic tumbling 
swirling sickening confusion
tilt a whirling 
a perfect storm
a tear in the fabric
a poet is dead

his sweet wordplay lingers and murmurs
stays with me (us)
I (we) breathe gratitude
 I (we) breathe relief for his reprieve
and  I (we) grieve
this magnificent loss
no one else is 
Carl Leggo

wondering about his grand-daughter's three syllable name.... 

the howling began with sounds and syllables
wondering, I am wondering
(my) vertigo at a fever pitch 
sliding off the table of the world 
still here, 
rocked by the randomness of who dies
in the arms of this wild devouring bramble beast
and who lives

Sunday, February 24, 2019


The dragon is sleeping
she will awaken. 
Then, we will journey together

REMISS I on... a cloud
 of joy
and hope
there are words 
to write the carnal bedrock 
of living with....
of dwelling with
this dragon 

as I steal and lean on another's 
lovely words
proud to be a thief 
who knows she needs 
First, you make the beast beautiful. 

Wednesday, June 7, 2017

There is a we here

There is a we here
that is not....
a 'we' that is

its embrace recognizes and welcomes

the insiders form a circle, and mouthpieces
proclaim platitudes of generic appreciation.

The circle is not for me--
neither do I crave it.
This is my sin.

There is a we here that is not....
a 'we' that is
Or maybe, there is a we here
that is
(an) US.

Thus I become
(a) them.

Saturday, May 13, 2017

Triage makes you tired.....

Triage makes you tired if it's all you ever do
Pissed off, shaky, wired with no time for feeling blue
Caught up in the clamour, chasing down the clue
Triage makes you tired if it's all you ever do

Triage is seductive when it takes you by the hand
Surrounds you with its glamour, never boring, never bland
Relentlessly rewarding, something precious, something grand
Triage is seductive when it takes you by the hand

Triage is a minefield where no flowers ever grew
Discard a thousand cries for help and focus on a few
And claim that it's priorities that always make it through
Triage is a minefield where no flowers ever grew

Triage is a danger masquerading as demand
Silence is a stranger in this noisy, cluttered land
And reflection is your enemy until you take a stand
Triage is a danger masquerading as demand

Triage is a habit that can hold you by the throat
When you make a move to grab it, it will taunt you, it will gloat
And the context of its character is fortress with a moat
And the emptiest of vessels are the only things that float
And it takes a lot of push to move a heavy, hungry boat
Triage is a habit that can hold you by the throat

Triage makes you tired if it's all you ever do
You forget to be inspired by its colours or its hue
And you see the complex moving parts, but miss the larger view
And its face becomes a death mask from the poison in the brew
And you recognize the toxin in the words you thought you knew
And you realize this skill of yours is more than guts and glue
That it's not triage that's deadly, it's the hammer and the screw 
In that netherworld of double talk, bureaucracy and poo
Triage makes you tired if it's all you ever do

Monday, March 13, 2017

O (p) press I on

You are sitting at a desk-maybe your desk
Or a table-maybe your table.
Place your hands flat on top
Push hard on the surface
Count to ten
Do it again
Push hard with one hand and do another relatively easy or mundane task with the other hand
Count to ten
Do it again
Are you alone?
Place one hand and then the other on the surface, alternating
As if you are walking on your hands
As if your hands are walking
Make no noise
Do it ten times
Do it again
Are you alone?
Do the hand walking with more force, more noise, BUT DON’T RUSH
 Don’t compromise force for speed
Keep the pressure on…..
Are you alone?
Find a wall. Do it there. Two hands. Then one at a time.
Find another person
Do this side by side
Two hands
Then one at a time.
Now…. About this other person…..

Sit or stand face to face
Place hands against each other’s hands, palm to palm
Push into each other
Two hands, same time
Count to ten
Walking hands, alternating, against each other’s palms
Make no noise
Do it ten times
Practice pushing and yielding against each other
Only the hands
Make no noise
Do it ten times
Find another set of partners
Now you are four
Find a space in the centre of a room
Or go outside, find any open space
Imagine a giant box with a lid on a hinge….
It hangs open
It is your task to push it closed
Approach it as a group
Plan your timing
Gather round….
Open your hands
Push together
Push as if you were actually doing this work
Get under it, push, push
Push it up, now over
Now push it shut
One last push to be sure

Find a place / time to reflect on this
On pushing, pressing
Alone, with another, with a group
Was it exhausting? Exhilarating?
Is it something that becomes habit the more you do it?
Invisible in its familiarity?
It is something that makes its presence felt
Thrumming beneath the surface
Or off to the side?
Does the rhythm get into your blood?
Can you walk away because it left no impression?
(how)(what) Do you forget?
(how)(what) Do you remember?

That’s the question.

Thursday, February 2, 2017

No Mud, No Lotus

one month
and one week
and more
and two more days
did I say days??
I meant DAZE
Dazed, is more like it.
AMAZEd at how busyshit tasks crowd
my landscape
fill my time
jangle and clang

How necessary they seem until I hold them in my
that's right. Full bore full burn gaze.
I phase in and out
I wonder about
the ways the crazy haze

For now, I will lean into this moment
endless stillness possible
Put in the big rocks first.

Wednesday, December 21, 2016

Soltice, 2016

Mahogany red hair
blond roots
rasping cough
I glanced her way to see if she was okay
Inclined I was to care
big boots
ticked off
She warned me
then she kicked me, hard.

I had the sense that there was more going on

Her eyes, her face, her voice
the way she needed space and control
the way she needed others' fear
She sat alone in the big back seat
all the way to Niagara Falls.
I suppose it's what she wanted
or what a life's satchel of habits
make possible.

My bruises remind me of the choices I make
to see and feel and hope
on this longest night, I yield to my gratitude.
I have no regrets.