Upcoming: Poetry reading, 2nd of July

Drum roll, please! I have quite spontaneously decided to take the plunge and do a poetry reading. And my rather fabulous mother, Fanny Parow Knill, will be accompanying me on the harp. Featured work will be some of the poetry I have posted here previously, plus some brand new stuff. In July we will be…

Poem: A Change in the Weather

I like rain, I tell myself. I would rather bundle up against the cold than face the slick sheen of sweat and sunscreen that feels heavy on my face and distorts my vision, – an inevitable consequence of summer. And all of this is true. But, as the heat rolls in, with its pungent floral…

Poem: Home

It wasn’t the soaring mountain peaks perpetually capped with snowNor the green and purple lights speeding across the night sky It was not the round pebbles and jagged rocks under my bare feetThe shrieks and joyful splashes of water, the gathering storm Not the smell of rotting leaves and mushrooms, with the frost slowly descendingNor…

Poem: Calamity

CalamityIs not the big thingsThose you live your life forDreading It’s the invisible, unexpected, unmentionableOut of the corner of your eyeIn the beat of silence between one song and the next CalamityIs not there in your neatly planned paperwork It roams the streets at nightSlipping through the unguarded cracksAnd fills your house like gasWaiting to…

Poem: Spring

This is one of the few poems I wrote pre-2020 and one of the even fewer that I feel still holds up after I’ve gotten more into reading and writing poetry over the past year. So, before it’s too late to post a seasonal poem (we had summer here for a few days just now),…

Poem: Green Jacket

Sometimes I go out walking in my green jacket. I put the hood up and disappear amongst the moss and leaves and grass. I become shrouded in the utter lack of expectation,which is the only true magic I know.

Poem: Overture (for Write from the Heart, August 2020)

The smell of cowpats mixed with sun-warm grass and wildflowers,
Rough bark and silken butterfly wings, 
Muddy lake feet and pursed lemon lips, 
Bonfire crackle and the cracking of crab shell,
Crimson sun melting into indigo,
And the cricket sings.

 The velvet night holds secrets and promises,
Soft laughter and guitar strings,
The mysterious clink of glasses,
Skin touching skin,
The symbols…

Poem: The pleasure of being witnessed

Nothing exists in a vacuum. Not heaven nor hell (if indeed such things exist at all). Nor you nor I. I do not dance for your approval. I do not write for your judgement. I do not create for validation. It is for the pleasure of being witnessed. I was here. I was part of this….