The Windows

are open.

You know


who wants

to die.

Every evening

the birds return.

Flying over the buildings

shaded in mist,

they come in through the light

higher up in the clouds.

Every evening they come.

Every evening

they give back to you.


The above poem is from my first book Reeling (2012).


The Trees From My Friend’s House

yesterday were so beautiful

how the sky slowly opened up

through the leaves

in the morning

it was like a sea

the grey-brown branches

spread wide

and the birds chirped

while the light

came in

I stayed in bed

warm under the blanket

watching this

I was planning

to leave for home


to avoid

the sun

and take in

the milk

at my door

but then

it felt so good

my mind wouldn’t tell

my body to get up

I had become quiet

I just sat there

in the cool December air

and looked

out the window

for hours

lost to myself

drowned in the scene


in the warmth

of the mild golden sunlight

seeping in

through the green leaves

singing so sweetly

in the breeze

and beyond that

the blue sky was peeping

through the floating white clouds

while small black

crows flew cawing

and my friend slept

peacefully next to me.