On this ride

This is the smell of mud and sharp air,

the intensity and clarity of knowing you’re alive,

feet thumping madness of being wholly in your skin,

this skin, whatever colour you are,

this shape, whatever form you are,

where are the times we wore crazy grins

up for a wild ride,

we are the troopers in the storms

the sound of a hell fucking yes,

the sound of the sky crackling with thunder

and the earth shuddering with the roars

tearing from our throats,

we have the wild singing in our blood,

the notes dancing onto a page 

cannot contain the love that expresses itself 

in the feeling of being soaked in rain,

that feeling of being near something you cannot name,

that feeling of falling into an abyss,

that feeling of soaring

and that feeling of being on this ride.



Lets wake up together

Some things come into bloom with such violence;

a passionate affair for life, for instance – 

to live with ones heart beating in the ribcage; 

numbered thrums of being alive –

where do i go? 

with the questions?

where do i go? 

to lay my head down on a mossy bed,

green and damp

cheek to the earth 

and tell her i’m sorry? 

where do i go? 

bare feet tapping 

into the wilderness of ones heart,

into the wilderness of my mother,

into the wilderness of my children, 

into the vast wilderness

with the blooming promise 

of the present moment;




lets wake up together.