I walk through the woods and imagine it full of books: novels returning home,   pages between roots, words manifesting within fleshy, breathing bark,   dappled light adorning  every dust jacket with sun spots as leaves curl   around well-thumbed spines, earth settling into bookmark ribbons and wrinkled, ink worn skins.     Poem: © Kristiana … Continue reading Home


The light burning through the window fades - every cushion, floorboard and painting  loses colour, the walls merge with the air and everything becomes a meld of grey and beige.   The rain begins, then the hail. Ranks of interminable storm clouds throng, heavy, obscuring the light, refracting it upwards, away from our hungry eyes … Continue reading Goddess

The maw

I haven't written a poem in days, but I read Lord of the Flies today and now I would liken walking into the woods, into a deep forest, beneath a suffocating canopy, to being sucked, boneless, into the maw of a blackhole - a savage emptiness as ebony as Jack's merciless pupils and Roger's desire … Continue reading The maw