Spring Rites
(turning the seasons)
Notes from the Top
It’s Spring in the Southern Hemisphere and you can feel it. There is a warmth to the air and an aliveness that wasn’t quite there a few weeks ago. What can one say?
While writing this piece, I thought for a while about the perplexity of the english language: rights, rites, and writes are all pronounced the same way which is the same as whey. And, of course, right is both directional, correctional and attributional: “Go right!” “That’s right” and “It’s my right.”
English is complicated.
Here are a couple of poems written in English kept to a fun and playful style: the rhythms of life, change begins with art and
the rhythms of life the rhythms of life are sleeping and resting farting and burping regular digesting! and finding people who are totally interesting... not accounting or taxes nor waxes or faxes, eighty hour weeks! exaggerated quarterly returns and trillion dollar freaks! it's tasteless you know to seek definition by what one earns while the world burns when will these silly people learn? for the rhythms of life dancing, moving walking, laughing joking, jesting generally zesting and the occasional boundary testing finding deep wonder love and happiness pushing the limits within and without delightful tantrums as you jump-scream and shout!
Notes about “the rhythms of life”…
I think the poem says it all, don’t you?!
Unbridled joy is truly an imposition on the unhappy: Yet, life is always challenging us to come back into rhythm with it, so that we can find our aliveness.
Let’s continue.
for the wild children
i am a child of the water
unfettered and barefoot
swimming in the sea
salted, wild and free
i am a child of the earth
marvelous root, stem and fruit
of mushrooms and toadstools
grounded and happy
i am a child of the wind
rustling, swiftly, the hawk
carrying the breeze
dancing in the trees
i am a child of fire
filled with sacred desire
all consuming, wild and warm
moving in my own gyre
i am a child of grace
carrying divinity
a coalescence of stardust
fine grains of moon rust
an expression of all elements
shaped in poetry
forged in clay
creating elemental magic
day by day
Notes about “for the wild children”
Love and children are the best things that we do collectively. It’s easy to forget that our children aren’t ours; they come through us just as our lives aren’t “ours” they’re temporary gifts of experience, for co-creation. At least I sometimes think so!
This last poem I wrote a few months ago, art is metabolic. Making art allows us to digest the parts of ourselves that are needing to be refined, refired, and rebirthed.
It’s how we turn pain into beauty. Time to build a new world from the flotsam and jetsam…
change begins with art
change begins with art
artists play their part
it’s not a question of:
how and where to start?
it’s about the symphony
that you’ll play
before you depart
what will it be?
wild and free!
constrained and confined?
bitterly unhappy?
for change begins with art
artists play their part
so in your quest for self-definition
sacred trauma release
freedom from contrition
pursuits of sweet happiness
on a road to perdition
do us all a favour?
give your inner artist a kickstart! Catch y’all next month.


loved it 🥹
wildly inspiring
thank you 💙
Absolutely love your poem!