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Sorg Stynja

You’re there.
That place.
Basket case.

Too hard.
Too real.
Too much.

You fall.
Empty.
Emotionless.

Unwell.
Uncertain.
Unswallowed.

Hollow shell.
How far to fall?
How cold & cruel?

Thinking of a friend, in a place she’d rather not be.
Looking forward until she visits Paul and I,
for laughter, sunshine and Queensland hospitality!

Currently unavailable for purchase



For Leah xxx

I’ll defer to Anna Quindlen, of The New York Times: “People who are knowledgeable about poetry sometimes discuss it in that knowing, rather hateful way in which oenophiles talk about wine: robust, delicate, muscular. This has nothing to do with how most of us experience it, the heart coming around the corner and unexpectedly running into the mind. Of all the words that have stuck to the ribs of my soul, poetry has been the most filling.”

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