Alice Falls Again

Alice has gone down the rabbit hole again,

Into the space between the chimes marked by the hands of a clock;

The maze that eternally changes:

The falling,

And Oh God! there’s even more falling,

And there’s so much s p a c e in all of that falling.

A symphony of chaos,

This fantasia of existence,

With cannons of colour that burst into life and spend themselves,

Until there’s nothing but darkness,

And a gradual surrender to always falling;

A wayward acceptance of the eternal unknown.

I wonder if Alice will ever come home again.

Dinner with the Shadows

The shadows are entering the room;

They have finally been provided with an invitation to sit at the table.

I am a nervous host,

Anxious and curious at the same time about how this feast may go.

And it is a feast that will be served,

As some of the shadows seated at my table appear ravenous to be heard and seen.

So, this feast demands that I am an attentive and obliging host,

And although I have invited them willingly to sit with me and dine,

I still carry the slight apprehension that they may be ungracious in their appetites and

devour me instead.

Nonetheless here we sit all together,

Resembling enemies who have much in common and now take tentative steps to call a


The conversation begins hesitantly at first and despite the nervous glances between my

shadowy guests and their nervous host,

It is clear there is goodwill on both sides.

The feast progresses well into the night, the conversation at times,

Moves between heated debate, genuine humour and at times tears,

Although none of those that fall are bitter.

The night finally ends for my guests and myself;

The sunlight filters through the uncurtained window,

And I watch my guests disappear one by one feeling sated by the night’s repast,

And the knowledge we shall dine again.

The Long Goodbye.

I’m watching you as you fight to loosen the last vestiges that tie you to this existence.

I’m watching myself in this space too;

The breath we take for granted, is the breath we fight to hold onto,

When the tides turn and we all return back to some infinite ocean.

Your body like a shipwrecked vessel on the shore of your white hospital bed,

Lists precariously to the side.

We work to hold you up and right this seemingly helpless position,

And you return after mere moments to where you were before.

The artificial light in this room,

Constantly reminds me of the weary attempts we make to try and make our days here

last a little longer.

The light in your eyes has dimmed and makes a mockery of all our futile attempts to

bring back to life, what is committed to dying.

So, I hold your hand in mine and stroke the rough texture of your skin,

And commit myself to this long goodbye.

Even Lazarus had to let go in the end.


If you are fearless, my love,

You will learn to entertain these shadows;

You will ask them their names,

Invite them to your table and be curious about their stories.

If you are fearless, my love,

You will expose your tender heart,

And if in the process, it is pierced,

You will water the ground with your tears,

And let flowers bloom in your wake.

You will be stirred to walk the untrodden path,

And learn to love the faces of things and people you could not understand before.

You will recognise whilst the wounds may be different,

Our blood and fears are all remarkably the same.

If you are fearless, my love,

You will not go to war with others,

You will seek the unknown places within yourself,

And also learn to call these home.