One rainy day


The many doors of love

are open
And we frolic in the dancehall
of creation

Released from yesterday
No longer in the fear
of tomorrow
Free in the ocean
of a single moment


Listening for secrets

The art of listening

Is a painting that never dries

And a dance that does not stop

Does that invoke enough arrival,

enough stillness?

The art of listening

Is music before the notes


The great work relies on desire

On longing

Yet tug too hard

All is lost

Strain and you cannot hear


What is it we listen for?


For the sound of Okay-ness

A rounded yes

Sometimes known as bliss

Until like Kabir

You believe in the Great Sound.


Leaden Tussle

Music - Jon Scott

Words and visuals - Tom Burgess



 I am hungry for beauty

Ambushed by tears

Ache of a thousand chests

I house the stars and the longing 


Fire Online In Time


Being on Facebook is like being at a sour house party

The host has skimped on sustenance

The remaining guests don't really know him or actively dislike him

The organisers all went to a different venue once they saw where it was heading

Maybe it is really late or maybe it never really got going


As I scroll through the heckles and rousing song

Past the sycophantic chanting of robotic thought

The fun has died with the light of my eyes

If there was ever any dancing it is now

designed out and replaced by adverts

The venue is a market driven dive obsessed with superficiality

The false veneer of a smoke machine generates polarising click bait

The centrifugal force of change might rip us apart

The chance of intimacy is slight

Profundity profane

Insight inane




Ready for a fire


Let us burn down this house

Think what could rise from the ashes

When the cloud finally rains

Data free falling, torrential life used to serve us all

Our dopamine no longer stolen could fuel a brighter day

Concentration and connection would emerge

holding mugs of hot drink and a bin bag or two