Gossamer Healing

Time to write some more Haiku for healing. Anyone feel like joining me, just let me know.

A Thousand Healing Haiku


  Creative Commons Feggy Art

For a thousand dreams
a million branches broken
Gossamer healing

Healing Gossamer
silhouettes her dancers in
her token dreaming

A million branches
beating like a heart drum
Gossamer to comfort

(c) June Perkins

View original post



Manifesto“James Radcliffe is a 100% listener supported independent musician, writer, and artist.

He has been writing and performing publicly since the tender age of 8. He has played in a diverse collection of situations, including (but not limited to): punk bands, jazz groups, orchestra, brass bands, outreach programs for charity, solo, and many, many more.

He has performed in: coffee houses, rock clubs, jazz venues, front rooms, concert halls, theatres, and on the street in an ever-growing list of countries.

James: writes, records, mixes, and masters all of his own music in his home studio. His music and writing are now downloaded, listened to, and read in over 170 countries around the globe.

In Jan 2014 he released an independent album of original music. More recently he released: ‘Invocation‘; a single created exclusively with layered acoustic cello and voice.

He believes very strongly in ethical business, and 10% of all profits from his work are donated to a charity which: feeds, houses, clothes and educates orphaned children in Nepal.”

The Language of Birds

From Robert Okaji’s poetry –  O at the Edges where he shares Musings on poetry, language, perception, numbers, food and anything else that slips through the cracks.

O at the Edges


The Language of Birds
(for Lydia)

Something thrown beyond
light: a stone,

words. The language of birds
evades us but for the simplest

measure. And how can we comprehend
those who live with the

wind when our own
bodies seem far away? In the darkness
certain sounds come clearer, as if in

absence one finds strength, the evidence
gathered with every breath. Speech is,
of course, not the answer. We release

what we must, and in turn are released.

Another oldie dug out of a folder. I wrote it for my niece perhaps twenty-five years ago, and don’t believe it was ever published. It feels good to finally release it to the light and air.


View original post

Cyclone Lam

Sneaking in like a thief in the night
masked because you came to somewhere
more remote
not one to draw attention to yourself
because you picked
on people
who are already so far away from everyone
it’s easy for the media
to forget them.

Histories hidden
need to be told
but things happening now
still become hidden history
in a nation too accustomed
to forgetting
convinced she’s a sleeping beauty
and yet sometimes
she’s a sleeping monster.

And just when you think the corner’s turned
well cyclones remind you that the
ink on the changing of the laws
has barely dried

so that’s when the keyboard angels
have to come out and
community correspondents
are the ones who’ll
sound the burglar
tap, tap, tap
remember the Northern Territory
they had a cyclone too.

(c) June Perkins 25/02/2015

For More on Cyclone Lam

Acceptance (acrostic poem)


Trust photo of hands with writing on inviting acceptance

Accept me


Call me and really hear me

Envelope me with your love

Practice patience like God above

Tell me you forgive me often

And all shame will be forgotten

Now I will do the same for you

Cancelling rejection too

Every day this I’ll do, if you will just love me true

© Michelle Sherlock 18/2/15

Writing 201 Challenge: Acrostic, with internal rhyme on the broad theme of trust

View original post

Dear Sherlock,

7943812152_0569dd5978_z (2)

                                                      Creative Commons from Adplayers



Dear Mr Sherlock Holmes,

Did you know how many were going to play you on the big and small screen
and that your reinvention would lead you across time like the Phantom?

Did you have any inkling how universally your story would be shared?
Any at all?

Did you know you would be cast as egotistical yet caring,
brilliant and yet utterly emotionally unintelligent (with a case of aspergers)
and that Watson would be so understanding of your little
foibles and in emotional intelligence often outdo you and through it all
the violin, the fight against addiction and the brilliance would remain?

Did you foresee that your battle with Moriarty might become
a battle of brilliance based mainly on your ego and that Steven Moffat’s and Mark Gattis’s,
imagining of you has you have a ‘mind palace’ that you go in to solve your crimes?

The internal workings of brilliance signified by the’ mind palace’
give the film makers a chance to do imaginative, abstract
and sometimes down right loopy things on screen.

Did you know that the man who inspired you
would also grace the screen, and
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle would be
a factional character in a series called Murder Rooms?

Did you know how cool you would be with technology – texting, GPS and more?

How could you know that your fame would
lead you to dance through time, re-imagined, rewritten,
interpreted, unpacked – and vulnerable to fashion.

How could you see your future in fiction,
in the fandom rewritings
would take hounds and cliff top battles into the realm of legend.
And a television series would send up the whole concept of your fan club.
And play with the concept of multiple endings on one of the crimes.
TV with pick your ending!
Watson’s blog~ What a master stroke!

And you, you have your own blog as well.
Of course it has to be super clever.

Will future generations know you weren’t real, if essential records be lost
and only your blog and Watson’s remain?

Will they rewrite you to tell their stories?
Take you as motif and reinvent you and Watson all over again?

If you know the answers to these questions
and begin answering them,
I’ll know that you will have
taken me into the realm of the fandom.

You will be tempting me to tell your story, but in my case I would want to send
you to North Queensland and see what happens to you there.

Or perhaps I’d encourage you to go there on holiday
and discover some emotional intelligence
to make you worthy of Molly.

However I realise there simply has to be
an irresistible puzzle for
you to solve.

Yours Sincerely,

Dr June Perkins,
budding detective of the social condition,
whose mother was an Agatha Christie Fan – who didn’t discover Sherlock until later.

P.S.  Yes, it really exists, a blog for John Watson

To visit  – John Watson’s Blog

Story on  – John Watson’s Blog

Yes, we’re getting to you, you clever boy – Sherlock’s Blog

Messages to Cyclone Marcia

Marcia, oh Marcia
some panic at the torment you could cause,
but I think you’re just a little sister to
some brothers called Larry and Yasi,
and you might throw a tanty and cause some havoc
but you’re a little sister,
and that makes me relieved.

Marcia, oh Marcia,
stop deciding to get bossy
tough, bigger, fiercer.
Let’s just get this straight.
You don’t need to become a big sister.
I think category 2 was quite enough.
You don’t need to become 3
– seriously the smaller you are the better.
There are so many advantages.
Why not even become a 1.

Marcia, oh Marcia
just remember to not cause too much
damage or disruption as mortals
we just can’t put up with too much of it
although we have proven capacity
we’d rather concentrate on fixing
the problems we create
without having to deal with you.

Marcia, oh Marcia.

Typical, you’re just not listening Marcia.

Isn’t that just the thing that tantruming toddlers
do right at the checkout
where the sweets used to be strategically placed.

Category 4 – Now I’m telling you that is just not on.

You can huff and puff and blow everyone’s houses inside out
sure, but do you really need to do that.

I mean there must be better things for you to do.
There is a lovely ocean view somewhere
without many people around. hint, hint…

Now I don’t want you getting any ideas about heading to
any vulnerable islands, or any other places
not keen for your arrival.

Just go and blow yourself out.
Go on – I dare you.

(c) June Perkins


Links – Cyclone Marcia .

Letters never sent 1# Sounds of Silence


Image by Ivanneth – Creative Commons


Dear Mr Simon and Mr Garfunkel,

Do you think it’s time for a sequel to Sounds of Silence?

I couldn’t believe that a certain ‘famous’ person,
who will remain nameless (because I don’t want to be sued)
but we all know who he is,
recently said this song was boring and dated.

He might have had a point.
I’m not sure the rendition of it was anywhere as heart felt
as you both together,
but perhaps that’s because the singers
felt like they were staring into the headlights of fame
and just lost their way. 

Their hearts were in the right place and
I don’t think they were able to perform
it the way they wanted. 

Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt, okay.

Maybe, the aforementioned ‘famous’ person,
just didn’t understand the deeper layers of this song. 
I’m sure his songs aren’t going to make it onto the curriculum. 
But then he probably doesn’t care because
he has plenty of money.

Maybe the cancer you thought would grow, actually has.

It’s in a modern music industry that echoes wells of meaninglessness.
Where even the protest from Rap has been watered down
and turned inside out to serve mass production.

It’s full of dance tracks and self obsessed divas and Elvis wannabees.
Give me a hard livin’ Johnny Cash
for heart and soul singing any decent modern song, any day.

So some leave to crowd fund independent albums
that are written on the tenement walls.

And slam poets take up the mantle.
Their words turning up at TedX conferences and in videos attempting to go viral.

Do you think you could write a sequel
to remind people of the sign flashing out it’s warning?

Could you maybe play your songs on the underground?

Yours respectfully, a huge fan,

June Perkins,

poet, multiplatform storyteller from Down Under

whose Dad introduced her to this song and many others by you when she was but a child.

(c) June Perkins

Placement and pain

Thanks AB for your beautiful poetry. Makes me think of special blankets I have received.

Perspectives on Life, the Universe and Everything

your coloured blanket
still lies at the same place
years have passed
unable to remove
you or your blanket
from its rightful place
heart of the room or
Soul of mine
still feel the warmth
of your blanket and you
Life is fickle, death is true
still, why it has to so cruel


View original post


Love this poem from Melissa. Go check out her sensitive poems and mesmerising photography.

Melissa Shaw-Smith

DSCF7174Like a fishing heron
I will stand on one leg
And wait
For the healing to begin.

It starts deep inside
The silent knitting together
Of cells and tissues
Into an intricate suspension bridge
Spanning the wound

The restorative mind fixes its beam
On the hotspot
Tapping the reserves
Of sunlight and music
Channeling the resources
Of tea and compassion
The balm of small feats mustered

It is a balancing act
A resolution
To keep the self-pity genie
Stoppered in its bottle

A humbling of the spirit
A discovery that strength and patience
Are one and the same.

View original post