IN A NUTSHELL

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An improv event versus a movie show: Think how we experience attending these differently. At the first, you’re an integral part of what happens; at the second, though there may be some interaction with fellow attendees, your presence makes not the slightest difference to what’s on the screen.

I recently had the good fortune of being invited to an improv event – set up as a game show with two teams competing. Such a ‘contest’ ups the ante of audience participation. Not only were we the constant source of prompts for the improv artists and encouraged to be as vocal as we liked with opinions and emotions (all normal improv audience stuff), we were also given voting cards for each round, a supply of plastic flowers to throw on stage should we want to express appreciation, plus (most fun of all, as it turned out) wet sponges to aim at the onstage judges should we happen to disagree.

Now imagine thinking you were going to a movie theatre, but soon after you’re in your seat, instead of the lights dimming, you’re passed an armful of plastic roses and a pile of dripping sponges. “Oh, no,” you think, “this is not exactly what I had in mind!” But (trust me), ten minutes later you’re starting to have the time of your life!

May I stretch your thinking even further: Imagine the inside of a big theatre, and there’s an audience settled in their comfortable seats, assuming they’re there to watch the latest blockbuster. Meanwhile, the reality is that a group of improv artists have gathered on the stage, and are trying to get a show up and running… But the audience’s assumption of movie watching is so all-pervasive, they’re oblivious to understanding their true surroundings.

I feel like I’ve been part of such an ‘audience’ for most of my life. I’ve been watching for so long, and finally… As if something in me was in a deep-freeze sleep and is now thawing awake. In my case, while bird watching.

I thought I was an observer. But I’m a participant.

As humans, we’re not ‘outside’ the natural world, looking in. We’re part of it. 

What’s in front of our noses is not a giant projection screen, but a live stage with a wonderful invitation to get stuck in.

Here’s a 5-line poem summing up my thawing out:

IN A NUTSHELL: BIRD WATCHING PART II     

it used to be a simple me–it

or a generic though warmer me–them

then came a more nuanced me–her/him

recently a veritable revolution me–you

which has just given birth to a gorgeous us

From poetry collection ‘Dear Planet’, published by Fidessa Literary, July 2025.

Photo: Bird(/Human) Watching: a young Philippine hawk-eagle (Nisaetus philippensis).

A POEM: PUFF

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With the all the bluster and the clamour from those in power, it might be easy to forget that these ‘men are but mortal and will surely fade as grass’ (from hymn by Johann Georg Albinus). Our mortality is ultimately an epic fact of life; rather than that triggering more frenetic shouting and sabre-rattling, shouldn’t it be inspiring more humility and curiosity? 

PUFF                     

“… dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people.” 

– The Great Dictator 

acrid breath

of old age

elbows 

of schoolboy thuggery

only lines short

lines small circle

of nose

no depth

two dimensional

no-man

one breath

stirs dust

you’re gone

& no 

make-believe

imperial gown

will save you

now

From poetry collection ‘Dear Planet’, published by Fidessa Literary, July 2025.

GLIMMERS OF HOPE IN THE DARKEST OF PLACES

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It seems like something appropriate to share on a Good Friday – how hope, light, love and life can spring up from the most unpromising of circumstances. 

But this is my lived experience.

And I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s yours too.

Here’s a personal story in the shape of a poem:

MANILA                   

Wherever you are is called Here,

And you must treat it as a powerful stranger

  • ‘Lost’, David Wagoner

Daybreak dog walking, looking down from the hills

Seen from safe distance, a sight overwhelming

Rising out of the hollows of hell’s grey haze:

A scene from Inception, concertina-like folds.

Would not this Here the bravest heart heave?

Then morning commute, caught in the maze

Of your internal organs, interminable traffic,

Bumper-to-bumper, brain be-numbing.

But worst is the poverty plait through your pavements,

And shrill is the contrast cursing your landscape:

Fortified mansions, megalithic malls

Luxury outnumbered by beggars and shacks.

Stark city apathy searing our souls.

You’ve borne the brunt, colonizers’ brutal obsession

For greed and for glory, for riches ungranted.

Now local officials are your leering oppressors,

They the heirs of corruption kindling chaos and need,

Siphoning government goods for personal gain,

Bribing policemen 

For blindness or blood.

Strangely I find my heart hopeful on the homeward commute,

Though the traffic is worse as we wind through your streets.

Recalling their faces, effervescence of beauty,

Of youth unrestrained, uncontaminated, untainted.

Ignited to learn, they dream unalarmed,

Cleaving to schoolbags, defining coolness and courage,

Education’s a treasure, they tell us, together

We’ll fight for a freedom, a future without cycles

Of poverty with parents unempowered and enslaved.

Maynila, you bore from womb’s darkness these brilliant babies.

Do not dare to betray them or take them for granted,

They will be your salvation, my salvation included

Now I know it’s these children, not your jungle of concrete,

They the powerful stranger disguised in school uniforms,

As in Wagoner’s wisdom, 

I’m no longer lost in the woods.

From poetry collection ‘Dear Planet’, published by Fidessa Literary, July 2025.

PANTOUM THERAPY

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Funny how a simple writing exercise can expose what we’re really bothered about. Such is the power of a pantoum poem writing prompt! The instructions were straightforward, the results were… unexpected. It took me where I was not expecting to go!

The writing prompt was part of Pádraig Ó Tuama’s inspiring Poetry Unbound substack community. See his post here:

https://poetryunbound.substack.com/p/a-new-year-a-new-pantoum

And try it – poetry as in therapy, as in a personal reality check.

A SNOWY NIGHT IN ‘26

Throaty gurgle of ancient dishwasher has me charmed,

though I’ll be less charmed if woken by its final BEEP.

A multitude of visits to the little room–too much cider (0%).

Through curtains see thickening snow blanket in dim streetlight.

//

I’ll be less charmed if woken by a final BEEP.

On 4th loo visit now charmed by our white muffler 5cm deep,

through curtains watch thickening snow blanket in dim streetlight.

This thatched holiday cottage will look gorgeous in morning sun.

//

On 5th loo visit–our white muffler now 6cm deep.

Caught in a glass ball winter wonderland.  

This thatched holiday cottage will look gorgeous in morning sun.

But don’t shake too wildly–for fear of shattered glass.

//

Caught in a glass ball winter wonderland,  

a multitude of visits to the little room–too much cider (0%).

Don’t shake too wildly–for fear of shattered glass.

I dream of a throaty gurgle: life-as-we-know-it, its jugular cut.

STARTLED AWAKE 

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Are you ever startled by beauty, catching sight of something unexpected in nature? It might be the smallest of things (Forget-Me-Nots), or the biggest (this morning’s sunrise), but it can feel like being nudged awake – jolted even – out of the brain benumbing inertia of screen addiction.

A cardinal beetle once did something like that for me, and in thanks, I wrote the following:

ODE TO AN INSECT

such sophistication of red
encasing wings of silk 
symmetry of black
antenna curve of antler
jet ivory of elk 

drinking in the sight of you

full-bodied delicacy
tracing your lines 

of majesty 

love calls to love
& echoes through
our atoms

From poetry collection ‘Dear Planet’, published by Fidessa Literary, July 2025.

PIGLET DOESN’T ALWAYS HAVE TO BE A COWARD

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“So deeply admire anyone involved in conflict resolution, especially as I can be hugely conflict avoidant. Poetry has been my compassionate therapist, my Pooh Bear, coaxing me into an understanding of how I got here: why my instincts are to hide at the faintest whiff of conflict. And the truth sets us free. Piglet doesn’t always have to be a coward.”

The above paragraph was my response to a prompt question, “How can you think about conflict in your life through the lens of poetry?” Each Sunday Pádraig Ó Tuama posts a deeply reflective piece on his wonderful Poetry Unbound Substack (poetryunbound.substack.com), always including a thought-provoking question, which is inevitably hard to resist. 

Writing the poem below has been part of my process – recognising where certain fears came from (and why standing at the sink, washing the dishes is a favourite place). 

Sometimes it’s only once we understand where we actually are, that we can truly start to move on…

AFTER DINNER MINTS


Sky rent in two 

falling between 

soles finding ground 

I take my stand in silence.

She hurt beyond betrayal 

he haunted and subdued 

chasms ripple them apart 

pernicious waves of white noise.

History layering upon

itself, unpeeling one from 

another, an After Eights messy matter. 

No wonder I seek sanctuary 

in soap suds and greasy dishes 

while fault lines re-form 

I mask my aftershocks 

my crumbling.

From poetry collection ‘Dear Planet’, published by Fidessa Literary, July 2025.