High Tea


Six o’clock on Sunday

‘Sing something simple’ on the wireless.

An embroidered tablecloth worked by an aunt

shows a lady in a crinoline and ribboned bonnet

with a basket overflowing with flowers

woven in colourful silks of chain stitch.

Slices of bread and butter halved in triangles

lettuce, cress, cucumber

and cheese portioned in silver paper.

Baked last week a Sultana cake matured in a tight lid tin.


Blackcurrant jam spooned from a jar

brings memories of summer picking, then sitting

topping and tailing and tipping in the pot

as Mother boiled the sugared fruit.

Then a test for set on a plate up turned.


The kettle steams and the teapot is warmed

the caddy carried from the shelf

two spoons of leaves and one for the pot.


For Abhra’s prompt on Food at dVerse.

Image from Google – this is identical to the teapot used at home in my childhood.



The Book of Dead Man


Life is death

the dead man said

in separation of spirit

the spark

inhabits the corporeal

an anguished ordeal

of aging flesh.


Dreams of death

in fleshless flight

pass the night

in freedom

yet caught by a

silver thread

at the dawning of morning


Astral adventures

confined to consciousness

of the etheric body

which roams the realms

of spiritual light

in Akasha where

all things are absorbed.


For Grace’s prompt at dVerse

My Bookcase

Four hundred books thereabouts

cover the wall next to my desk

I never counted them before

or noticed their spread until

they arrived at the downsized home

in boxes that seemed to fill the room.

Three days it took to unpack them.


My beloved cats look down

from the top shelf immortalised in china

one with his real life tartan collar attached.

The Lladro witch fairy is poised with her wand

next to the Egyptian cat from Cairo.

Buddas gaze at their new surroundings

from hooded eyelids.

A giant brandy glass filled with crystals

reflects light across the room.

A singing bowl resides next to a catholic bell

nudging circular Buddhist chimes

A fancy box stores vanilla candles,

an aroma to attract angels


Grandmother’s clock stopped at two

resides at the same height as the mantelpiece

I remember as a child, chimes still in my mind.

Next to it Queen Elizabeth’s coronation mug.

A portrait of Babaji graces the shelf beneath

and fixes me with his enigmatic eyes.

Two abalone shells shine a reminder

of a Melbourne beach I combed.

And an incense burner that was my mothers

nudges the work of C G Jung.

My crystal ball supports a battered copy of The Secret Doctrine

A 1925 reprint of the 1888 original

Madam Blavatsky’s amazing book was my fathers.


This offering is for Tony Maude’s prompt ‘lists’ at dVerse

and here’s a link to my response to Victoria’s list prompt




Dolores Cannon, A Tribute


Sad news to have lost this spiritual teacher

Author of mind blowing books offering us

insights into the origin of earth and its inhabitants

from subjects of reincarnation under hypnosis.

Souls returned to planet earth who lived with the Essenes,

knew the Christ and told the truth of his life and mission.

Sparks of God within us all should wonder at her achievement

and pass on the knowledge she brought us.




Posted for dVerse where Mary invites us to write about news.

I would like to spread the news of Dolores’ work which seeks to bring us nearer Earth ascension.


Creation of Blood and Bone

creation of blood and bones

Vision of Splendour

Balanced form of divine creation coming to fruition.

The mental body in Mercury creates the Etheric template

A framework to bind the molecules which will form the human body.

The Architect of the Universe designs His plans on the plane of archetypes

Archangel Michael and his Sons of the Gods penetrate the astral

ensouling the incarnate through the reflective light of the moon.

Gabriel and The Strong see consciousness projected into matter

entering the physical world with no memory of spiritual purpose.


For Grace’s prompt at dVerse.  Please check out this stunning artwork by Brooke Shaden


Night Flight

witch fine art america.

The white witch whistles by on her broomstick

a fragrance of flying ointment fills the air

and fuels her ascent to the world of coincidence

where anything ethereal is possible.


The moon shines brightly lighting the astral

where thought forms willow and wallow

in hazy half revealed wisps of wonder

wandering in and out of imagination.


Day as long as night at Autumn equinox

what might this reveal in Pandora’s box?

Secrets locked out of reach of matter

or a thanksgiving spell for the right of Mabon.


Chill fills the air as autumn approaches

ripe fruit on tree of life branches

whilst inner life lives deliver their secrets

to those with psychic second sight.


For Tony Maude’s Nonsense Poems at dVerse

Image from fine art America