Every time a poem writes me, I feel I write a love letter to Life by catching these fragile ephemeral moments - Imelda Almqvist


Behind the Darkness// I sense// A living//breathing//tender// Mother

When I was born// She licked me into shape// My hooves found the Earth

In her huge eyes//  I saw Love// I saw reflected the stars// I remembered my journey// I no longer felt homesick

Mother Night, 20 December 2016, Sweden


E = MC^2

Einstein’s Equation tells us// E = MC^2// Mass and energy are interchangeable

In death// We leave our body// Just think of this// As an explosion of energy

The Music of the Spheres// Singing us// As the Light calls our name// Calls us home

Physics speaks of// Phase Transitions// Of things being what they always were// In a different stat// Looking differently, behaving differently

If Birth is// Energy becoming mass// Then Death is// Mass converting back to energy// So why do we fear Death// Nothing is ever lost// E = MC^2

The Netherlands, 6 June 2009

 (This poem was read out once at the funeral of a professor of Physics)


Two eyes// two arms// two breasts// She gives Life// She brings Death// That yearning// for Oneness, Unity, Return// Bristly musty armpit// Reindeer fur, animal fury

Antlers// Climbing the Tree of Life to return to The Mother// Isn;t it kinder// to make her two mothers? // One embracing// One devouring// than to face// The Mother// who eats her own children?

Furry, smelly// Dark Maoonna// She brings Desth// She gives Life// Two breasts// two arms// two eyes

Sweden, Winter Solstice 2016

 Shamanic teacher, painter and author in the UK and the world



She has come even to Stockholm// Ice Queen among capitals// In doorways// on streetcorners// outside supermarkets// she sits

The Beggar

Almost no one can bear// to even look at her// as an icicle drips// snow turns to sludge around her

Black ice// dark mirror// of all the times// we were reduced// to shivering beggars// Afraid of losing all// not belonging// being the stranger// other perceive as danger// not invisible but unseen

Do we accept the mirror she holds up?

Stockholm, 19 December 2016


A phantom piano plays// in a house in the forest

The trees lean in// the Moon rushes to meet the music// An elk munches on stray notes// lychen shifts shape// in the rock art of the Forest// imps and elves dance// And I cry

At a mysterious dream coming true// of playing the piano at midnight// into the crack of time// with only trees for company// and finding the notes// on the forest floor// as vibrant Autumn leaves, the next day

And dancing in the air// as snow flakes another day// sunbeams on Midsummer Eve// I am the phantom// playing the piano...

Karrshagen, Sweden, Winter Solstice 2016 


We fear monsters// chase them// slay them// run from them

But// the Goddess of Soul// teaches us// to caress in darkness// to gently run our fingers through fur// to make love// to the Monster

The Other// Not-me// I don't want to know// demonised// antagonised// Beast to our elusive Beauty

Admitted to our embrace// our life, our bed// our love// he sheds his fur// shows his wounds

When we venture// bravely in our psyche// we are met// by the Goddess of Soul// and her lover// our lover

Parking lot of Nykoping Train Station 23/12/2017




I often muse// at talent gone unexpressed// perhaps lingering in the ether?// A computer genius born in The Stone Age// or a pianist alive in The Bronze Age

There were always drums// cooking pots// hollow bones// whistles, flutes// the human voice

Tuning in// I see the foreshadowing of keyboards// in the stripey shadows cast by trees

The xylophone starting life// as a row of icicles of varying lengths// twinkling and dripping// forerunners of// emails and message notifications pinging in

Pebbles in the fields// churned by snow// fed star light// were the first buttons// a fuse-board for magical thinking// access to other worlds// in the tree-root brain

Those shadow magicians// and pebble wizards// honed their crafts// and bid their time// Like dwarfs// they can be found under rocks today// ready to play

Karrshagen, Boxing Day, 2016

Shamanic teacher, painter and author in the UK and the world


As we grow older// something happens to Time// It passes faster than ever// A child month lasts an adult day// but also stretches and meanders// in unexpected ways

As I grow older// Time becomes layered// more mysterious// A year fits into a day as easily as day stretches to a year

Hours become portals, wber// I live a year in a day and many years in a night

As I get closer to Death// Time stretches to Infinity// like a mathematical equation// I die many small deaths// and live aeons in a day// I become a child again// adults become insubstantial shadows

Dying mean s// shrinking to infinity// as Time expands

Karrshagen, 28 December 2016


Shamanic teacher, painter and author in the UK and the world


That profound sense// of the Sun standing still// for three days// unnerves the crows// like toddlers on a Sunday morning// They demand the return of movement

I awaken to whispered guidance// to dress as a crow today// and walk the street of London// as the Crow Goddess// shepherding her ten sons// My black flying cape// crowned by a crow's nest// fledglings yelling for worms// So close to my ears// I hear only// what is not spoken// Phosphorescent, Deafening

I wrap my crow's wings// around the Sun// to restore motion, momentum// A crow lands on my head// There are fledglings to be fed -    

  London Summer Solstice 2013 





The hottest day of the year

Elliott visits the School Fair// returns with his face painted as a skull

Quinn follows him there// requests "monkey tiger money" but brings home none

Brendan says "NW"// it means "nice weather" for humans// but "nasty weather" if you are a polar bear

There is a place in our garden// where you only see trees// A forest that is not

On the hottest day of the year// nothing is quite what it seems// but everything tangos vibrantly  L.  6 July 2013

 Shamanic teacher, painter and author in the UK and the world



July enters damply// anonymously// I remind the children// about socks// coats

The family laundry fails to dry// laughs at me// what now?

I arrange the children's tops// over chairs// doors// cupboards and crates

After the school run// I walk into// a house// full of small ghosts


My little boy// picks up a feather// he says a bird left it for him// I say// How can you be sure it was not an angel?// because angel wings look different, he says

He collects those too// He is an expert// He can tell the difference

When small children// hit random notes on a piano// it sounds like music// Angels dance too// dropping feathers

London, 27 September 2009


On never-ending summer evenings// when light keeps dreams at bay// he rides his horse in the pink sky// until the Moon rises

He rides to World's End and crosses the rainbow bridge// into worlds beyond the River of Life// He rides up the big tree// where his friends live// Our squirrel hitches a ride to visit his twin

On never-ending winter evenings// when nightmares gallop over roofs// he rides his horse// until the Sun rises

He dances with storms and talks to stars// He helps Granddad plant Eden in the sky// he hums friendly ghosts home

Then he return, parks his horse//  - wooden, tired, sudenly solid - // by his bedroom window// He salutes the Morning Star and falls asleep

The next morning he says: I did not dream

For Brendan, London, 2 July 2013




I have become// The Woman Who Smiles at babies// and newborn mums// Returning the smiles// Older woman gave me// when I had babies// and thought it would last forever

Not so// Fertility is a brief window// Those years do not return// I have earned my teenagers// and my silver hairs

The letterbox clangs//the invitation for my first ever mammogram for older woman is here...

London, 2 November 2016