Same sex attracted (SSA) man, who has the privilege of being a father and a grandfather. A man whose early upbringing in fundamentalistic Christianity has evolved into a strong connection with the spiritual, esoteric and philosophical branches of understanding. Finally, a person who craves the quiet stillness and deep silence of the eternal present

We are the silent sons


We are The silent sons Of silent men. We were Not born This way, But have Grown so. Slowly silent A severity, We were told For our own good. We climbed Our fathers Mt Moriah, To find No sacrificial lamb But us. Our father’s God, Content to sacrifice His sons. To bleach their Bones, on the Alter of respectability. Grey suits Crushed into Conformity. I am the Silent Son Of a silent man, Yet silent...

it came back to me


It came back to me From years Long gone, Faint memory Mouldering under The crow-cold Beady-eyed Judgemental Father Memory Emasculated By the Cryogenically Frozen Crone Still, It came back to me From years Long gone. Resurrected, Though perhaps It never Died Just buried In fear. Yet, I Have walked With death, And kissed Santa Muerte. I have survived The grey necrosis Of vapid gayness Masquerading...



Before this


This luminescent

Inbreaking of

Light on leaves

Before these


The still

Intake of

Natures breath

Before this,

Before these,


There was


In the silence

Of the before

The before

I was.

We were


Wrapped in the

Still embrace

Of the Divine’s




Words formed

Flow, with metronomic rhythm,


Consistent cadences

Stultifying, then

Suffocating silence.

She weeps

In stillness,

Does silence.

While words

Trade their


With finery


Fascinating the

Foolish, with

The sounds

Of pyritic wisdom

It’s all in the perspective


In walking the labyrinth, we leave the entrance and begin a journey towards the centre.  This got me thinking about the leaving’s I have experienced in life.  The first leaving I remember was as an 8-year-old.  We left Scotland, sailing from South Hampton in England on the Ellinis one of the last ships through the Suez Canal to come back to Western Australia.  [I had been born...

Autumn in hyde park


Wilting veins

Of leaves

Crumpled brown,

Swirl together.

Kissing briefly,

Touching, as

The swirling wind

Scatters them

Into huddles

Beneath the seats

Or, piles

For toddlers to toss.

While newly naked

Trees stretch,

Leaf freed limbs

In the dancing wind.

Sounds of decay,

The symphony of this

Season, settling into

Autumnal sleep.

Circling to the centre


We say we are “going in circles” when we are busy, busy being ineffective and feeling stressed.  We don’t get things done because we are going in circles and looping back over some problem or issue.  Often we experience this when we are anxious and worried.  Anxiety seems to have a power of its own that keeps us going over the same thing in our mind.  We know we shouldn’t, but...

Welcome to badger’s labyrinth


Welcome to Badger’s Labyrinth, a re-creation of my previous blog Badger’s Musings.  Badger’s Musing was a blog for my poetry which I have bought across to this blog.  In the time since I commenced Badger’s Musings, life as life does, changes.  In these changes, it often feels I am walking a labyrinth.  Walking in the shadows and sometimes the darkness and often uncertain...