भावना

to flower,
what would tenderness do?

i arch my spine
over the lip of the crescent moon
steeping myself
in honey and hibiscus

for i long for my every inhale
to imbibe the nectar of life
for my exhale
to pollinate something to bloom

to flower,
what would tenderness do?

perhaps she would be with
sitting with what hurts
blessing the ache

feeding lovers croissants and reassurance
the things with layers
that take time to cultivate

like a hibiscus blossoming
like the bee weaving honey
and that soft kiss
when they embrace

body surfing

My lungs are burning.

I need to come up for air.

The wavy mirage of a plane flies above, I can see it through the ripples. It’s waiting for me.

But he said, let’s go make waves one more time.

So here I am. Beneath him on the ocean floor. Laced together with salt and his skin.

The sea keeps on rolling above us. Swelling with every stroke of our love, crashing somewhere behind my ears, pulling my hair gently towards the shore.

I hear a beatific voice singing.

Singing, singing, singing.

Who is like god?

The bedform beneath my lower back is getting me wavey, with all its ripples and curves. I feel the immersion of the ocean’s touch, she truly is primordial.

This is where it all begun.

Iridescent scales rain down down around us, dolphins twirl. He keeps rocking me at the back of the break.

The ocean collides with the mountains, hit with internal waves propagated from him surfing my body.

He takes my hand, squeezing three times, and we swim to the surface. Finding the sun soaked beach, we lay there. My head on his thighs. His fingers on my lower back.

As summer begins to soak the sky, we journey home, not realising that I am carrying a piece of the ocean within me.

before it begins to pour

the wind chimes before the storm
the peace before the war
the surf before you fall
the kiss before the call

have you ever felt the clouds wrap around you
before it begins to pour?
or the way your feet sink into the sand
where the salt is drank by the shore?

sometimes i breathe the liminal air
waiting for my ears to shiver
because every time before my world shatters
it always seems to shimmer

so i no longer fear an overcast sky
my open arms greet the rain
because i know love always waits for me
on the other side of pain

In ecology, mutualistic symbiosis describes a relationship where two living things live closely together, influencing and supporting one another’s survival. You see it everywhere in the natural world: fungi weaving through tree roots beneath the soil sharing nutrients, bees gathering nectar while pollinating flowers, coral and algae living side by side in the sea.

The Symbiotic Breath is a small practice for grounding and breathing in relationship with the Earth.

Coming close to the earth, you may like to find a form that feels supportive and easeful to stay in for a little while. This may be kneeling, sitting, or resting in a deep squat. You will then be invited to place your hands on the ground. As you inhale, you gently press into the earth, feeling its steadiness travel up through your hands, arms, and spine. Feeling into a sense of levity or buoyancy.

As you exhale, you soften and allow your weight to settle back down, letting the earth hold you as you release.

This can also be done sitting in a chair and pressing your hands into your thighs.

We will finish in a gesture of reverence by bowing our head to the earth and bringing ourselves to rest in a child’s form. Remembering that our bodies are not seperate from the Earth.

I’d love to hear how this somatic breath practice lands for you.

nothing is a mistake

warrnambool beach, gunditjmara country

The sand holds heat, it feels like a warm blanket as I snuggle my feet in. It’s protecting me from this icy, southerly wind which feels like it rolled over the smooth, wet curves of a glacier on its way to touch my cheek.

I burrow my hands into the thousands of grains of crushed quartz and limestone. They whisper memories of a time before I ever breathed. Now those memories are touching me.

Maybe everything that is hard can eventually soften, under the right circumstances. Maybe if I lived another thousand years I would be softer than an aster petal. Maybe there would only be softness. Maybe I would melt back into the cosmic nature of things. Nothing to judge, nothing to hate, nothing to grieve.

The sand dunes roll, like they’re mirroring the playful waves they gaze upon each day and they’re protected by coastal heathland. I’m particularly fond of the long, smooth tussock grasses with sharp pointy edges and the more sturdy shrubs that are decorated with magenta blooms.

Upon closer inspection, I notice that the leaves on this herbaceous stem close into little, tiny bowls the higher and newer they are. The leaves hold hands so tightly that they look like tea cups a fairy would drink from.

Within each cup they cradle the freshest new growth that are sprouting like little babies. There’s something tender and comforting about nature protecting its young until they are ready to stand strong against the gusts of wind that come with a life lived. I suddenly feel more aware of my own womb. Perhaps I’m not so alien from the flowers after all.

The hot pink flowers reach out from a delightfully golden disc floret. Its sunshine centre is dotted with dollops of dry pollen. Every part of the plant has grown in spirals, mathematically perfect to dance for the bees and the bugs.

The soft sand holds remnants of its coarse origins when it brushes against my skin, abrasive and cold, making my lips turn the colour of a galah’s belly. Dried seaweed sleeps in the sand. It’s rough and worn. Shrivelled by salt and sun rays.

I look to the blues of the water. The way white, frothy wave caps stretch back all the way into the deep navy. I observe the long tussock grasses, the bright flower petals, the curled leaves and the sand where the sun buries warmth like treasure to find on the windiest days.

I realise that everything has its place. Nothing is a mistake. It would be an insult to Earth herself, to ever declare that I don’t belong.

surf poetica

i want to dive
so radically into my sensitivity
that every breath
every cry
every scream
becomes a way to honour life

i want to feel all of it
the clouds that spill from my wrists
the storms behind my eyes
the touch of the river around my waist

for i am a body of water 
held by bodies of water
held by bodies of water 

so i shall surrender to the surf poetica
the flow of the pelagic lover
rest in her turquoise eyes
and soak in tidal waves of devotion

blue honey

i sit in the wind
and learn about the unseen
what roars and touches
but my eyes can’t see

what is this affinity i have
with blue honey?
my thumbs wipe it from his eyes
so sad and sweet

i sit with sea spurge
my favourites are always weeds
and make lorikeets blush
kissing under banksia trees

counting buoy lights
i swallow the grief 
for the innocence i left
moored to that reef

sometimes i swim
swept away with this breeze
but i always come home
to my blue honey 

the ballad of summertime

beneath my chest is lilac glass
i dive under the waves
she brings the ocean to my mouth
hot concrete soaked with rain 

my lips are stained strawberry blonde
freckles of clementine 
cicadas sing susurrant songs
river runs through my spine

her warmth can melt the wilder hearts
her kiss dances a blaze 
sublime juice drips over my tongue
a solstice jasmine haze 

my lover shines upon my thigh
a touch hard to forget 
in bloom and swell i close my eyes
my summer please don't set 

the train from apple gum

the full moon rose
down my throat
between windsor and fields

warmth spreading through me
sprawling like an apple gum
aroused by the sparks
running over the hills and far away

his eyes and mine
whirring like a bella vista
north west
of the buttery, mallee pink

he showed me the magic
of dancing within a moving castle
where cherry brooks flow
that only we can see

the upland meadows
formed from our raspberry heartbeats

and the babies in their nests crow
as he draws naughts and crosses
through my middle name
before the people of the grass

his arm around me
hello forever

farewell sydney

Welcome back to embodied poetry, a series of embodiment and sensuality practices.

The Siren’s Song is a sensual vocal practice, an invitation to let sound move through your body as pleasure, release, and expression.

May this practice help you reclaim your voice as a channel of pleasure and power.

bambi and the butterflies

i watch you
watch the butterflies
my bambi.

head tilted
eyes wide

in your gaze,
i find wonder
and i remember
there is still beauty
right here.
right now.

some days,
i can’t find excitement.
some days,
i can’t find myself.

but you do.

even when salt stains
my cheek,
you find me
and you follow

good morning,
your body says.
good morning,
even now.
even like this.

because love doesn’t ask you to change.
love walks beside you
hopeful
finding any excuse
to stay close.

and when my heart is broken
i know
i’ll still have you little one,
my bambi

and the butterflies.

to see the mermaids

she made her lover proud, 
by risking her life to see the mermaids.

he told her so with that voice.
the one that was sweet and tart, 
like a raspberry hat 
on the tip of her tongue. 

she skimmed through 
the pages of his mouth, 
to confirm that his words 
were hand bound

and dove into the ocean, 
chewing on elderflower clouds.

the soft spot

i. the ocean blushes in navy

i touched the ocean
in front of you tonight
you watched my hand
surfing the waves

and i felt like a flower
open and waiting
to receive
the honeybees legs

bent over like a palm tree
in a hurricane
you kissed my soft spot
and i became your favourite lip gloss

ii. his heartbeat is my home

i don’t want you to hate the world
but i do feel special
knowing you have a soft spot for me

i will curl up there
live in the soft spot of your heart
until your whole being
is as soft as my fingers tracing your lips

that soft spot is mine
it is my new residential address

venus in capricorn

i cherish a love that is long formed
beauty built slowly over time
like billion year old starlight
burning to become the twinkle in my eye

a love story penned with devotion
like a mountain range being born
i want the tectonic collisions to change me
like the love of venus in capricorn

a love that only grows sweeter and lives outside of timelines
where i feel like a teenager
and the mother of his children
all in the very same night

that lifelong best friend love
infinite night stand love
that i’m not going anywhere love
it’s you and me babe love

a love that takes the long and winding road
but delights in the scenic view
a love where everyday we wake up
whispering, you are the one i choose

everything is you

my heart,
may you know the beauty
of dancing
with clouds on your lips
and lavender songs in your tears 

my heart,
may you feel the glow
of morning murmurs
the tide of dawning sighs
feathers behind your ears

my heart,
may you pay attention
to the way the buttercups fall asleep
in the midday shade
without any fears 

my dear heart,
it's true
that everything is you

i'll make you heaven
and be there
singing the lullaby 
as i pour you a cup
full of the sky

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i want you

i want your eyelashes
that fall under your pillow
the sirens in your nightmares
the shivers in your toes

i want your fantasies
and your teenage tears
the tobacco in your ashtray
your fire risk, your fears

i want the parts of you
you only show to your shower tiles
your frolic in the sea
the gnawed skin around your nails

i want your eyes in the back of your head
your lust between my fingers
your voice bouncing off the moon
your constellation of triggers

i want your playlist
your heavy eyed seduction
your paranoia, your honeybee
your public property destruction

i want your hummingbird heartbeat
your hallucinations
your grandfather’s handwriting
your pinnacle fixation

i want the sunshine on your teeth
to sleep beside your screams
you think you’re god’s burden
but you were made holy in my dreams

so this is love

during the night he brings me water
tells me to sit up
that i cannot drink laying down
so this is love

he kisses me
waiting for the elevator
tells me i’m beautiful
so this is love

he places his favourite beanie
on my head
after ocean swims
so this is love

he buys me pho
when i feel sick
teaches me to use chopsticks
so this is love

when i fall asleep on his bed
he hangs my wetsuit
and pulls me into his racing heart
so this is love

he buys toys for my puppy
and talks to my mum on the phone
for half an hour, smiling
so this is love

he picks me a treasure flower
i place it behind my ear
as he talks to the heron enamoured with him
so this is love

when i need rest
he builds me a chair
out of pillows or out of sand
so this is love

he holds me in his arms as i cry
tell me about your dad
he says
so this is love

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Each post includes an embodiment practice, which can be done as a stand alone or followed with a four-part invitational writing journey which includes:

• A Poetic Check-In to become intimate with your present moment, embodied experience.

• The Stream, a short session of Stream of Consciousness Writing to melt into fluidity.

• A Poetry Prompt to draw forth the wordless stories held in the body. Inviting them gently to the surface to blossom into language and give voice to what was once only felt.

• And finally, The Petal. A gentle invitation to choose one word, sentence, or stanza from your poem that shimmers to you. A way to notice what blooms. To move away from instant self-criticism and toward loving your writing first.

Our practice this month is Warm the Heart, Stir the Hips, a gentle practice that invites balance between offering and holding, between expression and reception, between heart and root.

The beautiful movement of spirals is used as a gesture of warmth, release and tenderness. A way to tune back into the feminine flow of the body.

May it become a ritual of return. A slow dance of devotion. A way to come home to your giving, receiving, and the sweetness that lives between.

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Take a quiet moment to arrive. Settle into the landscape of your body, and listen. To the breath as it moves. To the flicker of sensation, image, and emotion. To the soft stirrings of your heart and mind.

Below, you’ll find an audio practice if you need guidance to gather these threads of somatic awareness. A moment of intimacy before the words begin.

A poetic check-in question
Let this be a gentle compass, pointing toward the poetry already living within you.

In this moment, if you were a seashell, what kind would you be?

E.g. Would you be broken but sewed together with gold? Would you be spiralling and covered with algae?

Let yourself answer without overthinking. Write your response in your notebook.

Set a timer for 5 minutes or press play to listen to this ambient track.

Write continuously without stopping, editing, or judging what comes out. Let your thoughts flow freely onto the page. If you get stuck, simply write "I don't know what to write" until new thoughts emerge. The key is to keep your hand moving across the page or continuously typing. Stream of consciousness writing is a way to melt into the fluidity of the language your body speaks. A poet’s warm up.

Maya Angelou’s Phenomenal Woman is a hymn of unapologetic embodiment. With each stanza, she praises the curve of her hips, the stride of her step, the joy in her smile. She writes of her femininity as something innate, radiant, and sovereign.

It’s a reclamation of space, of sensuality, of a woman’s right to define herself by the rhythms of her own body. She shows us that femininity isn’t found in the narrow standards of beauty, but in the way we move through the world with truth, desire, and pride.

These prompts are an invitation to do the same.

To turn inward.

To listen to the wisdom in your hips, the generosity of your chest, the inheritance in your bones.

Each poem you write is a mirror of your phenomenal self.

Choose one of the following three prompts, or return here at your own pace and complete them all.

Poetry Prompt 1: She is…

Explore what femininity means to you through sensation, memory and gesture.

• Write a poem in the form of a list using anaphora, with each line beginning with “Femininity is…” or “She is…”

• Maybe the final line shifts tone: let it be a quiet revelation or bold declaration.

Poetry Prompt 2: The Curve of My Power

Think of five gestures or movements that make you feel powerful, sensual, and deeply yourself. These could be as bold as a hip sway, as tender as a fingertip tracing skin, or as steady as standing tall with shoulders back. Let each gesture become a doorway into a stanza.

• Your poem will have five stanzas, one for each gesture.

• Begin each stanza with: “When I…” followed by the gesture. (e.g., When I toss my hair… When I stand with my feet wide…)

• Let each stanza describe what this gesture awakens

• Include one sensory detail (touch, sound, scent, sight, or taste) in each stanza.

Poetry Prompt 3: The Inheritance in My Body

Your body is a living archive. In your chest, the heart and breasts offer warmth, nurture, and boundless love. In your hips, womb, and sex, there is a deep capacity to receive pleasure, intuition and life itself. This poem is an invitation to speak from these two sacred centres: what you have inherited, what you hold, and what you offer forward.

Your body carries a lineage, of women, of softness and strength, of survival and joy. This poem invites you to speak to what has been passed down through your body biologically, energetically, emotionally and spiritually.

• Write a poem in four parts, each part representing a different layer of inheritance:
  

  1. Bloodline (mothers, grandmothers, ancestors)

  2. The world (what culture or society impressed upon you)

  3. Your own becoming (what you’ve chosen to carry or shed)

  4. The future (what you will pass on, even if only in your energy or art)

To close, we turn toward tenderness. A gentle practice to quiet the inner critic and ease the fear of being seen.

From your poem, choose one word, one line, or one stanza that glows - a petal. Something that shimmered as you wrote it. Something that feels true, or beautiful, or brave.

You don’t have to love or share the whole bloom. Just one petal is enough.

You might tuck it in your journal like a pressed flower, pass it to a friend,
or place it gently in the comments below.

If you feel moved to share your full poem, I’d love to read it. Send it as a message or tag me here on Substack. But know: even one petal, offered softly, is a gift.

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eulogy for a good girl

dearly beloved,
we gather here today
to celebrate the long awaited silence
of a once difficult girl.

to lay down
her demoralised hips,
pressed into earth
like print of finger

a venerated victory.

she rests here
in a bath of her own shadow.
worship, we say
at the burial site of schemed naivety.

we loved her
and the way she moved the world,
especially the coins she cast
into the pockets of our palmed beach.

she dreamed too often,
spoke too loudly,
had too many opinions.

she wanted rest
without guilt,
love without bruises,
pleasure without debt.

as if she were made
for herself.

she asked for softness,
we gave her slogans.
she asked for rest,
we gave her pills.
she asked for choice,
we gave her one cage painted pink
and one chain locked to a bed of roses.

but now
her body lies still,
folded into the earth
like a final apology.

and we shall hang her shame
inside this frame,
for all the fallow deer to see.

when her lungs were full,
we pulled her ponytail and winked,
pointing to our pockets,
our grin,
our dick.

but today,
on this most sacred day
her name we shall pray
because finally
her bones are inside the grave.

and we, the fathers of this glorious order
we finally have our peace.
now she is beautiful again
quiet again
useful again.

she always did look better
when she wasn't talking

so sleep, sweet girl.
your body finally obeys.

behaving looks good on you.

i’ve been slowing down
to the pace of nature
letting my stories steep
like winter drops
on rainforest leaf

walking like the drift
of morning mist

࿐

i’ve been dancing
like the crescent moon lately
hanging onto voices like blue cotton
stretching slow like sap
baby snails on bedroom windows

realising why the village well water
runs so deep

࿐

i’ve been letting my burning cheekbones
rest under shooting stars
clinging to trees trunks
like tessellated bark

watching lichen grow
over my sleeping toes

࿐

i’ve been hiding under his hood
his umbrella
watching water dive
into the swirling ocean
being humbled by the winds

remembering that i am what lets
the birds pass through the clouds

The June embodied poetry guide is here! This month’s theme is i bequeath myself to the dirt, an invitation to let the soil of the body grow something poetic. Inspired by Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself and the Silueta series by Cuban-American artist Ana Mendieta.

Embodied Poetry is a tender weaving of somatic practice and poetic expression. It is a practice for the lovers who long to write from the body. Who want their lives to feel like a romance. Who ache for intimacy with nature and to feel deeply with the most sensitive skin.

Write with me and uncover the stories the soma holds.

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