Management Track
The boar snorts, says leadership is a path you scent,
not a rota you laminate.
Management counts acorns; leadership knows
which forest needs re‑growing.
I tell him I’m tired of holding clipboards.
He tells me clipboards don’t stop a charge.
“Walk first,” he says, “then others follow.”
“Root deep,” I answer, “so the ground remembers.”
A Fifa by any other name...
1. Fifa
child‑tongue stumbles, named
by a cousin testing sounds
a nickname takes root
2. Baldric
hatching cunning plans
while scrubbing vases in that
fancy flower shop
3. Troglodytes
wren‑shaped heart, hopping
small but loud as any storm,
tiny yet mighty
4. Queenie
circle gathers close;
I hold court with open hands,
straighten others’ crowns
I. Energetics
Yellow rose, sun-aligned, a rising flare,
petals like a lion’s amber gaze.
Warming the solar plexus, seat of will.
Rosa foetida, born in the Caucasus foothills,
Persian Yellow, foremother of every golden bloom.
Named foetid by European botanists
who loved her colour,
but not her sharp, wild scent.
II. Language of flowers
In Victorian parlours,
bouquets spoke in code:
yellow for jealousy, for love grown thin, for warning.
Now the meaning softens:
it speaks of friendship, of joy,
of unfettered feeling
between those who choose each other freely.
Language sheds its skin; petals remain.
III. Rose as remedy
Rosehip and yellow petals cool heat-tired skin,
a gentle astringent for summer’s excess.
Solar herbs steady the heart,
lifting the soft fog Saturn leaves behind.
In the garden’s small apothecary,
the yellow rose stands, warm-handed,
a tincture of brightness,
a quiet gold that calls the spirit home.
Glimmers Against the Ending
Heart blooms in the dark,
black water cannot keep you -
Rise, fire-feathers.
*Haiku based on Sylvia Plath
Crossing The Water - Sylvia Plath
