Let love be law


Selected poems



Found poem

Found poem (click image to enlarge)




Did you see the news today?
Law failed love.
Let love be law.

Did you see the news today?
Hospitality failed love.
Let love be hospitality.

Did you see the news today?
Justice failed love.
Let love be justice.

Did you see?




Lie back.
Dwell in your own skin.
Made by Me and belonging to Me.
Nothing and no one can take that away.
What I make, I see, and say that it is good.
Nothing knows its purpose but I know its Purpose.
Nothing knows its place but I know its Place.
Nothing knows itself but I know its Self.
You are as you were made to be —
no more or less than that.
No less Mine for that.
Lie back.
Dwell in your own skin.




inside us the dead
inside us the dead
beckon on, beckon on
witnessing, waiting,
'what will you do?'
... will you do?
'what will you do?'
... will you do?
'you are the change
you have been waiting for'


treading water
bus, train, work, train, bus
bus, train, work, train, bus




You are a God of small  things.

Snapped shoe laces, the sticking utensil drawer

Outreaching arm over the cold side of the bed

Watching the bus you're meant to be on go by

(and the one after that)

Siren chaser, conflict avoider, the job I don't want to go to much today

What I needed to bring and forgot,

What I wanted to say but didn't

(the stupid thing I say instead)

You — in my fears, real or imagined

You — my consolation and my comfort

You — there always in all things





lays along our skin;
our darkest marks,
our deepest wounds.
Your gaze penetrating
exposes blood first, then bone.
If you want to fight on three
fronts at once, you might
expect a rout but there's
another bout in me. I'm not
on my knees yet, still here to
be a threat to your safe way of life.
Your fairytale end, you can't see is pretend
It's roots are buried in blood and bone.
Our blood. Our bones.
Where you thrive, you deprive — others lives and future.
Your roots are buried in blood and bone.
Our blood, our bones.
Our blood, our bones.




the tray of

daffodil bulbs from the dumpster

was mostly empty

but imagine

some day

at the tip

messy, smelly, unwanted things

the green shoots first

then golden trumpeting glory

in an unlikely place




the suns warmth

a benediction on my skin

the birds sing

Amazing Grace to You

the breeze stirs

lifting my spirit with it

and I know, all at once,


cloud cover moves in


but it would be too intense

to remain in Your presence always

You are a lot to take in

it is better this way

in pieces

to appreciate and savour You

to be converted to grace

again and again

in discovery — a joy, in acceptance — hope

rebirth in eucalypt spice and ...  




lift up a stone and
you will find me there
I am the hole of your doughnut
the spaces between
the stars
I am down behind the sofa
cushions with the lint and
loose change
I can be seen in raindrops
sliding down the window pane,
smelled in Johnsons baby shampoo,
heard in the drawer opening
to put away your clothes.
In the soft folds of the wrinkles
at the corners of your eyes
I am there




you are me
I am you
in all our forms
I am as real as
my bones
and the light years
between my carbon atoms
small, insignificant
vast, meaning-full
a lovely mess
a loving mess
a loveable mess




a little oasis of
in between
that will not last
a hiatus
a breath
a moment
to be
made and remade
I am
sitting on a little
patch of earth
somewhere between
there and here
very little of anything





Talitha FraserTalitha Fraser is a Kiwi urban contemplative theopoetics-dabbler living in Melbourne. Her poems, photography and writing can be found at itellyouarise and thelightanddarkofit.

Topic tags: Talitha Fraser



submit a comment


Subscribe for more stories like this.

Free sign-up