Graffiti Poetry has one rule: write the poem down immediately, while it’s speaking itself to you. Capture it 
exactly as you hear it, and in some way it will make sense once it’s done.

This form of poetry came to me on the wind by the white cliffs along Louisa Bay in Broadstairs, a beautiful 
town in Southern Kent, England. Lines of poetry, at first short and mysterious echoed in my mind, and 
grabbing what was to hand, I began to write the words on the sea wall with chunks of beach chalk. To 
preserve these poems, I photographed all but a few before the sea and rain washed them away. In some 
photos you see the residue of older poems. The sand rises and falls against the wall, sometimes allowing the 
stacking of a fresh poem on top of an older one, and you see the change of light through the seasons. With 
one, the high tide licked at the base of the wall as the sun set, pressing on the arrival of the poem’s last lines. 
Who knew poetry could be so exciting!

The poems reveal a deep inner process and a spiritual transformation. Sometimes the poems laid out light 
observations, but more often they spoke to the deep concerns that have ridden through my life. These poems 
capture a precious, fleeting time of deepening self-awareness and spiritual growth, as I reveled in the 
adventure of living in England with my younger daughter, Morgain, during her last year before university.

After an interval, the Muse found me again by the magnificent trees in California — speaking to my deepening 
spiritual adventure — usually across from the Berkeley Rose Garden, where a fence runs along the Tamalpais 
Steps. Occasionally, She has spoken her words to me on other hikes. I have learned to carry a marker and to 
continue photographing the poetry which arrives.

The constant in receiving the clear voice of the Muse is my being in proximity to Nature; clear of city streets 
and passersby, I hear these transcendent, rhyming words.

Given the Graffiti Poetry Rule, you see my dyslexia — no spell-check at the wall. To write the poems, I’ve had 
to just accept myself. Fear accompanies me, often asking where a poem is going before it’s done, but the 
determination to just take down what I hear has given me the courage to ignore self-criticism. The poems 
serve as a place of deep learning and revelation for me.

Sometimes, I’ve been told the poems need editing and shortening, but that is not the aesthetic under which I 
receive them. These poems come raw, unedited and urgent, ready to blow away on the wind if I stop to think. 
I take dictation from the Muse. It has always felt that I have received these poems, not that I’ve written them. 
A wise friend told me that what is deeply personal is also universal. I hope these poems will speak to your 
heart and soul, as well.