Category Archives: poetry

Always the same

Winter brings the white sky and the silver slip of the moon. She drops it from her waist like a silk hoop… The sky is black and the stars are holes like an upturned colander. My head seems to lurk

Always the same

Winter brings the white sky and the silver slip of the moon. She drops it from her waist like a silk hoop… The sky is black and the stars are holes like an upturned colander. My head seems to lurk

in the kitchen

He stands against the counter in my kitchen His hair is long and tosseled and his face is a mystery I am barefoot and dancing as the sun sets to amber outside of the window panes It is late summer

in the kitchen

He stands against the counter in my kitchen His hair is long and tosseled and his face is a mystery I am barefoot and dancing as the sun sets to amber outside of the window panes It is late summer

The Sea in Me

The Sea….dark and deep, vast as the Universe, wild as the heart that flies upon flights of fancy…. And yet, each drop…a breath of air and something more….the spherical reflective illusive drop of dew…holding within, the world… My blood courses

The Sea in Me

The Sea….dark and deep, vast as the Universe, wild as the heart that flies upon flights of fancy…. And yet, each drop…a breath of air and something more….the spherical reflective illusive drop of dew…holding within, the world… My blood courses

sweet…things

Skin….in the summer, sultry, sweat….Akin Yes…yesterday…as real as this thought, manifesting on my tongue…. and yes, yet I ought…. do, done, should have come and gone, maybe just a little differently…. But I would rather, have always rather done things

sweet…things

Skin….in the summer, sultry, sweat….Akin Yes…yesterday…as real as this thought, manifesting on my tongue…. and yes, yet I ought…. do, done, should have come and gone, maybe just a little differently…. But I would rather, have always rather done things

this life

this patter in the morning is invading my dream my waking is adulterated by strange symphonies what world is this which I am opening my eyes to? The first light of spring the first unfolding unfurling of a snow white

this life

this patter in the morning is invading my dream my waking is adulterated by strange symphonies what world is this which I am opening my eyes to? The first light of spring the first unfolding unfurling of a snow white

New Frost

These seasons which change in them remains the buried vestiges of our yesterdays worn soles dug from last years winter clothes in bins in basements we scurry frenzied suddenly and awoken at once by the cold we have no longer

New Frost

These seasons which change in them remains the buried vestiges of our yesterdays worn soles dug from last years winter clothes in bins in basements we scurry frenzied suddenly and awoken at once by the cold we have no longer

Glory Fish

Cold permeates and the year is ending. Time unfolds the outer petals of a rose. In the frigid beauty there is pain untouchable moments run through us as tiny particles reminding us of our smallness. My heart is full and

Glory Fish

Cold permeates and the year is ending. Time unfolds the outer petals of a rose. In the frigid beauty there is pain untouchable moments run through us as tiny particles reminding us of our smallness. My heart is full and