Monday, May 1, 2017

Out of Step

she comes from a different time

of this I am all but certain

a time of simpler intricate things

of words that are no longer spoken

her memory, her greatest friend

there are libraries within her

stories my mind cannot comprehend

I delight in their mystical nature

she seems out of step in this place sometimes

out of synch with the calendar’s turn

her heart kept locked up inside of those walls

she watches as if through a lens

it’s not for lack of ability

that she moves at a different pace

it could almost be called an impassioned disdain

for the state and nature of things

so often I am swept up in dreams of a time

when we both could have fit in place

two pieces woven of similar thread

yet in contrast they seem to blend

there is something about the passing of years

remembering things come and gone

so few things now hold any weight

to anchor their place in time

in ways she is like a history book

filled with page after page of lore

with stories of how one becomes

yet never being that thing at all

she tells the tales as if she saw them

yet was never truly there

and now she has found herself wanting

to be the character that defines the tale

~ for my muse ~

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

The Internal Turn

it starts slow, deep down
undetectable to the gaze of the eye
it digs in, foraging
carving space in the places you hide
it is simple, really
one unspoken word
the smallest thing
that you let slip silently by
once planted, the tiniest seed
begins to take root as if into stone
the root becomes a web
an intricate maze of lines
exquisitely forming a fortress
that cannot be breached
and then into the darkness
into the shadows, silence speaks
until all that you hear
is the empty hollow din
the lonely and the quiet
take over full control
and then in this prison
you slowly pass the time
minutes turn to hours, hours into days

and the blur of their passing
simply turns you numb
taking the edge off the numbness
with whatever you can find
your pour the endless loss
down your throat
then time is spent recovering
the vicious cycle spins
so that all you have to focus on
is yourself

Tuesday, April 4, 2017

Her Shadow

I have always ‘seen’ things, ‘felt’ things, ‘known’ things. I see them in the trees as dusk settles on the day. I see them in flashes as I turn my head. I hear voices that wake me from sleep. I spend a lot of time lying awake at night as some thing, some unknown presence needs me to know it is there. I have to turn on lights, most of the time, as for some reason, that presence does not seem to comfort me.

One particular night, I was deep in sleep, when my doorbell rang. It was late, middle of the night, and scared me as I had recently moved and didn’t know anyone here. I went downstairs and looked through the peephole in my door. I saw the shadow of a blonde woman, head tipped forward. She looked remarkably like someone I know but it was an impossibility that she would be standing there. I yelled out, “who is it?”. No answer. I asked again. Still nothing. I moved to the window, and saw no one. I went back to the door and threw it open. No one was there.

shadows love to tease

spring night becomes cold

and then still again

*written for
Haibun Monday - The Shadow Knows

Thursday, April 21, 2016

trying to become

when the challenge is

not to become

a thing again

fighting within the walls

of a carefully guarded self

trapped within the battle lines

of a war won and lost

this road seems familiar

I’ve walked its rutted trail

my feet they know the path

as if by name

but distance seems to flex

like the hands of a clock spin

and the future stretches out

beyond the scope of my sight

seeing signs along the road

places to pause and rest

forks that will change that path

and lead me astray

those are the paths I know

the ones I’ve walked before

but focus and centered sight

must light my way

darkness falls and skies of grey

the rainclouds and thunderous boom

I’m quite sure no one has melted

in the falling rain

so onward and forward

one foot, then the next

passing roadblocks and signposts

the scenery will change

Monday, January 25, 2016


this Sex,

played out on chequered squares

each knowing their roles

the King,

directing the movement

of every playing piece

the Knight,

one step up and two to the side

dancing in the shape of an L

leaping over the others

and removing them from the game

the Bishop,

flanking the King and Queen

keeping them safe from harm

able to move in any direction

as long as nothing obstructs their path

the Rook(ie),

stands at the Knight’s side

and moves with the rank and file

the only possible obstruction

encountering one of their own

the Pawns,

there have been so many

moving one ‘en passant’

while moving the length of the board

they can become someone else

the Queen,

the most powerful player

no limit to the steps she takes

her absence does not stop the game

but without her, your advantage fails

this Game,

so what is the purpose?

to remove the opposing King

to move each and all in tandem

your strategy prevails

yet what

if the lines on the board erased

and you saw yourself as the other King

would you want your army so predictably

trying to keep you safe~

Tuesday, August 11, 2015


In the end…
Is faith your divining rod
when faith is only relative to experience
Is belief your faith
and by what gauge do you measure its size
Is trust your peace
or have you been broken beyond repair
Is peace a thing
that can ever be achieved
You only consume some portion
of what they tell you
And you only digest 
a smaller portion of that
Nothing truly fills 
or feeds you
And the search for more
becomes that divining rod
Starving you are
yet this is all they surrender
Regurgitated facts
numbers on a page
Pushing the plate back
across the empty table
Rising from your chair 
and walking away
The bitter taste 
lingers on your tongue
While the aching hunger inside
continues to burn
Driving you on 
in search of decadent bliss
Sweet and savory
perhaps even sustenance
Sitting down to the bounty 
of a gourmet table
Licking your lips
as your mouth comes to life
Aching to taste 
the pleasures at the tips of your fingers
Something tangible 
not faith
not belief
you are alive~

~ for my muse ~

Thursday, June 11, 2015

through this day

reaching deep into this quiet

as the day around me screams

listening hard for the sound of you

the breath, the beating heart

feeling distance stretching

long and much too far

the need, the want, the ache

overwhelming me

I know that you are with me

connected through woven webs

yet today I feel trapped

dangling by a thread

I can hear your voice inside me

that musical sing song sound

curling up the side of my neck

calming unsettled nerves

I can feel your touch in my memory

the hard and soft of you

you have carved your name upon me

your absence today I feel

my hands are empty and fumbling

my footsteps waver and quake

unsteady and unbalanced

I am not myself today

close my eyes, deeply breathe

find my way back into you

my body moves with grace and ease

as we become one again