The same

Suddenly the light dulls as if someone drew a shade over the beaming bulb in the sky.

It’s midday, and the people shuffle along the streets, cherishing every stride as the weekend passes them by.

The stories that they speak get carried like pollen in the winter breeze,

and in the far corners of this open field they sprout again, whispered by new voices.

Stories of women raising spirits from the ground, or soldiers battling the terrors of the seas;

of mothers with new babies, and entire cities raised high above the trees;

of a redheaded girl who makes lightning strike with a single wink of her eye.

Their stories sprout and grow and show no signs of slowing, like an endless river’s flow.

They split and branch into different streams, dividing whole continents untile they meet their maker;

the great tide of the high seas.

Here, they lay wide open like the mouths from which they came; a great ocean of blues and greens,

all mixed together to make them all seem the same.



The Dutchess

The Dutchess stands, all dressed in black,

like a raven perched upon a writing desk.

Her high boot comes to a stop with a tap.


She stares out over the empty cobblestone street

as if to scan an open field for anything that moves,

anything she can find well hidden beneath.


Her eyes stop, resting on the sight of him;

a man standing upright, standing tall, her duke maybe,

though that is not for us to know.


For she lives in a world that is not our own;

one of thoughts and dreams, where oils drip from the walls

and run down the streets.

One of not bodies but of minds, where reality is but a stroke

and there is always more than what meets the eye.



Light a fire in my mind so I can watch it burn like the stars at night.
I wanna see the smoke rise and form the words that I long to write.

Set it all ablaze, so I can feel the heat pull me into its wicked daze,
where the walls come crashing down, and I can run on an endless escape.

Keep it alive, let it light up the sky so for once and for all
I can rise like an eagle, spread my giant wings, leap off the edge,
and soar.


Early morning sun

On mother’s skin she dances;
Her every move grabs my attention
and draws me ever deeper inside her soul.

It glows like red hot coals in the midst of the night,
where Darkness himself roams and opens the door to our own.

Yet here she is like a wild flower in the breeze,
moving softly and slowly, like a baby breaths,
and, taking her hand in mine, she takes the lead.

Like falling autumn leaves,
we twist and twirl to the rhythm of the wind and the tune mother sings.
I close my eyes as we float weightlessly through the skies,
watching reality slowly pass us by.

Then, she turns slowly to me and whispers softly in my ear;
“You see, my son? The wind, the water,
the fire and the earth, you all run as one.
So let them guide you and you too will shine
brighter than the early morning sun.”



He stands alone by the sea, his hair dancing in the salty breeze.
His eyes stay pinned to the horizon, where Gods meet the oceans
and together become one.

The solid stone walls that once guarded his soul
lay crumbled and broken on the sandy beach floor.
Conquered by climbing vines, knots, and Father Time,
he finally found what it means to ‘feel at home’.

He once had it all; paintings hung from tiny woven string,
and wine and cheese decked the table in the evenings.
His garden bloomed with the colours of spring
and the laughter of smiling, playful young children.

His inner quarters were full, occupied by a man and wife
and their love that bloomed for the rest of their lives.
But, as happens to all, the hourglass dropped its final grains of sand,
and the winds and the waters swept away everything he once had.

Through the cracks that formed in the windows and the walls,
the light that once shun made on its way, and slowly moved on.
Now, empty and incomplete, he stands alone by the sea,
his hair dancing slowly to the rhythm of the salty breeze.


Temporarily blind

Tiles of nothing

flip over in my memory

like photos of some things

that I look for when I’m lonely:


Sounds of nature

and music from before,

or words on crumbled pages

that lay forgotten on the floor.

They flicker like short circuits,

corroded by the rain,

until I reconnect them

once I find the time again.


So I try, I try, and I try

to find the key I left behind,

until I come to realize

that I held it in my hand

and just fell temporarily blind.