Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Bay Leaves

Bright moonlight reflects on my bay leaves,

my dark eyes are shining,

as I write wishes on nature’s body,

my heart, full of hope,

and the night, full of possibilities.

A fun little fox is my right hand witch,

pawing at the floor as I call to the sky.

I’m a patient Princess,

drinking honey in the dark,

waiting for the world to catch up to my ambitions.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Winter Roses

Life just gets so lonely,

don’t you think?

When all you are is a self aware worker bee.

Taking each one of your gifts,

letting them fall off a cliff,

into a blender,

tornado made of torment,

because the world goes round and round,

and you just never notice.

I suppose the night will fall,

as it’s supposed to,

and the sky will never be particularly spectacular,

and I’ll watch Paddington,

under a blanket,

wondering why it’s such a chore,

to manage anything at all.

The roses I would buy,

every weekend of the winter,

remind me that beautiful things can still be born in the harshest conditions.

They are blooming,

just out of reach,

when I’m falling asleep,

somewhere between four and six,

AM or PM,

either way,

it takes far longer than it used to.

Posted in Blog


Frosted window panes,

smiling at soft sunlight,

that shyly pokes her head above the sky,

to greet the grey pavements,

that glitter with slick ice.

The winter wind has arrived early,

holding us close,

in frozen arms,

glacial kisses on bright red noses.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

The Crow

The crow calls into the night,

the moon is morose,

inconvenienced by inconsolable skies,

that burst into tears every few minutes.

Silver spills from the sky onto the city streets,

empty pavements that expect company,

but are always disappointed.

Trees are titans,

towering above benches made from their branches,

watching over their children,

as the wind jumps and frolics,

making mischief,

as the night goes on.

The crow calls into the night,

to ask the sky,

why she cries so much,

but the sky cannot speak,

she can only cry.

Posted in Blog


How do you survive,

dear dandelion?


trapped in the grim and gray pavement,

making your own way,

towards the sun,


unapologetic and present,

cursed to be alone,


but always alive.

Alone in the city,

seeing all the world has to offer,

but never tempted to stray,

from the light of the sky.

I could learn so much from you.