Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Follow The Skies

I let a little lightning leave my lair,
sprinkled across the air until the sky is high off my mischief.
She knows that I’ve been bound to break the rules,
with my chocolate button stare, that keeps me out of trouble,
and I have often suspected that she finds the whole idea quite seductive.

I break her out of the four walls she keeps finding herself lost in,
and we drink milkshakes as the rain settles into the arms of the lovesick sea.
all you need is a little push in the right direction,
even if your compass is compromised, and you never learned to read a map,
you can find your way back to the path of your personal prophecy,
and when you’re there,
it feels so easy,
as if being lost was a child’s game that you played, even though you were too old to crouch behind shadows with screwed up eyes.

As we drained the shakes and saw the last of the sun,
I told her to follow the skies, next time.
My fingers buzzed and pulsed every second we were apart,
bursting with lightning as storms brewed in my chocolate button stare that had no choice but to become cyclones,
and the sky would always find a way to lift her from being lost,
settling her back down,
on the right track,
if I asked it nicely.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

No Man Is An Island, But I Am No Man

She asked me why I insisted on existing as an island,
why I felt so frosty when she held me,
why I had to be born as the daughter of the lonely sea.
I could see her frustration,
see her point and her many objections to all the boundaries and barriers I had blessed between us.

No man is an island, but I am no man.

Maybe I’ll build her a ferry.
My lover, were you made for seafaring?
Shall I raise the Terror or the Titanic to carry you across my worrisome waters?
Or, could my love cause a collapse in myself?
Could my island cascade into the waves,
free for her to dive into?
I want you close.
Won’t you be my favourite tourist?

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing


Soaring, roaring waves wrack the weakened wood,

the moon sheds her tears as the night trickles by slowly,

the morning sun will mourn when she arrives at the ocean’s graveyard,

crossing paths with the moon, like sad ships in the night,

chasing phantoms to uncharted waters.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Rainbows Have Nothing To Hide, but Poppies Do

My poppies are shy, this spring,

under the dirt,

determined to stay in bed as long as possible,

like a troubled teen in that first summer after a heartbreak,

they grip tight to the ground and growl,

“Mother, I don’t like it out there.”

I mean,

who could blame them?

I am thinking of joining them.

Just growing and never showing myself to anyone,

never running the risk of rejection,

never letting the reflections of the outside fuck with my perception of what it means to be alive.

It all makes sense,

when you see it from a seed’s perspective.