Archive for November, 2016



November 15, 2016

Things seen are the reaction of light reflecting off an object. The thing being observed is only possible to see by being observed, which suggests interference with the natural evolution potential.
That it happens suggests introspection an intrinsic part of nature.

When I consider how that plays out within parameters that include self-reflection, those times more beneficial include closer examination. I record the data that allows understanding how I can better enhance my world view, finding a more cohesive fit, finding the ways to shine.

Simply said, the eyes of the heart see the self more clearly when reflecting light.


A song of the moon

November 14, 2016

Whether in wax or wane, she is a constant, even when clouds hide her light.
Unbreakable bone china facade of delicacy, mischievous cheshire cat smile, depending on the day.
The poet in me demands I speak of cold tendrils of light finding their way into shadowy cracks, between slats of window blind, making new paths in darkened forests. Of a pale fingered enchantress who knows all the shortcuts through dream country. Of a barren landscape that is bright with promise. Of an intoxication that make drive a man mad when she beckons, for even the sea comes when she calls.


Ghost story

November 13, 2016

There are houses that are haunted for seemingly no reason. Inhabiting the space between street and alley, between the bustle of midday and the never quiet of city latenight. Streetlights don’t penetrate, cast no glow on their shadowed interiors.

She didn’t die here, it was far removed from anywhere she’d desired to visit. Her dreams exceeding the lifespan she was given, now a memory of identity tangled in the bushes and overgrown gardens of a property forgotten.

This house, empty of life probably seemed a reasonable place to leave her.

We will do our best to make her feel welcome.



November 11, 2016

I never understood what it meant. I never understood why there was such sadness, such solemnity. For me, the bright colour of the flower was a jolly juxtaposition to the grey of november, sky streaked with the tears of old men I had no connection to. It was an opportunity to fold felt poppies and blow kisses with exaggerated voluptuousness, another thing I didn’t grasp the weight of until much later.

I hated that it fell on my mum’s birthday.

“Can’t they use another?” I asked once.
“I’m very happy to share it.” She said, her smile heavy with perspective.



November 10, 2016

You gave me so very much.

You gave me poetry without boundaries, you gave me permission to be dark, sexual, unapologetic. You gave me romance without the limitations of love, you gave me love intrinsically intertwined with sweat doused limbs in the pre dawn hours. You gave me the stark beauty of a cheap hotel room lit up with the lights of a city that never knew our names, even as we whispered them to each other in a tangle of overwashed sheets.

You gave me courage to have a voice that never needed music to sing.

Thank you, Leonard.



November 9, 2016

And here I find myself preempted, as though a stretch were trapped in my limbs, but confinement won’t allow for expression. Stymied, I rail in consternation, the fear of never being able to speak my mind, to broaden myself beyond a horizon that should have faded from sight in a rear view mirror long ago. Incrementally, my fear gives way to anger.

It is rage, it is righteous and it is tempting.
But it won’t just burn those I direct it at, fire knows nothing of favouritism.
If I give in to hate, I have to live within the ashes.



November 9, 2016

I lost sight of what was important when the world turned red and seemed to catch fire all around me. The gentle turning of the globe, the rotation toward and away from the sun, the inhale and the exhale of the breath in my body, the ebb and flow of tides more timeless than my brain actually understands, though it pretends at grasping for fear of seeming ignorant.

These fears of what will come, they are constructs bred into me by those who are scared they too, are ignorant.

Faced with that, all I can do is embrace beauty, constantly.



November 8, 2016

A late night lullabye of needlepoint and stars. A knitted and cosmic afghan, this not quite blanket, contains more warmth than cocoa, small fingers poking through holes that were already there, too many cracks to fill. Rocking chair mainstay, wrapped on a lap and sung to. Melodies of times long gone, dust covered lyrics of songs archaic in their naiveté, the desire to be timeless fades in the garish light of progressing modernity. Kissed goodnight and left alone with the angels watching from shadowy corners, thick drapes pulled tight against streetlight influence.
I learn to dream, revelling within darkness absolute.


The most direct route

November 7, 2016

A childhood spent learning that entering through the front door isn’t always the most logical way. Back of the house, screen door slamming when the spring stopped working for those two weeks in may, heavy dark wood slab that sealed up tight. A lock within the handle that needed a twist and a wiggle, but maintained well, even after we used the weight of elementary school boundless energy to bust it open when the key wasn’t there. The shame of destruction coupled with the satisfaction of proactively finding our way inside.
Fancy window’d front door would never have survived us.


Hittin the sauce

November 6, 2016

You’re watching my finger, as it dips among whiskey soaked ice cubes, and comes up dripping before finding itself between my lips. White teeth smile around my dampened digit, I do enjoy the darkening of your eyes.
My hand hovers, then returns to the tumbler, the clatter of chill against glass audible even over the crowd around us. A second joins in, before following the same path to my teasing mouth. My lips close tight around them, pulling them slowly, languorously free as you groan and stand, adjusting your pants accordingly.

“You didn’t make me count to three. Good boy.”    


Guy Fawkes Day

November 5, 2016

Remember, remember the fifth of november
When explosive delight caught me unaware.
Bombastic encounter, delicious surmounter
Overcoming, and stripping me bare
Of all misconceptions, naive perceptions
Of doctrines that sought to hobble and blind.
A gentle persuasion toward emancipation
Ideas thrust into the depths of my mind.
Inspiration, a fire, uncanny desire
To know more, to seek with whet appetite.
A curious notion, a limitless ocean
Of reasons to care, and to fight
For all humanity, lost to insanity
Forgetting how important to give
Themselves a fair deal, find joy that is real
Because love is what’s needed to live.


Winding down (nov 4 drabble)

November 4, 2016

Misty mountain roadway, cheshire cat moon mystic finds her way, winds her way home. A twisted river trail, she lifts and lowers like the tide, movements reflected in the changing of the seasons.
November autumn sunshine, winter thoughts at bay for one more day, I revel in the light, and delight in the way the sun shine lies to skin that should be bracing itself for snow. It’s easy to forget that all this green will be gone someday, it’s easy to lose myself in the thought that before too long, white will be the only colour I’ll remember well.


Consideration (Nov 3, though I wrote it on Nov 1 so I’m kinda cheating but whatever)

November 3, 2016

Any consideration that I understood how time worked shifted the first time I saw you. I became lost within moments encapsulated by sensation, by the feel of you against my skin.
Who I’d been, erased by the way you moulded my features into beauty heretofore unrecognized, confident I was someone to be gazed upon, appreciatively. Habits of the past fell by the wayside, self-worth finding purchase on a foundation made of all the reasons why you desired me. Even after you were gone, that didn’t change.
Of all of your myriad qualities, either delicious or unsavoury, lying wasn’t one.


Disengaged. Nov 2

November 2, 2016

Heart breaking, heartbroken, I bear witness to the world.
So much I don’t understand, all encompassing mysteries of
how the fuck can we, as a species, be so goddamn lost.

It’s surreal to consider that people walk around thinking causing harm is sanity.
It’s unreal to believe that we’re still so locked into an us vs them trajectory.
It’s really, really hard to imagine anything short of the goddamn apocalypse, a tabula rasa reset, a planet wide pandemic of heads removed from rectum scenario,
could be the way out of this.

I seriously don’t see any other solution some days.


A little drabble do ya.

November 1, 2016

November first, I should feel a thirst
Instead, bereft of the prose.
Stuck in a place, without sign or a trace
of the wordsmith who lives in my nose.
In my psyche, my heart, in all of the parts
Including each one of my toes.
I’ll no longer wait, or capitulate
But type until caught in the throes.
Unleashing the torrent, not to write is abhorrent
I’ll push through, see how it goes.
Filled with desire to create things that inspire
Not wanting to sleep or to doze
100 words every day, helps me to say
Watch how a logolept grows.

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