poem #31

the moon

he was like the moon,
cold and distant - 
but always within reach.
she would watch him
from the bottom of her well.
she often heard laughter
echoing through her chamber.
the stone walls that encircled
glistened with blue light;
small comfort.
she would sometimes sing;
that unsettled him,
shattering his illusions
of a perfect world.
the rope had been cut - 
long ago.
she knew it had been him.
the neglected forest,
wild and overgrown,
kept her a secret - 
never to be found.

poem #27


god knows i suffer in the summer.
the season doesn't invigorate me,
i find it depleting.
the new light disorients me
and fulminating nature overwhelms me.
the hazy air, thick with cut grass
and pollen, like an invisible army
endlessly assaulting my eyes and nose.

it all begins in the spring,
equally as melancholic.
i sweat all day,
but by night i am freezing.
no sweater or shoe seem right
for this temperamental time of year.

every blow of my life
has taken place in warm weather.
the jovial laughter in
chiffon summer dresses
only remind me of the losses,
betrayals and disappointment.

the summertime inertia
of waking up in bleached surroundings
and having the distinct feeling
of being inevitably pushed forward.

but today is the weekend,
i do not have to leave the house.
i can wake up and not get up.
there is nothing better.

poem #26


i walked the lonely woods at night,
and came across a pixie.
he was so small, his hair was bright,
his appearance rather tricksy. 

he flashed a mischievous, sprite like grin,
and beckoned me come forward.
i walked to him, my mind made dim,
and did just as he ordered.

he pointed to a fallen tree,
and asked me to inspect it.
i looked and saw, to my surprise,
it was not as i expected.

the tree was not a tree at all,
but a giant soundly sleeping.
i turned to see the imp was gone,
and this would be my ending. 

poem #25

ivy part II

what was it that you said to me about the moon,
how it had the magnitude to capture our shadows?
were those the exact words that you used?
i can remember the story of the princess,
who became trapped in the moon's reflection
on the surface of the lake.
we each recall the story differently - 
you argue that she was a queen;
i do not think that it matters.

we wander into the forest.
the silence was uncomfortable;
i hesitate just for a moment.
you gently take my hand
and guide me from the path.
i will never find my way back.

the air is thick and pungent,
i'm suffocated.
i can taste wet soil; 
the stench of damp rot and decay.
'not much further,' you say.
i did not know you had a plan.

we came upon a well,
the crumbling stone;
overgrown with ivy.
i felt the wave of unease.
'look down it,' 
i did not hesitate to obey.
it's so deep, is there something down there?
you ask me to imagine falling in.
but that is a game i will not play.

i do not know at what point
you let go of my hand.
it must have been when i turned;
you had already gone.

poem #8

the canal in winter

the smell of bonfire
hung thickly in the air
like old velvet curtains.
it was a cold night,
like when you leave 
the freezer door open.

the yellow diaphanous glow
that flooded from windows
was my only illumination,
lighting the path ahead
of a walk i know so well.

people sitting atop their boats
did not notice me.
they smoked and played instruments
and the aroma of piped tobacco
filled my nostrils and
comforted my senses.

poem #6

a walk

yesterday, i wandered down Regent's Canal.
for hours i trailed the tapering paths
led by the snaky twists and bends.
sinewy lanes escorted by forget-me-nots,
where water slapped rhythmically against the banks.

how long i walked i could not say,
it must have been at least a day.
how is it possible that i have not
meandered through these tracks before.

until my freedom snatched away,
has forced a need for me to stray,
from the prison i call home
and even though i walk alone
aware the consequences of these strolls
that they have started to impose
for me and roaming rebels alike
that we might one day appreciate,
the precious freedom they can take.

poem #1


perceiving a lake in the distance
obscured within a knotted forest.
 the path, at first, appeared quite hidden
 and the lake beyond my clasp.
 so profound were those waters -
 the glass surface glistened and shone,
 but underneath was murky, i faltered:
 what hidden bodies would i unearth?
 the sylvan setting seemed hospitable
 and concealed my lake from view.
 my arms they bled from wading branches
 and following the path i knew.
 determined was i to swim those waters,
 pushing until i could break through.