740 Words about Revolution (#SelfTitled Excerpt)

  Six years ago, I started a blog. It would hold the random stanzas and poems of an angsty twenty-something parent, at least initially. I was tired, cranky and in a relationship that benefited nobody. They always tell you when writing a blog, you actually need material. This was a lesson I had learned time … Continue reading 740 Words about Revolution (#SelfTitled Excerpt)


The Damaged Good

Nights come, suicide consumes the line breaks; how some would grieve, others would not notice or mind. Daybreak would come, and they would all find peace by noon. Sure, they might eulogise my fashion blindness, but would not miss the constant sense of crisis. Yes, they might say something akin to "that man was an … Continue reading The Damaged Good

Anxiety AM

Good morning, sir! If I might have a word, some advice? Smile more. Live healthy. If you have something to whisper, it's probably worth bellowing once or twice. Spelling makes a difference, doesn't it? It's pronounced anxiety, not angst I-T, and it's not viably addressed. Good morning, ma'am, is that coffee on your flowered dress? … Continue reading Anxiety AM

FREE VERSE REVOLUTION: The Collection Releases May 22

There are over 1,500 original poems on this website. It took seven years of writing, five years of blogging, seven books and over ten thousand readers commenting, liking, and subscribing to reach this point in time. I could write ten novels and this site would still make up the bulk of my life's work. The … Continue reading FREE VERSE REVOLUTION: The Collection Releases May 22

Eulogy for the Pheonix

In death, as he was in life; a phoenix in midflight, aflame. In passing, so was he in person, illuminating midnights, lone candles in a crisis of fluorescent lights. In unity, as we are all in divide, he tried to avoid good intentions' faultlines, until the chasms opened too wide and couldn't be closed. In … Continue reading Eulogy for the Pheonix

Darkest Places

The darkest places have multi-colour shoe laces, but can't walk in straight lines. Recite alphabets in reverse with minimal effort, then face plant the dirt because co-ordination ain't kind. The darkest places shine like black shoes, and I can see you, reflection, set loose. We dance and you move through the motions, rhythm's locomotive driving … Continue reading Darkest Places

For Ess

This wasn't no childhood love story, predestined, albeit a bit boring. I didn't meet you on some Sunday morning street; we weren't given serendipity's blessing. We came across each other, second-guessing questionable choice of past lovers and pieces of ourselves we gave away, voices of self-harm on replay. We persevered a little, learned to whittle … Continue reading For Ess