Poetry

  • Gypsy

    I see the world, and I know it has been named by those who came before me. Who have I become (or not become) because of what they have shown me? Voices claiming to guide are often sour to my… Continue reading

  • Soft and Quiet

    The time for soft and quiet has come. Rest. Lay down the bones of sorrows past. Yesterday is a hush, no longer ringing her angry bell. She knows it true. The time for soft and quiet has come. Continue reading

  • Just A Rose

    A rose is just a rose to those who choose not to know her. Continue reading

  • She

    I am the wind, and she is the earth that knows me. Continue reading

  • Parents

    To the parents. Sometimes it is hard. It is. It just is. Always remember the storms do pass. Always remember the softness and the sweetness, the rose beyond the grey. And we will grow them perfectly horribly beautifully. And all… Continue reading

  • Just Because

    And then she roared again. Just because. Continue reading

  • All I Know

    All I know is my heart. All I know is when it stretches and when it breaks, the same words return and return and return: I love you, anyway. Continue reading

  • This Quiet Storm

    I am me. Just me. Not who you think I am. Not who you wish I would be. Just who I am. This quiet storm. Me. Continue reading

  • Now They Are One

    Shadow dancer on the wall. Darling of light and form. A body. A wall. Each but a fragment of life until they find each other. Now they are one, yes. Now they are one. Continue reading

  • Today

    I have found myself, today. Once again I am everything I am. I am the passionate stroke of theatre, and the softest touch of poetry. My colours are pastel: peach and mauve, whimsical tendrils and earthy wooden grain. I am… Continue reading