Writing

  • The End Of The Day

    I gave my soul to the garden. I gave her my heart, I gave her my dreams. And now, I am weary. So weary, I am nothing more than this. But how beautiful it feels to have come. To have… Continue reading

  • Flowers

    The flowers opened with the rooster’s crow and closed as the sun went down. Everyone called them weeds, and that’s what they were if you were someone other than me. Whatever their name, they woke and fell asleep with the… Continue reading

  • Sweet Muse of Mine

    Where do you go, sweet bell? Where do you hide when I long to feel your voice sing through my bones? I only know you; the place I call home. I only know you, dear constant voice of heart, of… Continue reading

  • The Window

    On days where rain settles on the window, I look to the future with dusty eyes. How does one peer beyond the droplets there? How beautiful can the horizon appear when my eyes are glazed with the muck and haze… Continue reading

  • Imagine

    Sometimes, I wonder if I can still write. Not just write, as in, write any old words. I mean, I sometimes wonder if I can still write fiction that peels my skin from the bone. Words I read back after… Continue reading

  • Creativity Rises

    I intend to write one thing and another is born. Creativity rises. It controls me, not the other way around. The poem I’ve just written began with a feeling of being stuck. Stuck in COVID lockdown. Stuck in a middle… Continue reading

  • A Mysterious Animating Force

    The sweet divinity that lingers at the edge of life. Writers and artists know it well. Actors and musicians feel it within their bodies. And none of us have any clue as to what it is. Not even those who… Continue reading

  • The River I Am

    The river I am. I fall in love with the next creative thing, and there I stay for a while (but not forever.) When I create, I flow, I cannot be boxed. I am sometimes a writer. Sometimes a musician.… Continue reading

  • Creative, Loving,Life

    I’m very aware of the rich soil of this place. How I am peeking through the soft earth, unravelling beautifully. How I am fully becoming myself. Over these past few weeks, I’ve been allowing myself to be as I am,… Continue reading

  • Call Me Shakespeare

    Oh! Has this truth been truly seen! But a glimpse into a floating sea of strange reality, but a knowing truer than true can be! Who is Shakespeare? That terrible, desperate soul, falling, falling, landing evermore in the stories of… Continue reading