For The Love Of Tea

The call of the whistle beacons my cup,
the tea bag sits on the edge waiting to be dunked.
A plume of steam rising up,
the sweet fragrance calling out.
A spoonful of sugar, or perhaps a few lumps
to help sweeten the pot.
The warmth fills my mouth,
the warmth cheers my heart,
and as I sip the very last drop
I sigh wistfully and prepare another cup.

Ashes Risen

Onto the funeral pyre
I’ve tossed heart and desire,
doused it with sorrow and
watched it char me hollow.
Through wind driven ash
I’ve wept and wallowed,
but at its center burned
the smallest of ember,
waiting for you to
reignite the fire.
Consumed by your power,
passions flame burned brighter,
rising like a spire,
climbing ever higher,
blazing us into the sapphire.

Floral Moon

In my heart,
loves eternal
blooms, with
petals of pearl
with dew.
Soft and wielding
beneath the pull
of an impassioned
moon, its blossoms
delicately swoon,
intoxicating the
bees with it’s
sweet perfume

Creation Brightly Beams


A rustle through the trees
brought by the warmth
of a breeze.
A tender kiss for the leaves
suns love brightly beams.
In the garden the daisies thick as thieves
sit pretty as you please
showcased among summer greens.
Floral colors delicately weave
through garden dreams.
Natures bounty dew soaked clean.
From wonders that nary to cease and
amaze creative beauty springs.

Cast Of Light

The dawn of twilight
rising up from the indigo
of night casts off its shade
and steps into the light.
Betwixt the heavenly cosmos
golden beams reunite.
Resplendent beauty shining bright,
crests over the horizon awash with delight,
bursting forth with vigour and life.


“Are you sure this is what you want?” 
The word sounded more like an omission of defeat than a happy agreement. She had wanted this for so long it was beginning to feel like being deprived of oxygen. Every cell, every fibre of her being felt like a tuning fork that had just been struck. She could almost visualize the tiny atoms inside her gyrating frantically, trapped in their delicate shells on the cusp of fission. He was her chain reaction, fueling her with his energy until she neared critical mass. Now she was there teetering on the edge of the event horizon while he acted as the gravitational pull that kept her both anchored and had her spiralling off at the same time. His face swam across her vision making her want to step back from him, but she couldn’t get her legs to move. If she had any will before it was gone, sucked out of her by his crushing force. The heat from his body made her want to coil herself around him and sear herself into his skin. With a deliberate smile he moved closer, his eyes smoldering with triumph he struck the match he had been holding, and set her on fire.

A Life Unscripted

I’ve had my heart stolen.
I’ve had my heart broken.
I’ve committed arson
burning out my passion
until my heart was
empty and barren.
I’ve lived my life with
my soul wide open,
and I’ve suffered the
consequences of
words left unspoken.
At times I’ve acted brazen,
my tongue thoughtlessly driven.
At others I’ve exercised caution
my mouth hesitant to take action.
I’ve battled the changing
seasons with the ferocity of a
warrior slaying demons.
I’ve taken my medicine, and
I’ve learned my lessons.
In the end I won’t apologize
for choosing what matters.


I play the hunches and don’t pull my punches. I try not to be self righteous, its rather pointless to toss stones at glass houses. There are enough people I think roaming around on high horses. When I speak I do so with boldness, but I choose each sentence so as not to be thoughtless. There is a fine line between bluntness, and being callous. Speaking your mind with tactfulness takes a measure of balance, add to that kindness and you can achieve something far more then greatness, you can magnify graciousness. The world would be a far better place if people understood what it truly meant to be pious, but thoughts like that are often met with malice. It has been said I can be a bit rambunctious, what do I care if I look foolish?  Maturity has its advantage, wisdom is precious, but a little childhood wonderment gets you through to the finish. In my head there are poetic verses set to the soulful sound of funeral dirges. Kinda like a morbid version of a three ring circus. I’m happiest when the voices in my head are boisterous.