one of those moments where the deepest places of my heart come boiling forth, like a pot of water forgotten at the stove. unaware of the eruption, until it's overflowing.

turning my head, ever so slowly, to peer back into the hallway behind me. full of doors marked with seasons.

the distance behind so far, the starting point so small, i have to squint my eyes to see it. to remember.

knob after knob, worn from the entrance and the exit. the gold scuffed off. some hinges squeakier than other.

to see behind is to fuel onward motion. 

i will remember Your love.

brick by brick
i'm building my life
brick by brick

brick by brick
i can't turn back time
brick by brick

lean in and peer inside
rough indentions and
small spaces

worlds within clay
moments trapped in blocks
engrained in the walls of my home

brick by brick
i'm building my life
brick by brick

brick by brick
i can't turn back time
brick by brick

east side west side
sun rises above
eyes squint as glory appears

so many cracks/crevices, 
bite-size regrets
bricks so frail they crumble under the weight
of the brick above

dust clouds sliding out from beneath
like snakes from their burrows
stability slipping away

the bright light peering through
the holes of missed moments
weak bricks and imperfect building

but i carry on

brick by brick
I'm building my life
brick by brick

brick by brick
i can't turn back time
brick by brick

click click
brick by brick


Today I felt uninspired.

Perhaps I felt

Inspired to crawl out from within 

the dungeon called


But alas that aspiration was not 


We, the creators, must silence all

The muddle and muck of 

Colour and noise that means 


Isn’t it a thief

Insta-bytes and uninspired blubbering

Of content 

Steals away true, authentic, gut wrenching 

Soul transforming, awe inspiring, visceral 


uhhhhh, I want to throw up all the hours

Of consumption of 

Fodder and fast food art and words

You, you, you 

You spit them out 

thinking they hold worth because they are

Out there now

But existence does not equate value 

When we are speaking about 

Reflection and


A diet rich in uninspired, self gratifying 

Head puffing up dialogue and 

Tiny squares grows humans -

Lo! Humanity -

Of a mundane, systematic species

Bent toward regurgitating uninspired 

Vomit for the dogs.

How to change ones diet

Or transform ones frame?

Are you asking?

How to become inspired again?

How to have something worthwhile to offer the world, the child, the dying man?

How to bring quality and calibre to the noise?

How to be a harmonious symphony amidst the traffic of 

man-made opinions and ideas and constructs that 


Let’s be Silent 


Let’s wait. 


Do you hear that low grade whisper 

that hovers over the dew 

that rests on each blade of grass


Atoms vibrating on the sunrise 

and if you still yourself

You’ll catch them and eat them 

and be nourished again

Turn off what’s in your hand 

and turn on your soul 

once again

Pause in the afternoon.

Let air and oxygen and 3pm sunshine 




Find the slivers in the atmosphere that open

You up to something spiritual 

And eternal 

Sit with it

Wonder again 


Drink of the Voice

The great Inspirer 

The Beginning of all true

Philosophy and Idea


Be beauty again.

I dreamed again

Skin nestled next to the corners of the eyes

and lines pointing to the triangle of white.

Like arrows 

leading to the sun -

a fireball watching over for 35 years.

It gives gifts, 

like textured hands 

and busy brains.

Pumping blood to the rhythm of,
“To do rather than to be. to move rather than to feet, 

             'cause we don’t have time for that”

The daily blaze speaks, 

as we roll toward him for a sunset, 

and roll away 

all the same.

I dreamed again of my childhood. 

Those final pages 

where summary is like twine tying up

something - though it feels


I dreamed again of feeling. Of unknowing.

Of discovery - a pillowy dress surrounding me.

I dreamed again of beauty.

Rays of heat present,

nestling upon that small patch of the wooden floor -

where dust particles dance and float and suspend

themselves for a moment.

With nothing else to do 

but be.

As eyes close, the temples stretch, and

It’s smooth again.

A freshly made skin bed -



Young again.

I dreamed again.


Sometimes at night I have dreams

where I’m wholly within my

 20 year old frame 

and thoughts,

   still unformed like 

the sand surrounding a child 

before a castle is born.

I fully feel, 

feel fully, the expectation of life 

and love and loss and the 

lingering sense of not knowing 

and only beginning to know.

Stuffed with childhood and wonder.

A soul like a telescope searching outward 

         for discovery and

stretching to bring the outside world


Then I awake with a small, 

squishy skin of a child

nestled next to my frame that has 

            sense walked like one with pails of water -

but sloshing inside is the archives of a full grown 


Shapes and hips and forehead lines 

can’t deceive that which was felt in a dream.

She can’t run from all the days piled up like sand,

forming the walls and windows and pillars with castle like peaks.

You can’t undue


You can’t expect the wave to 

               wash it away - 

because the seaside of time isn’t cyclical in a 24 hour way.


now, where time lives in the skin, 

in the brain, 

in the depths -

One must pull from within 

out, out, out

and let the sound of a one woman history 

give of itself.

Let others drink the water and

    take residence in the castle of the




Of days and days

Of sand and soul :

Lines connecting then to the here and now.