this family was knit with twine
laced with careful yet time-worn fingers
prepared as a duty
patterned by past confessions
the holes sewn feverishly
should we get lost in the storm
no one can say
we didn’t try our best
no one can say
our net wasn’t cast long or hard enough

we sit idly by in this ship
comparing ourselves to the others
as we go down without words
pretending, as a duty
that the twine was enough.


Bursts of birds billow against the sharp winter sun
And I,
Navigate fields of coarse blonde hair,
Lost in the nothingness.
Frost shatters all corners,
Life moves slowly and with purpose;
A lover’s hand it’s equal.
We meander through these feelings,
testing the weight of our tongues
against the truth.

after and

In this life I am the after and
I’m Labrador and pepper, butter and oranges
I made no mistake, I know where I stand
I’m minutes, I’m flowers
When the funeral is done
Imagine seeing me at my best
I’m me,
After you,
After and.

animals in waiting

can you feel me retreating?
i tuck my tail in
head for the river
to drink from the water
and replenish all that was lost in
the continuum
we rallied under street lights
sifted through snowstorms
because we had to
make our own fun
make fun
lone wolf
we were all animals in waiting

universally yours,

what if I miss you
and those are the only feelings
I have left to feel
what if I’m so tired
my eyes won’t open all the way
I miss all the signs
danger, danger
no stops for 392 kilometers
I keep running on four wheels
away from feelings
too strong to settle
too scary to hold
don’t give me that look
I met you on a wet day
I said goodbye in the dark
when I look at her
no poem is ever enough

every note is a high key
I surrender to the sound


i can feel my heart pounding in my ears
it is not fear
it is just the weight
that i carry around, three times the average
gravitational pull
i am quick
i am fluent
but i am heavy
it is a burden
shared by my relations
(they like to remind me)
that someone prettier
has it all, and then some
words stick to me like tape                    even if only said once
and i struggle to peel them off
to not repurpose the tape for their mouths
i am quick
i am fluent
but I am heavy
the weight of your resistance
is more than my legs can carry

could have been Anthony

my jaw clicks
it is the same click shared
by my uncles
and my dad
i often wondered
had i been born with-

out a purpose

had i been an Anthony
instead of what i am
would i be any different?
would i be
a parent
a poet
i have built engines
i have cut trees
i have fought wars (eternal)
i have kissed a girl
i have raised my voice
i have fallen in defeat
and i am just as lost as ever
my jaw clicks
but only when i’m trying to tell you
that it doesn’t matter

if you read it fast, it’s better

i found the draft
and caught the chill
between my fingers
time passes quicker than
street lights
20 seconds later
we all stop and watch the youngster
cross the road
holding our breath
hoping everyone’s obeying the rules
this road is long
and soggy, it’s the TLH in April
when you’re never quite sure
you got the clearance needed
and you pray to God or Moses
someone comes to get you if you’re more
than 8 hours on the road
i found the draft
and caught the chill
rolling up the window
ending the airstream
connecting me to the Mealy’s
and all the trees supporting my habit
of a cold deep breath.


meet me at my watery edges
cast your judgements aside
and find that you are free
there are no eyes on you
but mine
accept fate and all of its disclaimers
the distance between you and your desires
is a fleeting thought
amongst the rot of your doubt
cast your judgements aside
and breathe your deepest breath
the only thing holding you back
is you.

the good dark

I wonder how long it will take you
to forget what my face looks like –
what my hands feel like.
All the silly promises we made
took off in the take off.
My life will not be a bestseller
I will still be here
enjoying the good darkness
in light of all opinions
growing without your sun.
We planted trees of forgiveness
patting the earth beneath the branches
it might not take,
or it might take forever.

every night

maybe I do
go to the valley of the shadow of us
every night
I smell that woodsmoke
I see that constellation
I am alone in the
where you and I were
and whatever’s next
it’s safe to say
there’s nobody like you
it’s safe to say
I broke my heart too
every night
I burn away the memories
I block out the sky
I am alone in the
where you and I
were you and I


waiting for something
that resembles gold
when life is a whole lot of copper
maybe tomorrow will be different
when the sun breaks
they call it dreaming
but i’m most often awake
to watch the clouds slide by
and every second feels like i’m too late
feeling my days slip away
from the same point of view
less of me, more of you
always more of you
when i jump the gun and wave this town away
watching the sunset in my mirror
i hope i still own myself
that it was worth all the trials
that took the tiny pieces of me
and made me make my own armor
i hope i can say
whats left of me
is the gold i am missing

early February

every day
another line in my eulogy
how many pages
will I fill?
i built the city of me
on unrequited dreams
sitting, wishing, waiting

change is coming

rest assured.

Yes, I think about you.
All the time.
All the time I so gleefully wasted,
fully aware you would leave.
I still don’t know why I did it.
I guess it was like fool’s gold-
pretty on the outside, but lacking value.

I wanted everything I had until it recycled me.


I decorate my skin with signs that I’ve felt something, signs that I’ve done things in my life. Made memories. Had dreams and desires.

I decorate my skin in black ink; starkly contrasted on my sensitively white yet native body.

I decorate my skin with modern fragrances to wash away all the scents that say I am normal and womanly without need for covering.

I decorate my skin with cotton and denim, to hide my perfectly imperfect form from your steel glances.

You decorate my skin with your lips. I find that’s the best cover up for a life that needs no hiding.

think of me like a house

think of me like a house
with a hundred compact rooms
filled with antiques and broken mirrors
the bones are still good
think of me like a house
with mismatched chairs
and vaulted ceilings
my height is my advantage
think of me like a house
where you hold your love for safe keeping
where your secrets stay within the walls
i peel them off like wallpaper
think of me like a home
where we are safe
and gloriously free


I sleep with the window open
To drown all my thoughts in the rain
I wait for the freedom of a deep yawn, all of my night moves delayed
I wonder what you’re doing in these moments
I try to hear you reading this in your voice
It’s catastrophic
It’s impossible
To hope
That you might feel something like I do
I sleep with the window open
And all the thoughts of you float away
In the midnight showers
Waiting for no one

new moon

when you fell into my sky
it was purple and orange
it was blessed with yellow flowers and honey bees
there was no need to command attention
when you fell out of my sky
it was dark, sheer, and damp with regret

i wish i could write about the way
your skin was warm velvet
your hair left its scent on all my pillows

i buy the yellow flowers
i tell the bees to go back home
i look away from the moon
when it commands my attention

there’s not a minute I don’t miss
the hope you gave me
that love was real
and I was capable


bad apples

it’s called poetry
you can say more than you can normally
cleverly disguised in witty banter.
don’t we all think the same thoughts?
his skin is not the same color as mine
but his heart circulates the same dark blend
at 80 beats per minute
the only difference is
with each breath he takes he’s wondering
who he’s offending
just by being
—- are we?
where is he not sleeping tonight,
with his shoes still on
ready to run.
there is no directory for kindness
just the pit in your stomach
telling you, you should have done more
you should have said more
moved mountains through hell and high water
home is a universal truth, like actions speak louder than words but please
hear my words
show a little more kindness and understanding
bad apples are only made when you’re not paying attention.
please don’t sell me preferential kindness
please don’t tell me to catch my breath
to hold my tongue
to turn a deaf ear
not when children aren’t sleeping
not when bombs crack the foundations of everything that is good,
not when streets are a default grey and stained red
please don’t tell me to mind my business – it’s everybody’s business.
bad apples are only made when you’re not paying attention.

Christmas River

have you ever rested beneath a tree
looking up at the sky and its puzzle of branches
nature is beautiful
I find myself thinking, where are they?
I hope the spring run-off
takes all of your fears
and those unclaimed have found peace

this river runs green
but it also runs red
another challenging Christmas
for the river thief

I watch while the foreman wipes his nose
and clears his throat of complicated debris
we wait for the alarms

when Christmas came it was powder white
but all of the flakes were alike
she held her tongue and accepted the abuse

I cannot mistake what I’ve seen
tearing at the fabric of everything that makes us, us

what were you thinking when you crossed the line?

where will we be when Christmas is over?


don’t lose this
don’t abandon these feelings
this life is non-renewable
so you can tell me
even if it’s just a whisper

there’s a noise we can’t place
feelings we can’t face
even if they are real
the details and the desire
living in revisions
don’t lose this


you didn’t dig my roots
you didn’t even burrow
but everyone loves a sturdy evergreen
in the right light
thrown in the middle of barren land
my humble advice to you
is not to sell seeds
you never plan to sow


I blossom for you
against my better judgement
hope everlasting

a person abroad.

Life is a storybook and I’m trying to accept these characters
For what they’re destined to be
Trying to accept the fates and fortunes
The fools and follies
The givers and takers
The glass-half-broken folks
And people who claim to have no glass

I need you.

More than I’ve needed most things, because I’m scared of who I’ll be without the happiness you bring.
I’m keeping shelter as I go. Leaving markers in hopes I find my way back. Hoping I’ll find some way back.
I’m scared of being led on, but terrified of not being led at all.
On the surface we’re all shiny and blue. Beneath we all run red.
I’m a person abroad.
I’m not home, but I’m not nothing either.


my heart is a carpenter’s light fixture
exposed wires, dusty lightbulb
hanging above the room
(perhaps the elephant within it)
above the truth
a quiet referendum
all the flowers have been picked
my grief untethered.

beneath everything

if i were to describe the way in which i feel about you,
it would best be described as a hum
you know that constant sound that’s always present even when no other sounds are
even in complete silence, no movement, no action,
just the sound of your own breath…
you still hear that hum
that’s how i think of you
not purposefully yet always


the eighth edition
a derelict addiction
the desire to be opposite
to taste what the other side is offering
keep me grounded, tie me down

we still have miles to go

Love In September

the moon tore apart the fleshy clouds
and we drank from her light
every last drop
like stolen property
silence spreads across the sky
blanketing our sorrows

your love is immeasurable


i have a legacy to protect
for breaking names
and taking hearts
(yes, i noticed)
out here in the wildwood all you see
is what you think you see
do you see?
live tastefully | respect boundaries
we are only as free as we allow ourselves to be
and sincerely,
i want you to know
it doesn’t matter
what you think of me, or if you do at all.

how it is

I am promised to drown
in the ocean
not in love, in pity, or in thoughts
of you.

how it was is not how it is

the daisy

a marriage of words soaked together with rosé
grade school playground feelings
things still look black and white
still basic, still innocent, still free
(if only you knew)
— where is your light, when the dark creeps in?
it’s funny, i’m more comfortable in the dark.
i cover my face like it means something to be white
like it means i am more or less human
human first
there is no hiding these feelings
apple cheeks tell secret stories
when some people are like vines you trip on
and others are flowers so sacred you can’t touch
and somewhere in between grew the daisy
strong, pleasant and surprisingly rare.

I learned from the girl

i learned from the girl that lives inside of me
saying no is harder than saying yes
being gentle takes practice
and hate is easier than love

i learned from the girl that lives inside of me
that somedays just being is a chore
that my thoughts are like a crossword i can’t finish
and extra effort is not always rewarded

i learned from the girl that lives inside of me
that there is no greater light than a reached goal
there is no greater love than self love
and a smile is often enough

i learned from the girl that lives inside of me
that i won’t always have the answers
that time will pass regardless of my schedule
and my best is all that is required


all of my edges are rough
i am the truth of the north
of rocks, of sea
of barren land
of the fox
we straddle both life and death
      but we must choose the better lay
bound like a blood hound
all of it. every last word.
on fait peut-être une bêtise
or not.
don’t be afraid of your own feelings.

Allâk – straddle | Innutitut
Allagok – write it | Innutitut
on fait peut-être une bêtise – we could be making a mistake | Français


A natural cadence about it —
sometimes, the exact width of my patience.
I pencil you in indefinitely.
Let’s not make a racket.
It is always autumn in my heart
no matter what set of eyes meet mine.
We are different kinds of broken – none of us whole
(strength in numbers)
Someday I may tell you
that you are all of my Novembers
and that every November ends up breaking me
shaking down my soul
and eating me alive.
I hold myself together
writing free-verse poems
that don’t even feel free.

Letting Letty Go

dreaming awake
if I gave you the deed to your life, would you [ab]use it?
all of this effort – all of this time
you were deceived when red meant go
counting all your green, forgetting those in between
don’t let my lantern be your only light

this deed certifies that you are the creator of your own happiness
now tidy your mind, it’s just good housekeeping.

I Am Fine

Misok | on my own two feet
Tautuk | that I am different
Tamatsiatik | they watch with their eyes, own burdens
It is okay, asinnepuk.
We do not need to be one to keep on living.
Me, I am fine.


radio silence

you don’t feel the night like I do
it’s silk between my fingers
it’s home without the walls
I can be here with this empty space
beside me – inside me
and I am not afraid
in the hours of black
always fight back
you don’t feel the night like I do
never alone in the radio silence.


break before bending
devoured by the hunt
this city sleeps, we just miss it
caught inside the tolerable life
we become reflections staring back at ourselves
in store windows – in puddles
the night knows this story
throwing the lady out with the tap water
all set in plaid, you’re good enough
there’s a part of me that only reacts
the night knows this story
not like it makes a difference
(this is me today, but it won’t be me tomorrow)

the bright spot

you are so well read
no sonnet is as well put together as you
are, the reason for my patience
the reason I can take this
you are so well read
well versed;
I see you breaking down these barriers
carrying on, carrying on
you’re the bright spot that shines in the right spot
you are so well read
and I love to read.

the levee

they build the dam or don’t
we’re damned anyway
our confidence like the spring in May
this back and forth
the rising tides above our heads
how can you rest inside your bed
tell me there’s no mercury
tell me there’s nothing to see
a history of chances
giving away what isn’t ours
we criticize the scarred earth
wonder why, there’s not enough ice
there’s no choice
our words float out with the tide
riding on the waves of all we seem to have forgotten
all we’ve never learned from
drifting toward the levee that we’re still paying for..

upon waking

i watched as 11:11 walked by on the clock

hesitating every few seconds with a wish on the tip of my tongue

holding back, holding on

11:12 became a new story, i couldn’t wish that moment back because wishes can’t be contained in a well

they’re out in the open, floating, waiting for a well-meaning hand to grab them

i’m just here writing with black ink stained hands, hoping someone can read between the lines

waking up the poet.

the self, centered.

to be the Sea;
the self
brown dirt – round earth
i’m here and i’m breathing
and i wish it were enough
it bothers me
how painfully capable you are of breaking me.

Pop’s Wharf

Walking along the shore a little past noon
Eight pieces of sea glass in my pocket
(blue the most valuable)

I had on sandals with no socks
Aunt warned me about rubber boots and mice spilling in over the side,
down at my toes,
so I figured,
Why wear rubbers?
My naked toes exposed.

I was careful for the seaweed and the sea lice surely tangled in –
I watched for beach spiders that could haunt my bed at night,
splayed off from being ‘too involved’ with the grass.

An armful of driftwood under my left and a leash in my right hand —
not that I ever needed it.
The dog galloped and swallowed salt water like he’d never seen dry land.

Pops stage in the distance;
I’d sit for hours — half a day
catching sculpins with twine and bent nails
(it can be done)
even flatfish if you’re talented enough!

The sun sneaks in through the cracks in the clapboard and paints a tiny picture of who I was before now.
Just enough to remember that home is still there,
and memories won’t fade unless you let them.

night driving

don’t love me back
i’m asking because i need this.
my heart is a crackling birch
and you, our breath in winter.
we were born on a cold, lifeless day
becoming not quite terrible
you, our breath in winter
and me
burning brightly
the birch gives warmth to all.
(let me do all the night driving)

same light

i hide my true colors under the generous moon
we bathe in the same light
but we’re not the same
nowhere near
you are playing the part
near the end, before we begin,
we walk in silence
our arms swinging, hands grazing, sometimes
your tongue is a feather that tickles my thoughts
i’m bound as your trestle
my stomach is knots
let’s learn a new language
let’s touch a new life
there is no i in we
we just bathe in the same light


we just keep breaking
our lives becoming uneven
slide back into simple

smallest limbs

i’m going out on
all of the smallest limbs here
assuming your love

quickly the night

how quickly the night
the speckled frost captivates me
and steals the cold air

lean in

lean in all the way
remember what love feels like
don’t be afraid, jump


In the name of posterity
we stand frozen inside the light
always remember the magic
the experience of the night
caving inside our modern plight
taken by the beauty of pain
a tribal force
we’re changing lanes.


we laugh with profound conviction
without rhyme or reason
we borrowed love to place it where hate existed


maybe we don’t align
maybe we never align
lost in hopes of syzygy
we need to swallow the truth
keep it down
and continue on
the uncommon ground is
becoming too common
a shift in thinking
persuading the poet
standing on ground frozen with tradition
long legs carry the weight of resistance
we will never cross those lines again
just meander the edges
tempting the tempted

this love is not a democracy

Sweet Sometimes

We can’t have everything we want

We only get what we need

I wish you had been different

That’d be easier, for sure

I take you with me everywhere I go

Despite my objections, you’re there

I need you like a nail in my foot

But oh, the pain is sweet sometimes

I wish I could forget how to dream

And live in the real, just keep it real

We’re questionable

But oh, the pain is sweet sometimes.

I can’t tell you why

There are words that have muddled through the back of mind that have never been vocalized
I can’t tell you why
Sometimes it all just seems downhill
And the climb up feels like being stabbed by nails that haven’t been sharpened much
I can’t tell you why
Some sentences just get slippery on the tongue and fall out like misguided steps on an icy sidewalk
Just trying to hold themselves up
You’re soft like a teddy bear
But what they don’t tell you is that even teddy bears come with warning signs
You just need to find the tag
Most likely located on the arse of her
Sometimes I’d just rather be silent and have no one question me
I can’t tell you why.


could swear that the light feels different
maybe I’m indifferent
Let me shuffle, cackle, wither under the weight of our sins (your sins)
Don’t bother to convert –
My heart’s made of granite
full of shackles and barnacles
(depending on the guest).
These days were a visceral reminder that you can’t always believe everything you see.

One More Day

We write our names on the ceiling
to remember the moment
that moment we owned it
those dreams we brought to life
with just a smile and able hands
every day we just need one more day.


We can not have
little thing that we want
I listen to you breathe
and the rest doesn’t matter
I left myself there
In a grand exposure
following a path
where no one else knows her
but I’m ready.

worth the words

drowning in shallow water
it happens
sometimes, we’re just
the field of daisies, not the rose
bound tight in red velvet – thorns in
sometimes, we’re just
the length of soft white sacrifice
closing eyes and accepting the craving
the blame
the fever
we are a modern disaster
full of hopes and ever-afters
waiting for the golden blur – the interlude
buying into the dream
and I’m still deciding
if this was worth the words

the Feeling and the Noise

Between the feeling and the noise
I’ve found all but simple pleasures
trickling down in a puddle of bedlam
We wet our feet in yesterdays feelings mistakes
making promises for a better tomorrow.
It’s a shame we’re all bad liars.


I want to find you
In the spaces
Where time stops and we begin
We are renegades of affection
Lost within our own shadows
Finding truth behind dark glasses
I want to find you
In the spaces
Where I didn’t fit, alone.


It all ends up in the landwash
out with the tide
in with the times
over there, with your emotions.
Bent at the knees, begging for direction
we’re iron clad (with our devotion)
Not as black and white as wrong or right
I just write –
I just wanted to be a woman of letters
But the problem is..
I’ve forgotten your address.


There’s nothing about something
I loved, always
You were the lucky one
Walking away
Avoiding the scar
You’re here, still
Coherent and thriving
I’m slowly picking up the words you left
And forming new sentences
Never missing a beat
Finding a life
That is worth the defeat
Sailing down the hill
in a dory made of wishes
A signal without the flare
Trying so hard
I’m slowly picking up the words you left
And forming new sentences
Writing myself anew.

Losing The Light

Each building is alight with bruised souls
glowing in unison
the world is bigger and broader
underneath the nightshade
we ravage ourselves without mercy
(pillars of society)
fragrant with lust
who are you?
behind door number two
hidden behind the curtains
your thoughts brewing
embers to the clouds
we will never be finished.
your body is a factory of reckless spaces
beds without bodies
unwelcome in your forest.
you can’t fence me in,
and I can’t keep you out.
I wish you would look at me with that same desire for warmth.
We will never be finished.

As The Oceans

You are my natural disaster waiting to happen
It’s fated
We are the broken twigs
Unnoticed in the brush
Only good for burning

We are only as Infinite as the oceans
I’m willing to break

Fast, slow, constant,
Salty and tangled and messy
Shining with permission
I will take 1
Back row, in darkness
Steady now.

Borrowed Light

By borrowed light I read about poetry
The wind tossed the trees and the rain bled down the street
The anxious thunder clapped hands
The light
The light spread its volumes inside my four walls
Illuminating the imperfections
Disguising all but the truth
A rising cancerous doubt
Brushed off the tablecloth like bread crumbs
We told ourselves we would be better.

For When She Cries

We are made of these wide open spaces
willows that crack and sprawl with the wind
we are made of these cold night skies
stars that glow even when we cry
we are born of earth and made of water
running until we find our end
settling in the comfort of the mountains
resting at the bends
we are more than this skin and bone
these feelings, these misfortunes
we are made of cold night skies
we’re stars that glow even when we cry

Changing Lanes

I am living on the ground
falling down from being
and getting up from falling down.
Confined within these measurements.

Bare birch tree see me
lying beneath your branches
waiting for answers.


we find ourselves
lost in the fog
pennies on the sidewalk
and everyone we meet smiles and waves
and we can’t help
but think
who do they have
at home
that brings a smile that big
surely they’re hiding something –
this plaid skin doesn’t stand
a chance
that backward glance
of pity
of curiosity
of sadness
of disdain
how does
why does
just does
we just keep moving.


strung out, sprung out
on the white picket fence
babbling blue
target jays
snowbirds in their own
right, down to the edges
of all that was forgotten
whisper, clutter
you’ll end up your mother
pale daisies kissed by sunlight
we might
go on dancing without movement
our swelling minds
lost in the afterwords
when we break
when we shake
hands, after supper
and dishes become reasons
to forget and not forgive

It’s Dark and it’s April

I wish we could see
eye to eye
cheek to cheek
teeth to teeth
Don’t regret these dreams
these paint scale details
that mock our pretty lives
pretty lies
Just hurry
I wish you could see
just who I could be
If you would just choose me
and over
Just push play
cheek to cheek
teeth to teeth
a breath in the right direction


This Man Is An Island

black oil tides
grasp the shores
once wrapped in nets
and capelin corpse
a seagulls pitch
gaining merit
steadfast the bailer
in his boat for one
a lonely king
with borrowed blankets
and unfolded towels
stained by the sun
unbroken by design

small harbour

color me atavistic
i can fit here beside
these bottles – these knives
open up your lonely eyes
we will not be pardoned by sunlight
instead the valley
of sea salted bones
of those before
who knew the way of kindness
of necessity
you drew them out
and bled them dry
now white washed houses
and well worn shoes
sit collecting dust
in this harbour
wrestling the changing tides
with cotton gloves
and rusted anchors.

Scarlett Letters

I’ve stopped thinking of you with fond appreciation
No expectations
You’re a dragon with no fire
Carrying on
I don’t have time for
Less than stone
A foundation
Sending my hope
Up with the birds
This quiet street
That empty seat
A minnow in a pond of loons
We hope for love but quit too soon
Burning my eternity of Scarlett letters
They drift into the night sky
plumes of goodbyes.

crow songs.

The crows converse behind my house

beating their wings against the orange sky

a puff of breath

a trestle of twigs

they tell the truth

in humor, they sing.

Only a minute

There is something to be said
for saying something
when nothing
no one
comes together
looking from their warm windows
still or embracing
supper cooking
children’s faces clean
I want for you
all of the things I cannot give
names on their mittens
awards on the shelf
It’s only a minute
a flash before the memory is made
a moment wrapped in silver and gold
“It’s exactly what I wanted!”
no one looking from the windows
no one warming their bones
but it’s only a minute
a flash before the memory is gone
walking and standing
and running
are very different things
It’s only a minute.

silent night

the bulbs are hanging
row after row
the lights are blinking
their december glow
the snow is sparkling
crisp and white
the moon is forgiving
on this silent night.

Ninety-nine percent

The world smiled upon me today
like a mother stroking her daughters long hair
in love and amusement
honest and revealing.
Life will always find a way.
I am thankful for these tiny yet grand moments.

A book

Sometimes a book can tell you how to live
How to paint your house
And wear your hair
How to keep a man and bed him best
And provoke a religion inside
Your watery edges
A book can be a powerful thing
A bomb of phrases and slithery truths
A sleuth
A saviour with silky pages
The closest you’ll ever get to Athens
The farthest you’ll go from home
Sometimes a book can tell you how to live
or just tell you that you

are not.


Every night I go to bed and read
And she is there, seemingly uncomfortable but dreaming and breathing
Waiting for me to make a move or sound
Hanging on the words “Grace”
Every night when I sit and read
She’s there, warming my feet with the heat of her bones
A mixed bag potion of love
Concealed inside the yellow fur of a Labrador dog
More human than human
“Good girl!”


The kind of quiet you can’t understand
Without closed eyes
And weightless hands
No security in
Just the echo of a heartbeat
Before your decision
A tender idea
Without closed eyes
We see a world more perfect than
Tiny hands can grasp and I
Find comfort in the intertwine
The days that I
Knew the quiet.

Who’s Face

I don’t know who’s face
To picture in the
Midnight hours
Between thinking and sleeping
Longing and breathing
When the moment holds itself eclipse
We’re passing through
Just thoughts nailed to a door
That never gets shut
I don’t know who’s face
Just like I don’t know my own
I lay awake burning
The bridge as it gets built
Longing and breathing
Until sleep says hello

Learning To Swim

Our lives barely touching
coming together
in tiny moments
broken mesh
we carousel into one
a vilified mess
we forget ourselves
and break apart
shards of metal
sharp tongues
our lives barely touching

I pass you on the street
and I forget why I
am burning bridges
before I build a boat

This is me
learning to swim

small hands

I look at these small hands
brilliant hands
hands I thought were big until I
compared –
put them up against the big black sky
forgetting why
I was here.
These small hands
write their way off the page
bleeding rage
sometimes flowers.
Let’s find common ground
inside this black inkwell
with our small hands
holding fast
forgetting why..

keep burning

Let it all inspire you
Re-wire you
Delight you in a hundred tiny ways
Let the colours warm your heart
All the little pieces blown apart
Let the wind mend your soul
Finding trust in the sun down glow
Find a voice that matters
You owe your heart one less shatter
Stop speed
Stop time
Remember what’s worth remembering
The precision in the wrongs
The guidance in the right
The moments and memories are band aids on wounds
The scars tell us who we were
That we lived before this minute
That we lived for that moment
There’s no way that you owe it
Any more explanation
For these bones
Underneath the skin
Just keep moving
Even a fraction
Not looking for your reaction
One less burden


The sea is swelling again –
The water creeping quickly up the shoreline;
Deadly, but beautiful.
The moonlight hovers, a cover. A lover.
Coaxing and kneading.
The trees thrash and spin –
A storm has risen within.
In search of its siren
It seeks an end not wilfully played.
The water creeps hastily up the shoreline.
Its claws digging deeper;
Deadly, but beautiful.

life ablaze

Clouds ablaze, soft tissue
Pink and scarred
Reminding me that life is
More settled with time.
Moving mountains
Burning bridges
Are all a part of the movement
The play pretend
While we break and bend
Doing our best to make amends
Pink tissue in the sky
Life ablaze
On a July night.

dara desgagné

the wind makes your hair float
I am tangled in the way it shines
whole cities were built on less passion than
what I see
in your eyes
the sun is a crutch
compared to the light of your smile
Dara Desgagné
you are water
you are the sea
you are the ocean
you are waves that play at shores edge
with no recollection
of it being night or day
oh – Dara Desgagné
the sand beneath my feet
the company a window keeps –
you are birds of every color
winged and wild
singing hello
Dara Desgagné
welcome home.


the weight of you
against my soul
the comfortable crush
of a lovers skin
hearts beating frantic
gently composed
softness of touch
wet kisses et al
the pressure enclosed
that comfortable crush
desolate crash

the leftover girl

I’m afraid I won’t like myself
should I leave these faults behind
I can’t predict
how vicious
or victorious
I picture the canoe where I am
buoyant in flowing white
with daisies in
the painted green
no picket fence.


you’re always in that spot
nestled sweetly


in the back of my mind where rhymes are made and
plans are laid
and best kept secrets stain the halls
a simple touch
our values fold
our hearts grow old
you’re always in that spot
with parted lips and steady hips
why can’t we find a quiet place
a warm embrace?
all the best kept secrets are hidden in the walls
why must you be so



I write the same story over and over
It’s a hell of a lie
I can’t find the sign
I’m waiting for that moment
The sun hits my face
There it is


i know there’s something you won’t say
an ache that weighs you down
i can see it in the moments you aren’t pretending
it’s fleeting
he never says goodnight
but always means ‘good morning’

Beautiful Thing

I close my eyes and imagine the sun rising in another city, it melts over the roof tops and pours down to meet the forms of faceless people who exchange duties for happy endings.
When the sun hits the treetops it’s like water hitting a hot pan, the birds and pollen husks explode into the sky.
We stand around, clinging to our second layer of clothing.. afraid of the cold, our bodies taking the fear seriously.
We scurry to and fro quickly because the life we mimic is lived fast and there’s no time to enjoy these moments (the moment).
We keep up the momentum until we crash, bitter cells, still, lying on our backs looking for answers.
We are an empty space. An empty vessel inside a tomb, a womb.
We’re the walking wounded with our invisible scars.
Is the only beautiful thing.
Someday we will learn we cannot eat money,
We cannot buy love,
We need each other,
And this beautiful


I am medicine
I’m on the mend.
Things happen, but we need to keep dreaming.
You should not stay,
Where you are not happy.
You should not go,
Where you are not welcome.
You should not love,
Those who cannot return the same.
Actions have consequences.
I cannot change,
The choices I’ve made.
But I can do better,

dream on, little dreamer, dream on.

southern wind

the summer heat
and days gone by
that old-fashioned kind of love
that drifted in and left again
like the southern wind.


The cold wind clashes against my face
and I am lost in the zephyr.
There is nothing but space between you and
Even though I prefer we make the bed together.
There’s not much I can say to change your mind,
you’re set in stone
inside these bones
even though
you don’t know.
The night is wrapped around my hands and mouth
I’m bound beneath this heavy doubt.
Can’t you just trust that I know how?
if you play fair.


When it all comes out
sticks and stones
and broken bones
and you’re about to give up
and drive yourself home
there’s the flicker
the glimmer
trying to make you remember
that not every day is like today
and you’ll wake up and it’ll be okay
and you can’t give up
at a little bad luck
set your standards high
those worth the climb
will find you


No one knows the girl in the green coat by the window.
She’s a writer, and she’s listening
for tones and temperatures.
She’s looking for subtle clues,
the kid in the back of the class
drawing on her desk –
paying attention
without intervention.
No one knows the girl in the green coat by the window.
She’s just had her heart broken,
and is holding back tears.
The noise all around her becomes a blurred harmony,
and it wraps her up inside its chaos.
The girl in the green coat,
just fades
and fades.

late english rose

Her words were soft and pink
Like the petals of a late english rose
She sees herself in the backdrop of every 80s teen movie
Her hair flows orange against the fading sun, and
she looks at me like I have all the answers.
The yellow warblers on her dress
match the quirks of her smile, she’s
everything you’d want to be if you were
a girl’s girl.
I look in the mirror and I find no trace of her,
just lines of faded mascara
and premature frown lines.
But she stands behind me,
and that is enough.


and here i am
a writers words are powerful
but they don’t speak as loudly as silence
and here i am
i kept all my promises
but they proved to be worthless
and there you are
wandering again
for something you may never find
because one’s never enough
and a liar always


I need a writer,
A poet –
Someone who understands
matters of the soul.
Someone to grow old with
raise a child with
make a home with
cook dinner with
grow a garden with
bike with
make music with
buy drapes with
mark anniversaries with
celebrate life with
share sorrows with
tell stories to
and embark on adventures.
If you know this poet,
tell him where to find me.


The dust settles quickly beneath the wings of the crow,
dancing proudly on the cold-as-concrete ground.

He did the best he could.

He watched ceremoniously at the fields below,
burning by the hand of another stupid human.

The flights he took.

A silhouetted figure passes by quietly, swiftly.
He doesn’t move. Brazen.

“What won’t you humans do for a little revenge?” he cawed.

He bows his head, eyes closed.

A gunshot rings out, and all the fields for miles lay burning.
But the scarecrow at the foot of the hill stood tall. Brazen.

AkKunak (storm)

I gave birth to a demon,
a bad idea that could only get worse.
You cut me with the velocity
in which you fall.
There’s a story here
with missing pages.
A margin that hides a secret.
A tempest without the wind.
You’re vicious and voracious,
like the hem on a model’s dress.
A kin to be a guardian,
of a soldiers last conquest.

Wide Open Spaces

I sit quietly in my truck at night, the only soul around for miles.
I’m transfixed by the way the moon lights up the snow – it’s as if that was the only job the moon ever had, to make the snow sparkle. And she does it so well.
I’m awakened by the smell of the trees, their fresh green essence creeping into the chambers of my nose and sitting there with the memories of Christmas’ past.
Those nights we’d go driving. We’d go until we ran out of gas.
We’d scour every street, every scene repeating three or four times.
And we’d laugh.
Oh we’d laugh at the tiniest things.
Someone sneezing in oncoming traffic, someone slipping into a pirouette on ice and quickly composing themselves.
Yes, we saw that.
We’d buy cookies and hot chocolate and find the highest peak at the darkest spot in town and we’d marvel at the bountiful spread the night sky had placed for us.

I sit quietly in my truck at night, sometimes I’m the only one for miles.
I sip my hot chocolate and eat my cookies, and I rest my hand on the passenger seat.
While we no longer find love in each other, I will always find love in your memory.


maybe we are all
destined to be stories
penned from heartache
the subject; affection
the content; desired
the ending; unavoidable
the signature –


When the words escaped from my mouth I didn’t believe them either.
There’s a reason behind everything,
A truth behind the lie.
We all do the best we can,
Not knowing what lies ahead.
“I’m fine,” she said..
But her eyes told a story that her mouth could not.
Tugging on my drawstrings, you mistook them for heartstrings.
Just as the breath was drawn,
I swallowed it whole.
Just when the words escaped,
I wanted them back.
I took a page from the book of logic,
But I should have buried it with my regret.
To be seen.

My Life On These Shelves

my life on these shelves
french-english dictionary

i tried to be the person i was before
but the pain wasn’t worth it
that’s not who i am anymore
i’m still figuring this out

my life on these shelves
black ink
woman of labrador, i think

i tried to be the person you deserved
but the pain wasn’t worth it
you’re not who you were anymore
i wish i had figured this out earlier

my life on these shelves
i’m still dipping in this ink well


Because I don’t know what common sense is anymore –
Or if I have it,
Or if I want it.
Everything feels up in the air, like chairs and boards flying around inside of a tornado.
You want to reach out and grab it like you’re anchored to the ground,
But you’re a silly human and you should know better.
is not an age,
But rather a dislocation, a transformation,
An enraged discomfort without reservations.
The only thing that helps me see clearly are these bright lights
Without them I am blind.
is not an age,
But rather my destination, I think, because I don’t know what I’m doing here.

Back to the drawing board.


Lying with my back to the sheets I’m desperate to find the answers to the questions in my mind.
I haven’t got a home, I haven’t got a prayer,
It’s a hard way to die, murdering your own hope.
My eyes wander these streets in fear – I’ve got everything to lose.
I don’t know how to feel this kind of love.


“Would you mind,” she said, “If I just laid my head right here next to your heart? The glamour in its beat makes me feel safe.”

“Darling,” he smiled, “Your demure becomes you, but when it comes to me, just take it – take everything you want, take it all. I am at your mercy.”

Their lips met in a feverish crash, a conflate of souls.

A’bra ca dab’ra

To a writer words mean everything, so choose your words wisely.
I’m trying to build this kingdom,
“I create what I speak.”

The moon cradles her children,
They float in her light, asleep by her feet –
A’bra ca dab’ra.

From this ground where I stand the world never looked more beautiful.
Divine design –
A’bra ca dab’ra.

You may never know what makes me tick…
But I’ll be here ticking anyway.
A’bra ca dab’ra.

I’ll hide my heart on the highest shelf,
And that’s alright for now –
A’bra ca dab’ra.

There Were No Edges

No one could find the edge of her heart – truth is, there were no edges. The love she had for everyone and everything was infinite.. and it was reciprocated. I don’t know of anyone who wasn’t in awe of her – just by the presence of her. She had that special something that no one else ever had – ever could have. She was generous to a fault. But her eyes… her eyes are what you remembered best, they could pierce through you with the intensity of a hundred stars – the brightest lighthouse on a foggy night. When she looked at you she saw you like no one else. That’s what made her special.

That’s what drew the waves up to cover her body, to reach her face, to cascade down her nose and into her lungs. The waves reached her that day, right inside of her, wanting what she had. That’s what took her life on that cold November day. She knew that nothing could ever come close to the love she lost. She was intuitive that way.

She couldn’t stand the heartache. She could take needles and knives, torturous pain, but breaking her heart means breaking the girl.

No one could find the edge of her heart. Truth is, there were no edges.


Just knowing you is like trying to breathe under water.
You fill my lungs with choked up memories,
my ears with whispers,
and my heart with uncertainty.
I try to swim up to meet the surface,
reaching desperately for a hand that isn’t there.
Your heart is somewhere else,
underneath the covers of another’s bed.
I fear that this ends come morning,
that I’m back to confronting all these demons alone.
There are books full of words that vouch for my existence,
but you read none of them.

The Devil is in the Details

Brush the hair away from my forehead
kiss me there.
Put your thumb on my lip
and let it linger,
even though it stings,
because you want more than a thumb to touch those lips.
Kiss my nose,
that tiny nose that fits my face just right.
Kiss my eyelids,
those windows to the place you like the best.
But don’t make me wait too long
because the last kiss is the one I want most.
Your lips on my lips
your heart in my heart
the devil
is in
the details.

They say

They say
the universe is made of tiny stories
which leads me to believe
that you and I
are the entirety of this world.
Every long inhale
every slow exhale.
Every comma,
every sign.
They say
what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger
which leads me to believe
that you and I
can survive this war.
Every faded scar,
every crossed line.
They say
a smooth sea never made a skillful sailor
which leads me to believe
that you and I
are unsinkable.
Every gust of wind,
every battered sail.
Nothing will bring

Strange Disease

My hand shaped the smoke that blushed from your face
You’ve got a strange disease
You made me sick with your ragged, saucy ways
You made me crave your smile
What I wouldn’t do to breathe in your words
And sit quietly
Masking all desire
Here we are floating
In an imaginary haze
The colour in my cheeks
Give away my intentions
Boy I need an intervention
You’ve got a strange disease
And I’ve caught you

By Invite Only

Our lives are constantly evolving,
looking for markers
and weigh points
by which to rest our tired souls.
Somewhere to anchor our boats
and stretch our toes come morning.
Our eyes are always open,
observing the pathways
as the pianists keys create an idea
that maybe there is hope.
Maybe all is not lost.
I’ve depended on lights to guide me home
for as long as I have existed,
never taking that false fall backward
to another’s waiting arms.
I’ve been my own brace,
my own crutch; level space.
The door is open..
am I to invite you in?

“You’re beautiful.”

I dig my toes into the snow
trying to remember
how to feel.

“You’re beautiful.”

Every word registers
but doesn’t retain.
I’ve never been a believer.

I dig my toes into the sand
trying to recall
if this was ever real.

“You’re beautiful.”

Every word registers
and I refrain.
I’ve never been a believer.

I toss a flower at your grave and I
wonder how we got here.
All those lost years.
I could have been better.
I could have let you in.

I dig my toes into the soil.
All your words now register; retain.
It was always real.

“You’re beautiful,” the wind whispers…

Thank you.

Add a blanket

If you don’t know what you’re fighting for
it is time to discover
the reason
for which doors were made.
Spend some time
Work your body to its bones.
‘Cause you’re better off
slightly lost
than wrecking your heart –
it’s a heavy cost.
I was yours until you left me
but you’ll never get the best of me.
The night, it is weary
but adding a blanket
is better than another empty soul.

buttons and zippers

You occupy a notable place
beneath my ribs
underneath will and reason.

You found your way despite the thorns and shattered glass –
Despite resistance and doubt.

I occupy a notable place
beneath your hands
stinging with lust and patience.

I found my way despite the buttons and zippers keeping us apart.

We occupy a notable place
On Johnson Hill road
beneath the oak tree
on your old brown blanket
feeling things that lack forgiveness.


And in the darkness the snow glowed like faint light.
The frost tickled the tree line and whispered gusts of sparkling snow,
landing softly at our feet.
This winter will be different.
This winter we’ll be warm.

be in my eyes; be in my heart

know it’s crazy to believe in silly things;
Matter can neither be created, nor destroyed,
only changed.
And the fact of the matter is, that you have changed me,
and you are my heart.

I’m not Amanda

I’m not Amanda –
I don’t chew with my mouth closed,
Or love you as long as no one knows.
I’m not Amanda –
I don’t sign my name with hearts,
I don’t read cosmo for the private parts.

But I am Daisy –
I wear those flowers in my hair,
I speak when everyone just stares,
I’ll thank you when I know you care.
I am Daisy –
I grew from dirt and I bloomed in the sun,
A nomadic soul, my heart’s on the run.
I am Daisy –
I found my home at a writers desk,
Signing ‘I love you; this is not a test.’

831 Forever

I remember spending every day at the beach.
Every day.
The wind would blow knots in my then irish red hair,
I’d be snapping photos,
collecting sea glass,
kneeling and thanking the earth for all that it had given me.
I remember touching my face on the long walk home and smiling
because it was still warm from the sun’s kisses.
I remember those long, hot summer nights,
staying up until 4 a.m. just to hear another punk on the end of the line.
I remember dreaming of sailboats, and salty seas,
and factories with their steam bellowing up to reach the night sky,
walking rainy streets and tripping on tree roots.
I remember the shirt I made you, I wonder if you still wear it.
I can remember exactly who I used to be,
and I wonder
just who
I am now.

Talking about our feelings


It feels like a hand just holding your heart..
not grabbing it tightly, but just keeping a hold so that nothing else can get to it.
Never letting go, but never attempting to kill.
It feels like we lost ourselves somewhere,
and our lives have transformed into a never ending search for something better –
not having known we possessed the better all along.

In Love

I could never topple from this high,
this pedestal you’ve put me on.
I may have wings, but I will never use them.
I am fine sitting here, beside you, forming an us.
Fore if I could count the seconds in which I thought about
what it would be like to hold your hand just once,
to touch your cheek and feel you shiver,
to put my ear upon your chest and hear your heart
and wonder if it was beating for me –
if for some reason, all reason had left the picture,
and we just did it because we could,
then I would use all the seconds in my lifetime.
And I would regret not one, but none.

Sentimental Drift

You held each star up on a string
and I swear every one was a lighthouse.
Caught off guard by the beauty,
I set course in a sentimental drift –
swan-diving into the ether.
Letting go, again.
Remember to forget where we came from.
Each line on our forehead,
each scar on our hands,
does not define our existence.
We are what we feel, when we feel it.
Messengers, take heart.
Roll down your window and make waves in the aurora night sky.
I’ll call you when I figure it out.
I’ll photograph this wasted time,
and wear it like a charm around my neck.
Nobody puts baby in a corner.


Sometimes I think you have too many loves, and too many lovers to name.
Sometimes I think you have too many words, and too many demons to tame.
But sometimes I think that you are quite right,
And you and I fit the frame.
Sometimes I feel like you might hold my heart,
And cradle it like your own just the same.
And then I remember how far away you are,
And how magic doesn’t seem to remember,
On long winter nights, when the fire bites the frost,
I’ll dream of you in this dreary November.


How gracefully your fingertips touched the brim of
my glasses
Pulling them gently as to not disturb the hair on my forehead.
That was the gentlest you’d ever been.
The sun beat down and paraded itself in through our kitchen window
Creeping slowly across to the spot where I sat,
Shoulders against the cupboards
toes stretching
knees bending
heart racing.
There was a playfulness in your eyes that I hadn’t seen in a while.
“You still like me don’t you?”
I struggled to find my sentence…“Of course.”
You paused.
“I’m glad.”

And with the swiftness of a fox, he jumped to his feet and stretched out his hand.
I waited.
His hand stood perfectly still in the air above my anxious eyes.
I glanced outward my own hand, resting lightly on the floor.
I flipped it over, the lines were still there, the lifeline included.
I must be alive.
Counting my fingertips, I raised my hand slowly and met with the hand of this man, a stranger to me now.
I wondered, as I arose, how much time I spent sitting against the cupboard beneath the window.
My feet were hot, having been touched by the passing sun and shadows.
I followed slowly, apprehensive, the body leading me down the hallway.
I walked past framed photos of someone who looked like me, with someone who looked like him. Impossible.
He stopped.
He must have noticed the essence of sadness on my face.
“Don’t you remember?”
“What is there to remember?”
His confident, boyish stance turned quickly into a slump.
He looked at me as if he could see directly through me.
“I wish you would wake up.”

rough water

I broke the glass that shattered over our feet
and no amount of glue could put it back together.
These strange tides they washed over me
and I moved with the currents like an untrained dancer.
I plotted my course many years ago
and it’s funny how life has a way of burning our maps.
I drew my name in the sand before I left town
and when the water came and stole it away I closed my eyes and cried…
Life wasn’t supposed to unfold this way.
But the wind has its patterns
and life happens quickly..
So I’ll fold my clothes
and take my chances
with Saltwater Joys
and wave goodbye to normal.
I don’t love you, but I always will.


I think of you as if no time has passed.
No leaves have fallen, nor snow,
since that day.
That moment my heart cracked into three pieces –
one for you
one for me
and one for the life that would never exist.
I hear it in every song.
I feel it in every breeze.
I taste it, like copper,
thrown into dusty corners and forgotten.
I wait for it,
every second.
Somehow you’ve managed to make me invisible to myself.
I look in the mirror and I don’t know what I see. Just shapes.
Hardened eyes.
Today I held a piece of the earth in my hands and poured myself to the ground in droplets.
They say your whole life flashes before your eyes when you die.
I hope you’re excluded.


The light floods across your skin like it owns you.
Taking over your dark spaces like I never could.
Somewhere lurked a pattern that I didn’t find until it was too late..
The storm came in, thrashing all of our windows,
wetting our curtains
and extending its hands around our throats..
“You’re not exactly a great welcoming party,” it yelled.
Your hair fell out of place and struck your cheek.
You cracked a smile and I stared, wondering if I could love you.
If I should love you.
We’re always chasing something that we have no right to own.

Anatomy of Ink

Strange concepts;
parallel hearts
not necessarily in love – but knitted with purpose.
These streets and buildings turn us inside out,
put rot in our heads.
We are solid in our bones and in our ways.
the fold
and separating at Atlas C1.
Trying to conceal our humanity
with vanity.
Do not forget how it’s done
You can borrow my pen if you need to understand
the anatomy of ink.


I’m telling my story
and though it may change every time
it is mine.
There is love in here that belongs to someone.
Even on dark days I know this to be true.

When life turns upside down
and inside out
I stand willing.
Shoulders bare(ing)
the depths of many,
but the strength of one.

There’s no one that can heal me but me.

I’m telling my story
and though it may change every time
it is mine.


You and I may not rhyme –
But we are my favorite words.


The rain is smacking the land beneath my window
and I listen intently for a sound I’ve never heard before.
I wonder if I was ever here –
ever present.
When plants grow, they grow up to reach the light.
How do they know?
And where is my light?
My heart fills with every shade of red
besides the one I like.
We’re disconnected.
I often wonder if I’ll ever find a frame
(of mind)
to hold a picture of me plus one.
It’s strange how we blame the smokers for tarnishing their bodies with chemicals.
We each have our vices.
Hold your fingers.

Untitled no. 88

I remember when the streets were that special kind of muddy.

The kind that existed when the snow was just cold enough to make a dirt pepper with the effervescent sand.

The wind swept over,

Leaving cattail snow drifts. Not cold enough to stay, not warm enough to melt.

‘Til the sun beat down mercilessly

And life melted back into normal.

Such as it was.


rest your back
your spine needs you now

rest your arms
your hand has a story to tell

rest your eyes
they’ve seen enough

rest your mind
there’s a time and place for me

rest your pen
there’s more than words can free

weed out my indiscretions
tell me i’ve learned my lesson
throw me under the bus
watch me squirm

i’ll be here in my fortune
finding things we lost in the disconnect

it may not seem like very much
but infinitely,
we soar.

Happy hour

Happy minute
Happy second
It doesn’t seem to last long
When you open your mouth and failure falls out
Wish I could blame it on something or someone
But it’s always been me
And my inability to see.
Happy minute
Happy second
The times you hold closest to your vital organs
The times that seem shorter than their allowances
The times that slip away so easily.


Vous êtes le soleil.
Sometimes I wonder if you were ever mine.
Vous êtes la lune.
You are kindest when you shine.
Vous me ramener à moi.
When life becomes a tangled web.
Je repose mon cœur avec vous la place.
You know where to find my soul.
As straight as the crow flies.
Whenever my heart cries.
Tu es à moi et je suis à toi.


There are demons here
That may never be buried.
Time well spent – Staring, Silent.
Each heart beat noticed.
A smile creeps across my face.
Steady, now.
Wrapped up in medium,
Thoughts fleeting with the breeze.
It’s okay to be hopeful,
Because tonight we’re the sea..
And beneath this moon no promises get broken.
Chances are slim – 7,000,000,000:1.

things we found in silence

There are some things we keep secret..
Moving lightly-
Treading water.
The night knows your story, even if no one else ever will.
It knows how you looked with your back to the field, accepting an embrace not given with love.
It knows how lost your eyes were..
How hollow your heart had felt; remembering.
There are some things we keep secret..
Even when we want to scream.
Want to jump.
Want to sink.
We just fade into the background noise,
Lost in moments that have gathered age.
Whispering the things we found in silence.

Inside the Sandstorm

Trying to keep an open mind
Or at least a clear one.
I see you everywhere.
It’s like a curse that follows
Until we’re not busy
Then it comes creeping
with the power to make me lose
Water from my eyes.
Aches in my bones,
like a mental arthritis.
You just keep calling
With all those dark treetops
And faded sunsets
And frogs singing
And boats boating
And lazy Sundays
Licking ice cream
and buying useless lawn chairs.
It always comes creeping
Just when I start to forget
I’m still inside the sandstorm
With or without you.


There once was a girl
Who wouldn’t let go
Even though
The rope burned her fingers.
It tugged and it giggled,
Smacked and swayed,
But her hands held tight through it all.

There once was a girl
Who couldn’t say no
Even though
Her heart wasn’t in it.
They begged and pleaded,
Guilted and yelled,
And her mind stayed numb through it all.

There once was a girl
Who wrote of her life in disguise as anothers’
In promise,
In prose,
Though nobody knows,
She did it all – in spite –


Staring into the black
You coin this as the house of fear-
but is it really?
When I walk in the dark I place my hand in front of my face in fear of hitting my head and breaking my teeth.
But that’s all.
There’s no boogie monsters.
Just space.
Dark air.
The hum of an empty silence.
The chasm of the unknown.

Appearing online

Maybe we drown.
Maybe we live.
I’m always kind of on fire.
There’s something inside that wants out.
Something that eats away at the necessary parts-
Something that buries itself inside the darker corners.

I don’t know if it will ever be the same.
I don’t know if I want it to be different.
There’s a crack in my voice
A  tone in my touch.

I don’t know if I can hold this down.

Ninety per cent.

Maybe we drown.
Maybe we live.
Our lives are always underwater.
When every envelope is meant to be pushed. Punished.
You’re wearing your green dress now,
Inviting me in…
Keeping me safe. Swallowing me whole.
It’s after three and I can see
this is the beginning
of the end
of broken heart syndrome.
Maybe we drown.
Maybe we live.
Walking around, 90% water.

Same eyes

I once asked a boy to marry me
And he looked at me like I had more heads than a bucket of nails
By marry I meant love
By love I meant ‘could stand to be around’
Being around in silence
Holding hands tightly
Wishing and hoping
Lulling at the moon.
I once asked a girl to marry me
And she looked at me like I had more heads than a bucket of nails
By marry I meant love
By love I meant ‘could stand to be around’
Being around in silence
Holding hands tightly
Wishing and hoping
Lulling at the stars.
You see there’s really no difference
We’re all one and the same
Beneath the same dark sky
Wanting for nothing but the chance
To view those stars and that moon
With someone whom our heart desires.

She, part 2.

Every so often, this one person will come along and bring a presence that just seems to calm the sea.
Her eyes-
The sway of her hands.
Her footsteps – molded to the shape of the rock beneath.
Her breath; breathing in salty, out with fields of hope.
There is something about her lips…
The curve of sensuality that matches the waves.
Her violent, thrashing anger – matching the elements –
Given and taken away just as quickly.
Something about her movement, her steady gaze at the deep blue with her bright yellows.
Something about the way she holds out for tomorrow while grasping tightly to today –
There’s a certain darkness in her whisper – the fight or flight in her veins…
Something, about everything, about she.


The paper was laid on the desk in the middle of the room.
There was no pencil, no pen, no lines swollen on the page.
I was curious.
What if there’s something on the other side?
I watched the ink dry on my own paper as I contemplated the journey to flip the paper on the desk,
In the middle of the room, with no pencil and no pen.
What if there’s something written there? Something I wouldn’t want to see.
Couldn’t accept.
Couldn’t decipher.
What if the paper that appeared blank,
In the middle of the room, with no pencil and no pen,
Was a treasure map?
What if it led me to the X that marked the spot?
What if I was already there?
What if this was a trap?
What if this paper, in the middle of the room, on a ragged wooden desk full of splinters,
Was in fact not a piece of paper – blank, nor full of discarded words – but was in fact a photograph,
Flipped to hide its muse.
I had to see.
I signaled my brain that I wanted to move, so I did.
I walked over and stood above, staring at the paper with no pencils, no pens, no lines, on the ragged wooden desk full of splinters in the middle of the room.
I placed my hand on the small white square and closed my eyes.
This could be anything.
This could mean anything.
I flipped it over, in haste,
-like tearing off a bandage-
and there it was.
It was a picture.
It was a photo of you,
taking a photo of me,
when I was happy.
I had found my buried treasure.

All Things Considered.

It always happens in threes.
After eight.
When it’s too late.
I imagine your breath in winter
And it’s not
quite as sad
as your summer pant.
We marked that grave with our feet,
you and I.
I stared into your dark, lonely eyes,
I thought it might get better.
But you found a way to lose.
You always wanted to lose.
And it always happens in threes.
Why couldn’t I see?
And it’s not quite as sad
as my heart-
shuffled feet-
you minus I.


Pulling us in ten directions
What if I wanted to go North?
What if I needed the waters blue?
A poet’s deep breath.
A plant grows in forever silence.
What if I needed that spirit?
I never thought I would.
Pulling me in ten directions..
I forget how you look
I forget how you smell
A poet’s deep breath.
I hope you’re well.
I’ll never tell.
Forget me not.
I never thought I would.


The thoughts and feelings that extend from these fingertips, these hallowed lines of flesh; they’re like no one else’s.
I have my own set of unique life prints that cannot be copied.
In a moment of explosion my eyes are closed – like driving under bridges,  passing transport trucks, the predictable scary part in a movie, like a first kiss.
The best things in life aren’t seen, but felt.
Cold engraves a signature on my cheek. No one else will touch this place again with the same feeling.
When my heart is open I expect a gentle guided hand, not a sword of rusted valor.
Sometimes I wonder if I act without soul. I wonder if she follows behind me and shakes her head when she sees I’ve done wrong.
I wonder if she tries to put a hand on my shoulder and say enough’s enough. I wonder if she is a she, or if she is a he, or if there is nothing but room temperature air and I’m talking to myself.
I wonder if she thinks of me and smiles like when I think of her.

mistakes made twice

that sound that’s in the air,
that rings in your ears constantly during silence.
the hum.
the uncomfortable wait.
the “somebody, please, say something!”
another heart beat drops.
each minute you lose another piece of yourself.
numb hand.
numb arm.
numb face.
why did I do this?
eyes flicker on and off like high beams.
why couldn’t I have stayed home?
that split second the light goes out.
off by a millimeter.
tarnished hands hold the hour hand tightly.
the uncomfortable wait.
I close my eyes and imagine it didn’t happen.
imagine it’s 2008 and I’m there with my bushy tail.
I close my mouth and I hear my thoughts.
I wait for once.
for twice.
what am I doing?
the hum.
that hum is deafening –
I close my mind and turn out the night.
I’ll file you under mistakes made twice.

Living like this.

I’m not patient.
I do want it all.
I can do anything, and still feel nothing.
It’s a broken, scary feeling, seeing yourself in someone else’s mirror.
Masking desire in a captive mind.
I am everything and everyone for everyone besides one –
Winding all these frames of time into a locked box of seven days.
What becomes of the last?
A comfortable scent lingers.
It’s a broken, scary feeling,
Seeing yourself undecided.


I’m starting out with a white blank page,
Recycled paper < recycled heart.
I can choose to be excited, delighted-
I can choose to stay on the beaten path.
Penning insecurities,
Admitting flaws,
I started out with a white blank page,
I realized there was nothing to fear.
As my pen slipped across in the velveteen hour,
Penning insecurities,
Admitting flaws –
I drew myself a new map.
A new beginning.


You walk around with this void.
An empty section of you where something once fit, once belonged.
And no matter how many squares,
triangles and cylinders you try to place there,
it will not fit.
So you twist it,
turn it,
mould it,
heat it up, and cool it down,
make a few dents and scratches –
but it never comes close.
But you hold on to it anyway. Like that pair of jeans who’s zipper won’t go all the way up,
thinking someday the piece will fit.
Someday you won’t have to try so hard to force the piece in, someday it’ll just fall in and click.
Then you’ll stand taller, stronger,
because you knew what piece was missing all along.
You just couldn’t open your eyes to it, couldn’t render all the colors fair.
And when the void ceases to be, you’ll lie softly in white, I think,
and marry yourself to the ground.

It’s been a long time learning what you already knew.

We can’t be one without.

I saw you at a cabin.
You sat with your legs dangling over the deck,
not nearly touching.
I saw the drink you mixed and wondered, rye?
You’re too smart for beer, I see.
I thought I might extend,
my hand.
Take chances.
I wondered if you’d feel the same.

We’d snap photos and compare stories in the field,
while in the field.
I’d wonder if you felt the same.
I keep picturing that counter overlooking
the water.
Where I laid my hands and waited.
Where you entered
my heart and didn’t leave.

seriousness of condition

When I saw it I think my heart stopped beating
For a second,
My face was warm; heart rattled.
I saw a ghost.

These little treasures are no comparison
To a warm body,
To a friendly smile.
I saw a ghost.

Is it easy for you?
Holding a glass over the flame,
I’m burnt out.
I should be done by now.

We’re all speaking with borrowed words,
But you can’t plagiarize my mind.
Stuck in this salty aquarium-
I swear I’m not a clockwise pessimist.

You think I’d be done by now.
Seeing all these ghosts of Christmas past.
You should get it framed.
I should run away.

I’m some kind of monster.

dear zebra

I sum up my life with a fountain pen.
Holding it, just write.
Dark liquid – anger or joy – fluid and buoyant.
Spreading the page, released from the cage.
Taken out for special occasions.
I write my name on your card,
With Love.
I’d feel better if you thought of me often
Took me out of  my body bag
Told your friends about me
And got me a blue neighbor.
While these thoughts bleed onto the page
I’ll consider my options.
Wound tight like a rope, calculating…
The sum of all fears.
I’ve run out.


I stared at the word
Until it made no sense to me
Just a grey blur on the page
Am I making the same mistake twice?
I didn’t understand poetry at first.

I wish I could trust people’s predictions
The uncertainty eats me up
Vitally I’m 20 beats ahead
Visually a dozen behind
What’s left?
Not enough change in my range.

Stumbling through my sentence
I stared at the world
Until it made no sense to me
Just a blur across the stage.

What if I couldn’t tell you my stories?
I’m just a civilian,
Not quite a lady,
With lace ambitions.

the Space Between

the disconnect.
the ‘room for errors’
the breathing room.
personal space.
A healthy risk?
I wish you could see me, as I see me.
Sitting here with my pocket full of stars,
waiting for an invasion
The space between, being tall and being honest.

dances & lies

There’s a point where we don’t look like ourselves.
We’re a shadow of what we were.
There’s a point where the tongue moves faster than the brain.
Just a reflection of your true self.
Burying our truth deep inside the fake up.
The soul remains – ashamed.
What are you doing inside this body?
There’s a point where we don’t look like ourselves.
Just a river trickling in the spring.
A gust of sand wrestling the wind.
Sometimes the truth is the rusted nail in your coffin.
Sometimes it’s the brittle ice that doesn’t break under your weight.
Burying our truth deep inside the fake up.
The soul remains – ashamed.


practice being normal,
I make no sound.
lying in silence…
the world is not real, really.
listen for a whisper.
practice being extraordinary,
I make all the sounds.
bells and whistles.
chapstick and flats.
lipstick and heels.
Baby, we are still young.
we just look like ourselves,
just like everyone else;
in danger of being on fire,
we melt inside our clothes.
practice being normal;
in numbness,

wet touch.

Liquid lines around the shore;
Wet touch.
A stranger until we’re in danger.
Light dances across the water –
following a plane.
Seven lights blink, not in sync, broken across the bay.
The smell of tobacco stains the air.
Breathing-in and out-heart unmatched; rhythm.
Toe tapping.
Gravel scraping.
A headlight shines through the musk of night.
Laughter cranes the atmosphere, just hanging, hoping.
Hands throw gestures in the sky.
What am I missing?
A passenger seat glance.
An eight-ball’s chance.
Wet touch.

plus est en vous

What would it take?
What would it take?
The feeling stops my heart mid-beat.
What if?
We’re never quite certain.
But we still smile,
still laugh,
feel comfortable and at ease;
quietly going over the facts,
sipping on karma.
Take a chance, break a leg –
tell me what tomorrow will bring.
It’s never quite right, the timing.
Look twice.
plus est en vous

Red Lips Sink Ships

have you searched for a hidden meaning?
a method behind the sadness?
leaves still fall,
stars still shine,
water still finds the lowest low.
where’s your money? I can see your mouth is closed.

something on the surface is not like the other –
but does it really matter at all?
you’ve come with your preconceived notions,
nothing persuades a made mind.
teaching a new dog new licks; a few clicks.
the dents in my wall are not from my heels, but another’s.
freshly painted.
new sheets.

have you searched for a hidden meaning?
water still finds the lowest low.
it’s hotter at the bottom.

Best Seat in the House

Under the stars
We are more beautiful then we think we are
We are all the same : we are one and the same
Nothing can defeat us
Feathers ruffled by excitement
Sending postcards from the heart into the dead of night
Warmer than the thinnest soup
Your words matter more than ever.
This is where it all begins and ends again
and again.
You could tell me anything.
Everything is magic.
We dress in our fall sweaters
Under the brightest moon and the darkest sky
You could tell me anything
But please let it be true.
Nothing can defeat us,
We are all the same.

past lives

and in the field of woven grass, the girl lay dreaming.
eyes closed, hands curled lightly against the ground,
she lay for hours with thoughts of waves and seagulls’ cry.
how she missed the ocean, the feel of the waves against her toes.
how cold it was, how frightening at first,
but how beautiful it felt after the clouds had passed the sun.
a million memories cross her mind, the smell of the air after the first summer rain fall.
you could tell the ground needed it, sighing at the first drop of life.
the way the flowers stem curled and then halted, meeting the pale petals, scorched by sun but still holding out.
the soft berries that burst in your fingers, staining them red, painting them sweetly.
I miss those summer days,
the fields of woven grass, where I lay dreaming.


I need to live on earth again,
To touch the soil instead of the keyboard.
I need to feel the wind again,
To feel the life, instead of stale familiarity.
I count my blessings, the plants in my window –
I consider it to be five, as long as the lights are turned off.
We are so afraid of living, of touching,
Apologizing for advances that would have once gained a smile.
We are so afraid of living, of dying, of breathing,
The germs on my table, they won’t kill me today.
If I could lick the ground, and have everyone believe me,
To feel the life, instead of stale familiarity.

Sounds of night in Stephenville Crossing

Funny birds
Long haul trucks pass along the highway
Screeching tires of a show off.
A dog barks.
A person yells a name
A gust of wind whips through the fly screen
Traffic murmurs
The ocean breathes in the distance.


The deep breath arrives.
Stale scents-to-taste of spring advocate the air.
Tiny blossoms of blue and yellow cling to the shores, begging,
The seagulls cry once again, alive.
No more boats dock these wharves,
These grey, worn timbers of fate.
Bolts stretched beyond means, holding on for another blow.
Another winter’s sleep, we hope.
The greens and ambers that once glimmered with wonder beneath the oceans mirror have faded to brown.
We humans waste this human waste.
Children’s eyes can still see the colors, like a mythical being they find their smiles.
When we glance outward their fingers, painting the sky, the clouds…
“Yes, love.”
We search for monkeys in the sky to stay connected.


if i were your appendages..would you cut me up?

would you drink the bloody lust from my eyes while they silently stared?

if i had the time would you make me want what you have?

of course you would.because you are just like me.

the way the shoe fits

I’m engaged, engaged to past disparities

My life seems a mere reflection of what it was before

When it began…

When it all began.

Sold my soul to myself, because no one can buy me

I can’t be transformed, I can’t be defined

My reasons, my thoughts, just can’t be denied.

I am human, but what does that mean?

It pertains to no greater power

Only faults and desperation…

college fuckery

i wish the phone would ring to save me..

lost in this false sense of bravery.

the silence is underbearing.

caught in this net of negative thought

this soul inside me starts to rot

but the rain on the window gives me hope..

flicking the channels i feel less alone.

my welcome, unheathed, has come outgrown.

boundaries are crossed, i didn’t agree..

love was not lost, because it ceased to be.

forsaken for the folding of paper in pockets

as long as memories permit, i have been a good daughter. my mother loved the phone, and my father loved his job. tonight was a breaking point for me. countless fingers have been touched in the rhyming off of fatal instances. my lips are dry, my eyes are tired, and my cheeks are moist. the left more so then the right, because of the way i lie. my feet are cold, pants; wet. standing in snowbanks on stormy nights, fearing and loathing the upstairs domain. not giving in to the cold.. my knuckles hurt. my weakness and need for anger, for change, finally snapped..i punched the dirty wall. cascading down in all their power, the tears turn my coat a darker shade of navy. a perfect place to stay in a storm, thats what my dad called where i sit right now. he came in from his garage to sit and be silent with me. waiting out the storm. more tears stain the page. she fears to hang up the phone now…i can tell. soon there will be loud voices, the stomping of feet, and the slamming of doors.regret.tears.sleep. the pattern never ends. like the ocean currents, and the recurring yet unknown thoughts i had in high school. better grades. this winter blizzard burns bright.

open season of frustration

extra small. unlike my feelings today. i have big feelings.

i feel like the world has let me





once again. but what can i do or say. my thoughts are internal, like a diary today.

its not the world. its me and my inability to..well..live. i’m stuck. i’m damaged. i’m a 19 year old with

no intentions of having intentions.

i hate it.

tired of hearing me complain? yes. yes you are. life is worth living they say. you have no problems they say.

its just how it is for now they say. just keep smiling..they say. all is fine, all is well, more often then not these tears do swell.




no. no i’m not. i’m not. its just my fingers, they type mixed words.emotions. i can’t feel. i’m a keyboard, i’m numb fingers. numb love.

smile. keep your head up. keep your heart inside you..the heart is located there..under the rib cage, to the left of the sternum, and between the lungs..its moving. its beating. its willing. its loving. you. its loving you, dear life of mine. in all my cinicality, in all my division, i find the smile i need, the life that bleeds.

all in a days irritation.

black ink. part one

it is too bright in this room,

too much light shines on my problems.

god i should be so happy..

now all i can do is question……everything.

i’m the one who requests answers.

my dark repitoire requires no payment.

it seems that i’m stuck and who’s going to help me?

i know not of what i know, or what i once knew.

they need me back in kindergarten,

reading their simple books about cats and dogs,

and the donkey that formed a band..that was my favorite

the musicians of bremen.

i’m the rooster in the window cock-a-doodledoing at the robbers

reflection of life, as it seems.

i’m on the outside, of the outside, am the outside.

and i’m tired..of it and of me.

the light is too bright in this room

and my hair has ruined the ink

i need sleep now

goodnight water, goodnight pen.

Happy Eyes

flowers are dying

fan is broken.

you tried sewing me back up again,

there’s too much blood.

this..this summer heat.

blue ink spreads the page;

fade to black.

i heard the shot

i pondered, very still.

i felt the metal clench my side,

horrid i looked with distraught eyes…

hey miss murder,

can I? can i please?

don’t let them take me away.

the petals lay on the ground

beneath my feet

i hate you.

what happened to those happy eyes?

those blissful thoughts?

break my glass.

i need more then serenity.

i need more then my three chords.

waiting to get you lit up.

my black shirt is fading.

welcome to reality, distant and derailed.


she paints her nails a ruby red,

its been eight months, she hasn’t bled.

the wind picks up, it makes her shudder,

perhaps love will be found, her arms like a mothers.

a feeling inside that can’t be described;

i don’t even know…

my imagination warms me, although.

playing my guitar, to a new shining star.


since i walked in.

the mind of somebody,

prolongs my faith..

aids my smile.

nine days of goodbyes

i paused upon the stairs

what did i forget?

funny when i made you nervous…

things will never be the same

i’m quite okay with that; with certain exceptions.

make sure its defined, now.

dying inside a personal paradise.

command the world with bleak inventions:

we’ll follow you with our own intentions.

born to die.

i’ve listened to the song now, must be five times or more..

each time a new chorus of thought.

a new star was born, on the eve of your greatest mourn.

this is my ending.

i love you, you need to trust me. i love you, i can wait vingt quatre.


I am a distraction. I am what you come to in life, not to love, just to observe…almost like a mirror. You look at me and find yourself, because I am never myself. Everything I say turns poetic, and people seem to like that. I am a 20 year old cynic. Some say Cynicism, I say truth. I don’t believe in God. I believe there is something more, and millions of things we have no idea about. I know there is something far greater then this, I just choose not to label it as God, or follow it in a Cult like manner. I like Life. I like simplicity, but complicated happiness. I don’t like to pick things apart. I like to look at lines and textures and imagine what they feel like before feeling them. I love peoples faces, everyones faces…not in a vain way, I just like to see through them and imagine what they are like. I enjoy many forms of Art. I was voted most Artistic/Creative when I went to hell. I’m tired of old fashioned life, but modern times scare me. Medicine scares me. I like things to be Natural, everything must flow freely. I have to put up with a lot of shit. I need closure. No one can trust me, yet strangers can empathise better. When i’m bored I clean. My room is always spotless, as are my guitars. I love music for what it is, you don’t need glitz and glamour. I have a treasure chest filled with memories at best, and for the most part i hate hearing my phone ring. I have pointless things and big dreams. No matter what I do i’ll always be known as the fat girl who can draw.I like the stars and the cold air. I can watch a burning flame for hours and walk away with a smile and happy thoughts. I hate make up. I sometimes hate boys. My fingernails are short, chipped, and dirty. Mud and grease is appealing. Paper compared to this monitor is amazing. My name is Mandy Poole, and I like Black Ink.