It makes total sense of course, it’s absurd to think 

I would stop

I would stunt

For the sake of a number, when if
This form this genre this tool that allows me to be elusive be cryptic be safe in simple stanzas and mysterious metaphors 

This medium if it brings forth from the fury the confusion the forthrightness that seems to stubbornly exist in my soul
Part confession

Part method
I verbalize to crystallize what the fuck has transpired what is hard wired as opposed to what is my fire
I say

I tell

I write

I confess
And as I do 

I figure out
I sort

I release

I expel

I accept
One summer

One hundred poems 


One year

One hundred poems

One hundred prayers

One hundred cries

One hundred maps

One hundred snapshots

Of my soul, my fragility, my journey

One hundred moments
And when the truth was ugly

I decorated it with rhyme

And when the story was awkward

I told it with poetry

And when the pain was awful

I wrote it with rhythm

And when there was shame

I used words to sift it down to its golden empathy
Poetry is my therapy.

Publié dans Poetry | Marqué | Laisser un commentaire

99 and 100 of 100


They are the
Little adventures
The compulsions, also known as
The big adventures

Or so it has been
And so it shall be, until
The Big Adventure

With no guarantee
And so until then, I remain

A slave to freedom, abounding in solitude
Pacifiers, substitutions


And when you read it
You were so small
You were frightened
Thought you’d be impressed, enlightened
But not at all
You were insulted, insecure, reactive, emotional not logical

Not tall like you look
Not all together when I put
Something before you you weren’t expecting
But anything I am writing
Is common or not but anyway spoken
Real, unrehearsed
Do you only know how to follow the verse?

But what about the bridge, the rhapsody, the free verse, the soliloquy?
What about different and exceptional and extraordinary?
What about nothing being black and white and reading between the lines?
And what about freedom of speech and make believe and all fiction having an ounce of truth but then the rest being fiction and not just seeing how it has been but being strong and smart enough to see how it could be?
Forget about me, what about you?
Forget about you, what about ME?

Publié dans Poetry | Marqué | Laisser un commentaire

97 and 98 of 100


I shout
You hear about
The great adventures

The in between
Never seen
My solitary indenture.


Clitoris crumbling
Soft skin suffocating
I was wrong to expect tenderness
Morning mourning
Four not eight limbs lingering
It was both our senselessness
His in the heart
Mine in the head
I participated in the soulless mess
Thespian thumb-sucking
Not even hardcore dirty delicious fucking
A huge waste, but I digress.

Publié dans Poetica, Poetry | Marqué , | Laisser un commentaire

93 to 96 of 100


Not the throat
Not the deep mouth
Not guttural or sputtered spitting angry harsh and broken
More like rain
Like the pretty pitter patter of little drops
Like the whispers of whistles
It’s the lips
Beautiful gentle melodic poetic and soft-spoken
The tip of my tongue to my teeth and sweet breath
The lips.


Counting back the days
To the countdown until I’d never see your face
Our weekly letters
You broke the heart you’d so recently so singularly easily thunderously peacefully brought to life


Thorn in my heart
This morning
Splinter in my eye
Seeing all kinds of evil


From further not nearer
Is seeing clearer
Fairer, fair maiden
Your looking glass
Was not looking back
But looking bad
Light refracts


It is light

You gaze from the coast
And now you know
You love, sweet lovely
Your version of events
Contrary to so much evidence
It’s telling then ill-spent
Now providence


That same light

Beam of incredible length
Of wavering and vulnerable strength
Burns on, beautiful learner
Your negatives
Prior to development
Hid the prints
The facts


There is light.

Publié dans Poetry | Marqué | Laisser un commentaire

91 and 92 of 100


Where once he had passion
Now there is pride
Where once he had guts
Now he hides
Where once he had balls
Now he is wry
He is sly, he is dead

Like love affairs
Mad, exquisite love affairs!
I feel rage at these careful these cautious these flimsy these heartless
Laughable romps
That’s the best you’ve got!?

Can such temperate tinglings truly satisfy, quench, satiate your heart, soul, spirit, imagination?
Cupid or humanity or the naked heart laughs and feels shame it is sure
See how these shallow splashes erode so deeply and leave one feeling hollow
Thirsty, hungry, deaf, dumb, blind yet not gone mad from it all!?

It is crazy, unreasonable, foolish, beautiful love or it is nothing.


Does your silence feel electric like my kiss?

Do your rules feel so soft like my skin?

Does your judgment keep you warm?

Does your hypocrisy hold you close?

Do you feel smug do you feel brave behind your fortress of firewalls and barriers of bandwidth?

Technology brings tragic, terrific transparency.

Publié dans Poetry, Uncategorized | Marqué | Laisser un commentaire

Pam, Bam, Thank You, Ma’am

It isn’t often I read this advertisement vehicle referred to by some as a newspaper but the headline caught my eye.

Firstly, Pamela Anderson is FORTY-NINE YEARS OLD. As a freshly former spring chicken, I can’t help but think this campaign is wonderful and can’t help but applaud the retailer (Missguided) for their choice in model. Forget sexism; three cheers for anti-ageism!

Secondly, she is modelling CLOTHING. If this were a campaign for animal rights or a daycare facility, then I could understand objection. She is advertising little dresses and swimwear. I’m baffled, Miss Dames.

And thirdly (but not finally, for there is always more to say), why are women still attaching shame and assigning suppression to sexuality? When I see a beautiful, busty, drippingly-sexy woman, I think the same thing as a heterosexual man: Wow! I admire. I admire because I feel happy with who I am and I feel (more than) comfortable with the fact that sexuality is an intrinsic part of who we are as human beings and to acknowledge so as they do in these advertisements is not demeaning. Let’s say our Pam were giving a speech for animal rights and someone yelled out « Take it off! » That. That is demeaning. In this case she is willingly, happily using her sexuality to sell clothing. Not demeaning. Not mysoginistic. Not anti-women.

Your thoughts?

Ironically, the ad underneath states that « Sex is health. » True. Unless you acknowledge it, use it, enjoy it, admit it publicly…😉

My favourite part of the article: « …ultimate girl power hero. » I agree!

Publié dans Uncategorized | Marqué , , , , , | Laisser un commentaire

89 and 90 of 100


A series of tumultuous relationships
Begins to be your sounding board
Sometimes it’s you, of course
The world is round

That great thought you thought
Could wait
It’s just you and the fog
It’s warm
It’s nice
But when you try to capture it
The lens carries it away
So far away
Silence up here
Where a moment lasts
It still goes on…


Days away
Just a few, you might say
But no,
The truth is it is
Such a long way away
As only a few days can feel
To butterflies in the heart
And in the part of the mind
Where lust is both thriving
And aching and dying!

Publié dans Poetry | Marqué | Laisser un commentaire