A Spire Trilogy

No rain today.
Thin veils
soon to be clouds loft, waiting
to form mounds of rising movement
or greying tresses
depending on a lake
for fulfillment.
Fir look out
languorous with afternoon
shadow, are not bright or dark
tall and gently gaze,
a stayed, windless
absent, would toy
confusion’s bluster
your hand on my
thigh,  kindling
tears pale azure.

Confused bee
caught in the water
your dandle would be
for a newly born
needing a jiggle
gentle foray
yielding wide
cloudy hope
sky, cumulative shadows
blacken the lake
bracing water
under transformation
dwelling sound.
Firs dread
the wild wind.


The persistence of memory thoughts lower-case, with thigh high wonder
where myths abbreviate
adjacent, a little tilt
not quite paltering becomes
a portal for escape
the kindest offer, just in case
just not now
just in cases
where hearts mirrored
see future courts
glinting meta-phys-i-cal mystery
meta-narrative in melting time
and thanks to dali, has a name

Owlish, deep orbits
eyes louder than a moonless
night screech
tell me your story
even though I know it
I want to hear it
night or light
day or dark
between wrong and right
gibbosity, centre.
Between right and left
under your shirt, a patch of
blue hair
I thought of touching
when I wasn’t listening
because I said I knew
the story you did not tell
I need to hear you say
the left and right of it
the right and wrong of it
gibbously rising
as I turn to touch you
the next time you belay.

Thunder rarely claps here
light that shone
between us, crescendoing
now a veil of restraint
Polite, the soak of mezzo forte
lightning subverted
Blue eyes rivet
curtailing conversation
to a pont.
A flicker
the unified sky
brushes wind
amongst park trees
held fast by crab-grass
A caw
crowing, mocking
the promise of intensity
held fast.
The song
his voice a fugue
mine a silent opera
opening skyward
rankling, robust
electricity unplugged
dropping rain
Thump pump
cheeks dry
Rock beds
obtaining lichen
little mountains
maintaining structure.
Sad silly symphony
Rest, the wind is planting
Grow slowly, gentle
persevere. Behold!
That clapping sound.
Crow hops and flutters
the pavement pounds
from little footsteps
Crow up
flight is easy
for a crow. 

Monday, May 03, 2010

The Hermitage

The Hermitage

Square walls close inward
slanting out light
straightening hope.

Displaced memories hover
insulating resistance to wholesome thought.

Mouldering bane
Tortuous recall
restricts grace.

Racing through pallid walls
suspended dreams grey
preserving dimness.

Reckless solo banter subjugates solace
crushing aspiration.

Company is the wayward bug
flying inward
through the gaping screen
defying regulation
to open
unprotected refuge...
insect thwarts total isolation.

work collects dusty melancholy.
Stalled: industry

Friday, January 15, 2010

"When I let my life speak, it says to me..."

Created 13 January 2010

Royal Roads University - ESA program
Post forest walk, facilitated by Hilary Leighton, Director, Continuing Studies
Jargon juxtaposed

with composted fellings
stretched and striated.

Brambles of thought
entangled, jangling

Clarity shrieks
and clearings emerge
with gatherings of saplings
glistening and swaying
gently in sun kissed

Bridge that expanse
of field and furrow
including doubt
and sorrow
to saturate beyond
sunlight’s marrow
wrinkled water’s
agitation burrows.

Incising, exorcising
percolating musically
with brisk and unrelenting
nervousness, daunting taunting
cajoling, reminding and imploring that fun is fine

Fun is mirth and breath.

Festivities of silence feast
on absence of vision
regaling whiffs of rancour
begs for indifference.

Release the light.
Lift the dream.
Endanger the debilitation.
Enable the laughter.
Provide simplicity -


Wednesday, December 16, 2009


Tied to the dock
Submerging somewhere
On land’s founding
Clocking this day
Wayfaring lay
Calibrating, clocking
Time inbounding
Knouted with NOT
Necessarily knotted
Needling niceties.
Cresting tidiness


Rotting light
Blessing blackness
Crunching away
Toothy smiles
Breaching pain
Sugary fright
Sanction liberty
Effective plight.

La Pomme

The weight of the flesh
Weighted apple
Through handling
Firm, unbitten
Shielding unblemished skin
Palm; round and heavy
Yellow praise


You are the grit
in my oyster.
You cause ideas
to Pearl.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Sand People

Sand People
Dwell on the beach
Each day wallowing
In granules of thought.
Rooted in shifting drifts
Piling high with godly gusts of bluster
Raging mounds of dusty irritation
Collects about them.
Stuck to malicious pandering
Sand people hold handfuls of
Speckled slurs that desiccate
Blister in the searing sun of
Feigned saintliness...
Scourge decency of those
That get sand
In the eye;
Blinding cruelty
Blown By sand people. 

Monday, May 12, 2008

Can't Breathe

Craters of understanding
Walking naked in my memory
Recollecting fine manipulation
In deep pits of consideration
Retreating into cavernous space
Finding wistful triangulation

Sunday, May 11, 2008

Months, Days, Years

Months are predicted on the days, and the days define the year. What will I remember this year being about?

Stagnation, redefinition, lunging towards and away from dolour...that heartbreaking sorrow, cultivated by the relationship that I need to release.

So far and farther...

Confabulation. Not my style.
Substance, conversation.
It's about understanding...
Talking 'small talk'?
Quirky and vague. I cannot prattle.
Fabricate a memory? Too much work.

Trust. Trust? Dubiety is gone. I no longer have any doubt.
I need a new horizon, fresh stories, suprising escapades, amazing reverie, wonderful opportunies for mysterious and joyful, expansive dimensions... 

Thursday, January 24, 2008


Pages of unwritten sadness...
Words have no meaning
Because everything you said
Are lies.
Lie in your beach
Bungalow wallowing
In the slink of Chanel and Ferrari
United with the allure
From those Louis Vuitton and other
Assorted chattels
A jewelled chimera
Sliding over your prevarication
Snug as the sand cuddling waves
Of salted truths
Whisking the winded chimes
Into dulcet paltering
Your tides of emotion wax and wane
Through the pulverized sincerity,
What you have
Is not a foundation
Only the fantasy
Of felicity
Pounding and powdered
Are your claims of love
Your devotion
To expend a presence
A charisma built on
Shadow and promise
Let the fog dwell
In the house of your golden ring
As there you will find a love that can be bought
And it is not mine. 

Sunday, October 22, 2006

Deception's Wake

Le songe d'un promeneur (The dream of a wanderer).

Awakening to the dream
Of convolution,
The wanderer in me sings.

An aria?
It’s not revelry
Or recitative.
My song stills.

Where is time thwarted?
On my journey
Wandering resolute
To candour’s concord.

Captivated by presumption
By reverie
I form a vast rapport
Of deception’s wake.

Simply wandering
Between forms
Between terrain’s contour and firmament
I dream of impossibilities.

Neither up nor down
Junctures of meanderings
Create new beginnings.
Simply, there is a caress. 

Sunday, October 15, 2006


I am ever awake for you.
Ever wakeful
Ever awakening.

Even as your voice betrays
Your doubt
Your reticence
Your confusion
I am, for you awakened
To your need
Your call
Your need for me.

I am aching in your agony
Your ecstasy
Your rancour
Your resolve.

I am awake
And you remember me.

I mourn for you, my beloved
A body I do not see.

I am a widow
That had no husband
But a husband you were to me.

I bury my grief, my lover.

I want no one to see
My desolation.

Your friends are now your family,
But not one friend did I see.

I was a wife without secrets,
But secrets you kept from me.

I was not prized -A shame in your life.

I was the best kept secret
I was a source of your strife.
Those years of growth and compassion
Of intimacy
Is now fear.

Forgotten promises
Are plans we held so dear?

The price of misunderstanding
Is grave shadows haunting the day.

Your cherished darkness
Is my shadowed life -

Your darkness was enlightening.
Your solace was as near
As 'never', a word I hate to hear.

Our laughter, love and dreams
Were all dissolved away.

For your needs, my beloved
A price was paid.

I mourn for you;
You were a husband to me.

I mourn for my lover -
That memory
Shadows my life.

My heart aches for your touch -
Not that knife that
Sliced morality...
Not ambiguity.

You are dead to me.

a poem is in your eyes
when I see your face
in your picture.

It stares me down with
kaliadascope colours,
enlightened space.

Eternity is in your candid grace.

Your pure heart
has sung
a guarded tune.

That song is a spell
drowns my hope
dry -
compels me to cry.

Your longing,
burning desires
determined parting.

A cavern dark
a retreat, yours alone
and not alone
left me lonely -
emptied my soul.

Like a slow drip
water falling
drop by drop
dropping from that cloud
slowly love's light
seems replenished
with every word
you speak to me.

I want you to sing
a contented air
breath lightly,
abandon dispair.

Here is my song,
for you.

Friday, September 15, 2006


Jericho Park, Vancouver, BC
Used to be a wonderous place, for me.

Now, I am driven to despise
this playground for the
enterprising liars
that populate that shore.

They feign morality.

The lies are as numerous
as the grains of mutilated rock
shipped to the beachside.

I hate lies. They are sand in my eyes.


Sunday, August 15, 2004

Left out


Forced into acceptance.
Altering my confidence, pressure on my soul.
Destruction of my ability to trust.
Suppression of my happiness, oppression of my certitude in my place, my relationship, my friendship.
Belief that I am not worthy, absence of support.
Embarrassment, diffidence...

I am the impediment. Distrustful.

Secretive rendezvous are arrogant questions, insolence.

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