…passed, lifted by the wind, away, alone, no longer in its thousands, week, insignificant, on its own.
Read MoreShe is a part of
everything and an
inspiration to us all
grieving is evidence
of the strength of love.
Read MoreYour voice
Rises as smoke from a chimney, wandering afar
Dances like flames warming a stagnant room
Burnishing the walls with honeyed amber.
Read Morelonging to see you again, when you chew your pen when you’re nervous; when you glance into car windows just to see your reflection; when you get frustrated when your hair doesn’t go right…
Read MoreFields of emerald turn to swarms of golden piles
piles are swaddled in black warm and dry
the crow travels high, cross country for miles
swaddled piles of hay mark his way as he lets out a cry
Read MoreShe was made from a bulk of white stone.
Her first crutch to lean on, an IOU.
Laid and lying on borrowed ground,
knotted and gnarled, the sweet fruit
on a vine ripens and drops,
Give me Antares, the brightest star in the Scorpius nebula
as Libra season runs dry.
Give me Jack rendered dull by work without play
and Mia Farrow’s tannis root charm.
Read MoreAll Day Breakfast, the first meal I have when
I return to the United Kingdom.
It is my fourth year leaving my hometown.
I prioritize the fried tomatoes,
Reluctantly. Gulping them down my throat.
Read MoreWhen we scooted off from the elite entrance of St. Joseph’s Primary School,
Not using tissues to rub her eyes.
As if Mum could gradually bear
Such grades. We all had tacit consent not to quarrel
While Dad was driving us home, bypassing
A hushed carnival
As crows cawed and ruffled their feathers up on the roller coaster.
Crouching and facepalming until they finished
Counselling me and scrawling their parents’ signatures on the transcript,
The spontaneous postures.
Read MoreLaid bare,
next to glistening candelabras,
bound naked atop shining silver,
served on a platter.
Placed next to glinting cutlery,
and fine wine to wash her down with.
A table set for a king.
Read MoreSweet bubble bath, absorb me.
Smooth as buttermilk,
filling my senses with acrid lavender aroma.
Distorted features through shifting blue,
streaks of pale skin, rippling and dividing
as reflected tranquillity.
Tempting seeking hands to
break through the surface.
Read More