“I don’t see myself as beautiful, because I can see a lot of flaws. People have really odd opinions. They tell me I’m skinny, as if that’s supposed to make me happy.”   Angelina Jolie





I’ve often heard

There is no such thing

As too thin

Yet I wonder

Seeing that woman in

The café this morning

Skin stretched tautly

Across a fragile frame

Excruciating exposé

Threatening to shatter

Cheekbones, eye sockets

She turns, tries to

Smile – even the lips

Have no curves

Mediterranean blue eyes

Flicker with a smile

Longing to escape







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Filed under Beauty or Appearance



While I haven’t visited this street or town, I have certainly met him (or someone just like him!

Originally posted on Dark Matter:

Originally posted 3/6/2013.

A man who has never been rejected
is watching women on Highland Street

as if Highland Street were the ruins of a Mayan city
where these women are exhibits to be viewed

as if they were souvenirs
A man is shopping for a souvenir

among the women of Highland Street
imagining he is a prince of a lost realm

A lost realm he learned about in school
or perhaps in books from his father’s library

that displayed women as souvenirs
for the taking by princes of the realm

who may imagine themselves
against the backdrop of old roads

and palaces and even temples where men
are never rejected

because they never ask permission
when they take a woman for a souvenir of the realm

A man watches women
on Highland Street 

Imagines himself 
crafted in sharp obsidian

Ordained as prince and priest
Taker of live hearts

Imagines himself

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Filed under Uncategorized

Fire & ice


This was originally posted 21 December 2011.

“A dame that knows the ropes isn’t likely to get tied up.”

- Mae West


Fire & ice


It’s cold

Like your touch

And I

Am a creature

Of the heat


Delight in the taunting


Of the sun’s rays

They force me


Complete submission

Fire Its The power

And it burns

Deep inside me


Your daggers

Of ice

Cannot penetrate me

I will laugh

As you melt

Fire & ice





Filed under Poetry

Only roses


“She turned to the sunlight and shook her yellow head, and whispered to her neighbor: “Winter is dead.” – A.A. Milne


“A host of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, fluttering and dancing in the breeze.” – William Wordsworth


Only roses

Only roses

Every year on

Her birthday

Mother sent grandma


When grandma died

They all sent

Red roses

What grandma

Loved most of all

Were daffodils – connection

Her native Wales


When I see


Growing in the ground

In a florist shop

Or even in a picture

I think of grandma

A son

And daughters

Who only did anything

For appearances sake

Feelings never


The façade with the

Sincerity of

Plastic roses





Filed under Love

Le Grande Papillon / The Grand Butterfly

“We are like butterflies who flutter for a day and think it is forever.”   – Carl Sagan


“We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.”   – Maya Angelou


“We must remain as close to the flowers, the grass, and the butterflies as the child is who is not yet so much taller than they are. We adults, on the other hand, have outgrown them and have to lower ourselves to stoop down to them. It seems to me that the grass hates us when we confess our love for it. Whoever would partake of all good things must understand how to be small at times.”  

- Friedrich Nietzsche


Le Grande Papillon / The Grand Butterfly

Le grande Papillon


As the palm

Of my hand

Your wings

Form a valentine


Noir etching

Encased thumbprints

Of turquoise

Bold and beautiful

In my eyes


My hope

You will return

Encore et encore





Filed under Nature

Minor fall


Please take a few moments and read this gem from Carly-Jay. She is, without a doubt, the most amazing woman I know.

Originally posted on bruises you can touch:

I’ve grown weary of shaking the hands of strangers and father time

not knowing what catacomb I’ll tumble into.

Dropping like an inelegant bomb into a pit

of frayed men where optimism is a step into fear.


I can’t trust the creases in your eyelids

when you think you’re boxing clever.

I cannot walk into that thin stretch of air, at times thick with pain;

its density like walking through sodden curtains of grief.


Just another plaint of the wounded,

being sent off to sea in a sinking ship;

baggage lost, with no warm bodies to ferry to my skin.


Lifted up onto pockets of non-feeling,

you are the chorus, cauterised, bleached;

I am the verse – stitch, bleed, repeat.

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Filed under Uncategorized

Double – edged

“One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life: that word is love.”

– Sophocles

“Touch seems to be as essential as sunlight.” – Diane Ackerman




It is that soft

Underbelly tenderness

Of a first kiss

That first exploration

Of the one who made

My respirations shallow

My heart skips a beat


It is the sharp edges of

Each parting

The tearing of


The bottomless

Vacuum of






Filed under Love