Thoughts crowded out
Like street nights
Festival lights
Past midnight
Holding open space
Reflecting on
Celebrations alike
No way to put
My finger on it
Taint with print
Hot to touch
Can't switch it off
Bask in its glow
Round the clock
Source metered out
In the dark
Tales tools of trade
Our words live on

Part of your world

'Bright young women
Ready to stand

Ready to know
What the people know

Ask them my questions
And get some answers

When's it my turn?
Wouldn't I love?

Love to explore
That shore up above

Wandering free

Wish I could be
Part of your world'

~Ariel, 1989. (C) Disney
Part of that world, by Jodi Benson
The Little Mermaid, illustration by Edmund Dulac

Book Fetish

Under covers 
Slide between sheets
Fingers fondle
Turn a new leaf

Entering into
Worlds unseen
Stars in eyes
Hold and breathe

Drama unfolding
Pushing bounds
Reality dissolves
Dreams are found

Singers bellow
Dancers twirl
Look no further
Bookish girls

Little did she know

The tragedy of poetry
Is how Atwood sees
As the words are written
Inspired event complete

Like an epitaph
To memory in bold
Detail delightful sighting
Though future is untold

No assurance can be given
By simply putting down
Ink to paper, finger tap
All prophecy unfounded

Into future like Le Guin
A new world expounded
If all society's whisper
In amplified stereo sound

A foot tapping, toe curling
Secret I keep
That all stories begin and end
With us somewhere in between
Eucalyptus globulus, Tasmanian blue gum


To have words trampled
Beneath the cart wheels
On the streets
of old St Petersburg
Crimes a mystery
Hung backlit
By brazen streetlight
Broken, worn, blue
Time it takes
To decide ~ are they done?
Will they heal?
Slowly drip feeding
Stew of broth
Building marrow
Until the shine
In the eyes returns
Upon hearing
A chorus
Seeing a glorious
Image of affection
At mere mention
A novel moment
Produces a turrent
Cascading into
Rivers winding
Bringing life
Bearing it to sea
Setting free

Finders keepers…

So simplistic were the rhymes
Of my childhood
Aesop and Mother Goose
Taught me how to be good
Kind and wise
Avoid Miss-Understood

Yet, they did not share with me
In black and white ink
How to dare to care 
When life is on the brink
Of falling in and down
Afraid there is no settling

The nesting and pruning
Of love birds in tune
With one another
Humdrum forgetting
Singing, fanning plumage
Making room

If you should find a lover
Try to keep her hand
But if lost remember -
Not to weep for
The Summer nights
On a cold, dark night
in June.

A heart full

Funny how Cosette
Hands clutched to heart
Could sing of love
While another watching on
Full and empty
Is often only
A few streets
Between them
Mind games
Toying teasing
Playing with its strings
Only hurts the more
When love comes to
An end
How often no one knows
For whom
The river runs deeply
Until it flows no more

Life’s work

Being present
Even if
Mind is elsewhere
What I promised
To my chillins
When born
Their knowledge of love
Comes from this assurance
I am always there for them
No matter where I am
To be present
Even in absence
Is all we require
Of love
If this is too much or
Love is not enough
Better to depart
And allow
The space to be
If you will

Chillins, term of endearment for Scout and Jem by Calpurnia their cook, in To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee.