Sunday, 23 December 2012


There are great stories about how lovers meet.
Legends. Myths. Epics.
Lightning strikes, heavens open,
Fires burn within two hearts.
Moments: powerful, strong, moving.
Yet none of these stories speak of the incredible moment
when two people meet on a quiet winter evening.
They smile and talk and laugh,
and a tentative thought forms,
full of promise and potential.
A small hope rises to the surface,
and a tiny voice, almost unheard,
whispers, "Maybe, just maybe."

Friday, 7 December 2012


They say stars don't shine in the city
Because of house lights and street lights and car lights
and cell phones and toasters and all that city stuff.
But stand on a rooftop where the night stands on your shoulders and throw your head back so you can see your cigarette smoke rise into the atmosphere and become part of the universe.
Stand there and amid the nicotine you'll see 
the one brave little star that shines
with all the strength and beauty it can muster.
It's shouldering the duty alone, of guiding you home.
I want to be your home.
I want to be the taste that fills your mouth 
when you think of this place,
the scent you carry with you in your backpack,
in all your clothes and your books and your blankets,
the voice that you hear in your head
singing you to sleep and moving you to tears.
I want to be your home.
Your shelter and your protection and your sustenance,
where you lay your head to rest,
where you drop your mask and breathe in.
And as you breathe, I want to fill your lungs
with poetry and stories and dreams
that will diffuse into your skin and become
a part of you, like you are a part of me.
You are in every cell that makes me,
you exist in my eyes and my hair and 
fingers and my navel and my knees.
My very skin sings songs of your touch 
and my blood rushes to the surface because
it, too, wants to be close to you.
Look up to that one star and
find your way to me.