Insert poetry here.

As we lay in an embrace, you said “This would be a perfect moment to be poeting to each other…”

And I reached within my emotional tomes, perused through thoughts of things already written, rehearsed and read…

And my brain said…

And my heart said…

“There is nothing here for her;

These memories and words already have a home.”

As we lay in an embrace, works refused to surface, like I’d forgotten the whole alphabet or what a comma was…

and this was perfect.

I studied your lips as you spoke eloquent art and I knew your words too had lived before, but I enjoyed having them visit.

I extended my arm to find your skin

And my brain said…

And my heart said…

“Here is your new page – there is everything here for her…

…and for you, 

draw from this moment from now on.”

The walk.

A hole in the toe of my shoe shows a hole in the toe of my sock as I walk,

wondering how u do the voodoo that you do to me. 

And it’s not pricky like pins…

more like smudges of pleasant across sensitive areas. 

And they are good sensations. 

And that makes sense. 

A hole in the toe of my shoe that shows a hole in the toe of my sock would sometimes worry me….make me think that passersby assume I am not 

all together…

…that I’m lower level…

but it is only me staring down at my feet. 

My sneakers squeak as I ponder how you appear in portions in parts of me in pieces of my day.

And it’s not easy to write as I search for perfect word choices…

…but all my summarised scrawlings are smudged.

And that makes sense to me and that’s ok.

No bones about it – a framework.

About to expose the shit list.

Bare my bruised and broken past.

And it’s written down and it hurts to look at,

to remember…

to feel and re-live again.

About to acknowledge those I’ve hurt and heckled and been hideous to,

And it’s spoken aloud 

and its echoes hit the walls like suicide splatter on aged floral wallpaper.

About to admit that

…this was where I was…

…but is not where I




About to heal.

About to hear.

About time.

Pleasure me…asures

Sunshine upon shoelaces

Dipped chocolate biscuits into Elderflower tea

Big couches and lots of pillows

Two small cats.

Rhythm within earlobes

Dipped paintbrushes in a stained plastic cup

Long walks and plenty of trees

Three written words.

Rain overflowing guttering

Dipped feather quill into a digital ink pot 

Small gratitudes and

…a forthcoming love.

Quiet, relaxing nights

Dipped down underneath duvets

Wide eyes and everlasting energies

One happy poet.


We can switch

If you like…

I’ll try out yours

If you test mine.

I’ll get underneath your pores, you dress with garments from my drawers, 

We explore how each other passes the hours,

takes showers,

smells flowers and how each one listen

and sit in the quiet…

How we react to downtime.

How our bones hurt and our limbs swell and our minds race and our shoulders tense and our fingers writhe and our hearts play pong inside our chests…

We can switch back

If you like.

Thanks for sharing yours,

Thanks for wearing mine.

Be in your moment.

Be in your moment.

Sit in your skin.

Observe the people and their place and their faces and look at their shoes.

Be aware of how far we have walked

And how we hold our own hearts very carefully with both hands now.

Be present in your world.

Feel what a good life feels like…

Live this.

Embrace your friends and soak up nature – be in your moment.

Surround yourself with calm and kind and caring and love…

Be in love.

Sit next to skin.

Observe their eyes and smile and look at their hands and hold them, feel and soak in how this feels…

Be aware of your journey and pick the path most pleasant.

Now there are four hands around your heart and they are still holding on very carefully.

Be present in both your worlds.

The pigeon in the room

Will you rub my back when I’m feeling tense?

Will you hold my hand after making amends?

Will you encourage me to keep sipping tea?

Will you help me up if I fall to my knees?

I once was very much broken.

Once, so very rudely outspoken.

I once was selfish & unkind,

More than once, lost my shit, my mind.

Will you excuse the awful poetry?

Will you refuse my negative ‘woe is me!’

Will you kiss my dirty smokers lips?

Will you wipe away my mascara slips…

I once was always inebriated.

Once was satisfied but never sated.

I once was an attention seeker,

Never once the listener, only the speaker.

Will you take my past & my mistakes?

Will you accept my scars, bruises & breaks…

Will you trust that I’m a better me,

Will you think of me pleasantly…



I am okay.

I AM okay…

Honestly, I’m so far away

From the darkness of my yesterday.

A Literate Elation

Words on walls written

Readily readable rhetorical rhyme

Confidential conversations craftily consumed

Enigmatic energies emotionally exhumed

Sensored strobes stare into his soul.
Sips of Sauvignon sunk

Drams of delicate Drambui, drunk

Mind melting melodical mime

Tripping up on tipped, turned time

Darkness dwells deep in his dreams.
Arriving with artistic arrogance

Listlessly listening to loves language

Harbouring hardened hearts, heated

Tenebrous talks traumatically treated

Vexing the virile virtue in his voice.
Performing as poetic prodigy

Facetious feelings flow freely

Quantifying quotes, questioning quips

Gluttony gloats, greediness grips

Broken brilliance burns into his being.



Now that I’m clean I rock a positive sheen, instead of standing clothed in last nights filth.

Having had crawled out from under the duvet, I’d survey, sniff and repeat into the next day.

No longer do I sway when

I walk through the streets;

I don’t footpath weave or drunkenly bush pee…

Now that I’m sober I no longer fall over the black spots that are lost,

The unrecovered costs…

Waking like a dried up dehydrated ghost after the evening priors host un-responsibility –

Still hungover ’til morning tea…

Nothing resonating, nothing functioning.

Now that I’m dry I no longer worry why my life was or is so hard,

Because it isn’t.

It’s straight edged with pleasures,

It’s enjoying beautiful weather,

It’s remembered and lived in.

It’s lessons and laughter,

It’s’befores’ and ‘afters,’

And it’s now mine to get amongst.


I am ashamed of my surname.

It’s bold, it’s brutal and it’s embarrassing to have as a female.

I lay blame for my surname.

It’s masculine, it’s ancestral, it’s a horrible moniker for a lesbian.

I feel pain for my surname.

It’s the last of its kind, it’s deceased, it’s a joke…

So I cut it in half.

I threw away the gender attachment and cocooned into a Hood of pseudonym.

I lay claim to my surname.

It’s legal, it’s employed, it’s identified.

I abstain from Google searching my surname.

It’s phallic, it’s medical, it’s Mills & Boon material like “she was aroused at the sight of his exposed bulge, his pulsating package, his staff of sex…

But it’s my surname.

It’s unwed, it’s happy, it writes, it drinks fruit tea. It’s a great ice breaker, it’s the title to my voice.

The choice i make to embrace it or run away, is my choice to make

In the end

Of my first name