:golden playpen

Through grey trees and dead wires. Lifting light over buildings. The promise of warmth raises eyes with hope like glasses at a wedding. The chance of more, a question answered right. An alternative to night.

Shifting shapes and restless limbs, bustle to position. A sword in my hands and a scarf around my neck. Inching closer, moving forward. Some might say the sky is falling. This time I’m getting it right.


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gather up your wings and fly:

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On the way, my mind speeds. Racing to another destination. Too early to explain, words in perfect prose rattle my cage. In my head & without time to write, I read the book I cannot right. The chapters bustle past in running order, funny, sharp & tactile. I am office bound. A job where days pass quickly but the inside hours go slow. Inspiration is coupled too often with distraction. To speak is to waste. Capture what you can.

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:for the asking

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remember to forget:

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:the burning shadows of silence

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cool drink of water:

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:psychic swelling

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everybody loves a happy ending:

all beginnings are applications
of some description
when you don’t know how long what you have been watching
has been the home shopping channel
morning tv fades out
midday lingers as the day is drawn from the deck

an all day agenda fades in
paperwork to make a home
jumping through hoops
we’re up to our hips
i think of everything i have to meet the criteria
remembering shreds of paper, lies & life
i contemplate every humane distraction
do i really need this machine?
am I insulted by the depiction of this demographic, namely me?

i’m too tired to tell &
i’ve spent too long on this couch
you don’t give up,
try not to lose the fight
to realise they’re not playing the same game
you’re ready to call checkmate.
when they play,
don’t call us, we’ll call you.

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:she’s like the wind

:she's like the wind


March 24, 2012 · 8:38 pm

garden of my mind:

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:to here knows when

Finding your own voice is a worthwhile pursuit. Telling a story takes time, telling your own story can take a lifetime. Arguably it is best left for another to tell, so one can focus on living. This life is for living, learning. This life is for loving. Life is not too short to enjoy, but it’s too short to waste.

Words get lost when we are scared of what other people think. The truth becomes hidden & to be accepted is to be surrounded. Is anything worse than to keep up an appearance? Playing a part is something that we feel pity toward in the lives of others, yet we are comfortable to play. Having something to say & someone to say it to, is what matters most. Stick to your guns, you know what you’re talking about.

Holding someone’s attention long enough to tell a story is hard these days, that charm & the ability to raise your voice, to exaggerate to make them laugh, is no competition for a handheld computer. Trust that the words you choose are important. In times of loss we go searching, for familiar foods, faces & sounds. For all the old stories & cartoons buried on dusty VHS tapes, we never look for something new. We trust the finding of our failures for once when we are sad, never when we are riding high. It’s like us to wallow & have a cave to regress to. It’s the reason battles always rage, as Pride has a louder tone than Sense in every war room briefing. It’s why souls are swept by fire & words need to hit the page to be remembered, at very least, the screen.

It’s not often you want to reach into every clock & roll time forward. Too often our lives are laced with regret. It’s the past that people are forever pining for. Being in love, truly in love is when you want time wasted, if only to speed up the time spent apart. To get to the end, to see if we’ve made it. Loss is a selfish act. But loving, can combine both. Both selfish & selfless. Depending on the mood & situation you find yourself in. Sometimes love is taken to the street for all to see. It’s just as good behind the sheets of an indoor fortress. Our love is a garden, a slow train, a promise.

I worry sometimes about how I will be remembered. I worry what people think. To spend a life living, only to be honoured for the fake. To be misrepresented, or even worse, forgotten. Although I think you’ll find it happens to us all. What I truly care about is that people keep loving. For if they do passion will continue to exist. Without passion there are no stories & without stories there is no love. A tale told opens the door to the heart, honest words keep the fire burning. 

In love & life.
It’s good to know your worth.


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:mornin’ blues

Alarm sounds as light filters into my dreaming eyes. The other half of the bed is already empty, the door drawing shadow from the life behind it. Feint calls gently echo through the upstairs & down. For this is how we choose to speak, insurance that the other is awake. The couch confession. We smile & assess. Mumbling about the meals we made & people pretending. Was last night better than the night before? It was for we were closer & close.

Our mouths are silenced by the cut up clouds that surround us. Light lifting, the traffic lights are eyes, peering through gathered trees. The cool air staves off the humidity as heavy heaves shift to steps. The edges of our eyes take in colour, mixing covered green with open grey at the horizon. Sun is raised, pushing through strands of white, both volcanic & baking. The only sound we hear are birds, our breath & muted horns running down rail beams.

This is our morning for a few minutes more.

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off the field:


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:order / disorder

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coast to coast:

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February 21, 2012 · 5:23 pm


I didn’t notice him at all until the wheels started spinning. Leaning forward from his seat in the corner he asked,
“Do you know the day?”
“Just a minute” I replied, fumbling through my phone.
“The 21st.”
“No” he mutters, “What day of the week is it?”
“Tuesday” I quietly replied.

Minutes earlier.
I thought I had it bad.

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grey streets:

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:alive & kicking

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February 18, 2012 · 11:35 pm



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:turn to the vices

All clouds are connected. Elevated veins of water fixed in the sky. Placed & poised. Carried by night. Drifting through days.

A humid sweat breaks in time as turning wheels draw us towards the storm. Dry ice on the road disguises cars in front. We carry on with caution. We carry on.

Conversations with wet hair see tempers tried & tested. Taking stock, we break to remember to take only the things that we need. The job at hand calls for patience, it’s the best skill I can hand you. It’s what I can give.

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:preliminary things

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absolute elsewhere:

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:from the flagstones


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looking for space:

it takes some distance to reflect,
to stop, think, process, wait.
admitting  you are wrong is one thing,
what you do to address it is
another thing entirely.

some people talk a good game,
revealing little except results.
both playing cards close to the chest,
& from beneath the table.

what’s the point in just speaking,
about things you want to do.
when these things could already be removed
from the lists you’ll never write.

before the paper peels,
the train is missed,
& dreams are out of date.

time spent treading water,
isn’t wasted when,
you use it to survive.

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:childhood memories

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unless you speak from your heart:

observations of a busy street.

a book store smells a certain way,
the comfort of a million stories.
time spent will unlock its promise.

a ball of twine is a welcome sight,
the promise of something to be made or mended.

a couple, drinks water in different ways.
one from the glass, one straight from the gym.

a friend pulls a friend away from a passing bike.
the way they smile at each other afterwards,
suggests they’ve been friends for a while.

moments later, we’ll be someplace else.
minutes later, we’ll be gone.

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:expecting to fly

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for what it’s worth:

“Are you a believer?”, she asked.
We’d just sat down & I wasn’t ready for an argument, not at this hour. I thought of  many things before carefully preparing my response. For this was our first official meeting. A sit down & dine, the first sit down & dine, with my lover’s mother. It’s easy when you have a history with someone, to say what’s on your mind. Well it should be. The more you know about someone the more you sometimes have to censor, as with information comes politics.

Out of those considered I pondered enlightened passages & philosophical fairness,
in conversation with myself.

It’s not about what you’re looking at,
It’s about what you see.
It doesn’t matter how you do things,
As long as you are doing them.

If you continue to do,  just what you do,
does it always lead to success?
I believe so.
I respect people who stick to their guns.
They always seem to triumph,
no matter how long it takes.
Yet we all claim to know people who have wasted life waiting.
We retell the story to avoid
doing difficult things ourselves,
for it’s easier to be the person who warned more than willed.

Imagine a world defined by one word, one ideal, one saying.
Words can describe moments & music can help you remember them.
No phrase captures it all, as no song says it all.
Your sense of smell pointing you,
to places you’ve once been & long to belong to.

People are in search of a simple truth,
a hard-line, a stance to live by.

Words to recite when things go awry
I used to believe that the more definition my life had,
the more control I would have over it.
Now in reality,
there are now more lists
needing maintenance.

Coming full circle,
I considered,
“It’s all about what you do with what you think.”

So, what i did was smile.
After one final pause  I said,
“I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

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:count backwards from ten

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hologram sky:


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:through the day

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paper lanterns:

Seeing the beauty in the eye of sadness is not an escape from reality, but rather the acceptance of it.

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:you should do better

It’s not often you get to have it all, so enjoy it when you do. A clear conscience & money in your pocket. Or a ticket, or a fridge that’s full of food. To have what you need is far better than to have what you want. Having had both & neither, I feel equipped to tell you so. I’m not talking about the desperate optimism of a gambler, nor the glass being closer to half full. I’m talking about being in the right place at the right time, & when what you’re talking about, turns into the movies. When it feels like you’re alive. To experience life. To throw it in the air, just to see where it could land. A simple life, provides you with no confusion. To never think in terms of loss. There are people who think they get it all, where every lock must have a key. Then there are those aware they’ll never wholly understand. Let the chains of entitlement rust the hands of those who knew. To those with unsatisfied hues. The rest are lifting glasses, to making things happen.

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impossible calm:

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:small hours

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when i was yesterday:

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:couldn’t love you more

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lyrics to go:

i like the way certain trees
can shape the sound the wind makes
as i walk alongside the train tracks
i could swear to you
that i can hear the breath of the ocean.

to my ears
i feel like i’m on a cliff
with the clouds ahead preparing
to rage over serene waters
marking the beginning of the storm.

it’s about to rain & i’m waiting
i’m wondering if this ground will soon
be too wet to walk on
or will my shoes commence to slip?

when is a good time to do anything?
i don’t like talking much,
during storms,


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:someone like daniel

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answering bell:

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:time is a weapon of time

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getting away with it:

the idea of escape is amazing.
in rapture,
encapsulated by the absence of light
a man tormented by the guilt of his past
feels he is owed beyond his own sentencing.
is he entitled to a second chance,
or just has nothing left to lose?

“the love i feel is not confused
i shouldn’t feel so good
its weird feeling guilty about your life
when it’s going so good
enjoy it while it lasts
they say.

there are still things i’d change in life
like where i went each day
& that i want to truly let the ideas i have inside me
to grow toward beauty.

in this cell.”

yesterday he lay dead on a hospital bed
cycling, swimming, running, relapse
these were the order of events
he wrote about them all
these are the stories to be told.

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:you tear the world in two

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