I’m a finger painter I can spend hours at my easel at a time And Mama says I’m her favourite artist The fridge holds my art with pride   I’m a ballet dancer I practice every day until my feet hurt And Mama watches every…

At least two poets of some reknown have written poems called The Map, as if there were only one map, only one world. Marie Howe mentions the Gobi Desert, the Plateau of Tiber. Elizabeth Bishop has Labrador, and Newfoundland, owing to her Nova Scotia origins….

Warring love’s flow and minds clogged Clippity clippety clop plopped On chairs and couches we sit and intone Hearts of rocks, eyes-dimmed clones There is no hope for resurrection No coming alive in the after-hours section Having done for the future our bygones On chairs and…

Hide it Throw dirt Ignore it It’s done Back in the earth Where it came from The wind Speaks Asking Why I don’t want to answer I don’t want to lie Burning Wood The fires Alight As darkness descends I feel the cool night I…

Her clothes were comfortable, she napped throughout the day. People came to visit and tried to coax a smile from her delicate lips. She felt content after feeding time.   There was much joy at what grew inside her. It was with great anticipation that…

I broke, I struggled, I strove until, I reached the other side. pain, it changed me forever. Pain never lets go of you, it always has a tight grip  on your wrists to remind  you how real, reality is.  My demons befriended pain, they conquered…

A book is a sailboat A majestic schooner, white sails plumed gallantly in the wind, racing to plunge off the edge of the world Fresh sea air invigorates, mist in the breeze. Fear and excitement etch into the back of your throat, making a taste…

The sun crisping my skin. Waves birthed on the bay, foaming at conception, breaking amongst themselves. Washing silt onto shore. The smell of damp earth and marine greens. Sand ants march over my toes; every now and then One nips audaciously at my skin. (If…

The early morning light always looks so different to me. It’s angles and tones are softer, And the shadows slowly creep away, Hiding in their corners and thickening. The early morning light always looks so different to me. The night is usually my domain. With…

Not At All TadK As Time wandered down the many paths available There was/is/could be a sense of going no where As it all red shifted about, flickering images of discrete packets of existence carved up an infinite amount of ways Pausing and looking about…