How long can wood burn before it loses the ability to give light, to heat, to elevate cold water to boiling point? How long before the embers scattered among the ashes are capable of sparking anything again, even if it’s a little, tiny flame? Can the winnow of just my feeble breath bring life back to one burnt too often? Even as my own heart struggles, it seems to hurt more seeing him suffer through this period of emotional-mental tug of war unleashed on him. The silence, the pain and yes, the bitterness held in stoically, brokenness kept out of sight but oh so on the mind!

Come. Lay your head on my chest. Let me cradle your face. Rest here awhile. My words may not suffice to remove your pain, my touch may not lessen your anger nor will my actions ease your doubt of the future. For however long you will allow it, take solace in my softness, permit my smile light up some small section of your soul. I will be your shield for now against the cruel arrows of putrid decay of goodness. See in me the hope of a thousand battles fought. See that I still stand tall. I will never let you falter, my friend, because in you I see myself.

Wonder fills those tired, bloodshot eyes. They look at me and question, ‘why?’. You say you are not one to be cared for or about, you have nothing to be envied. Ah, but that is where you and I see differently, dear heart. I see that which you don’t. You see repeated failure and loss. You see one weak because you gave too much too fast. I, on the other hand, see a man brave enough to bare his heart. A man courageous enough to allow himself to feel after hurt shattered him. I see a man working on himself to understand things that happened and who had enough self-dignity to walk away from abuse. I see a man man enough not to need to be a warrior twenty four seven and able to put away his sword when need be to embrace the sacred feminine and revel in the arts. A man who, if he would allow the embers to spark once again into a fire, would burn up the world with the brilliance of his mind and the strength of his character. A man who personifies Imago Dei. A man who I call a hero.

has my wanderlust returned

alongside my wonder lust?

after years of walking the wilderness –

it is a life changing experience

‘they’ say usually nodding their heads


I’m left to wonder if lust is truly good

when I’ve been told all my living days

it is bad, evil, of satan.

but still.


I lust to know

I lust to feel

I lust to experience

anything, everything.

I lust for tender touch

I lust for gazes that say volumes

I lust for words abandoned

of propriety and niceness

I lust for wanton actions

producing gasps and breaths

caught between heart and tongue

I lust for the touch that soothes my soul

I lust for fingers to ignite in me

within me a fire so ferocious

I burn from my lust back into my lust

brightly exploding light onto dark

courageously burning the very

strongholds they placed upon me

to hold me down

no lines drawn

no pretty little boxes

I burn freely, joyously


in hours I am a pile of embers

gloriously satiated

blissfully lusting

for more.

smoky lips

rising from the pyre


he came in with

a bright smile

a sun shedding

light into her darkness

he lit a match

under and inside


a spark burst

into flames

her world set

on fire

she felt their tongues

torch her

her love burned

as he watched

gently at first

with time


savagely fanned

the flames

her desire burnt bright

lovingly, joyfully


the flames climbed higher

beyond her reach

beyond her control

wildly passionate

whipping warmth

flames became fire

the unbearable flickering

of desire

became a blisteringly

scorching blaze of deceit

he warmed his coldness

at her flames

his blood hot again

 he turned away

from the unbridled heat

and walked away deliberately

without a second glance

 the bonfire

she idealised

showed its true self

as a pyre

and in spite of the flames

she shivered


I call you mine

not to possess

not to own

I call you mine

because you are

my walls down

my muse and my light

my weekly fortress

my desire’s thirst


the smile on my lips

the blush of my cheeks

the nook for my snuggles

the taste taster of mystery dishes

the gentle bugbuster who

is more a bug handler

the deliverer of unexpected flowers

the co-lover of salted caramel gelato

the words to my poetry

the warmth to my soul

my reminder to breathe

my heart filled

you are mine.

11.51 p.m. November 17, 2015  Madison Park, Seattle