27 October 2013

A long vacation

The water is bluer there
Where the air is filled with mango juice.
We dipped our souls in Caribbean sands
Like fountain pens soaking up ink.
I took her hand and we drifted out to sea
Never to be
The same.

26 October 2013

he looked outside the door to find

he looked outside the door to find
he'd lost his mind
when it went he did not know
it had to go
where it went is even stranger
he hoped it was in no true danger
for the world is wide from where his mind once stood
being lost forever wouldn't come to any good
he looked again outside to find
he'd lost his lost his mind

The Magician

Yes, I have tricks in my pocket;
Yes, I can make things disappear.
Can I borrow your gold locket?
No, have no fear.
I may have tricks in my pocket,
But your locket
Will be safe in here.

Yes, I have something up my sleeve;
Yes, I can slip things out of sight.
All you must do is believe—
No, have no fright.
I may have things up my sleeve,
But believe
And it will come out all right.


02 October 2013

Fun or Fur?

These days
I am speaking in hyperboles and clichés
Much to my dismay.
Is it to want to put these drugs into my veins
Or to hold my gains?
I can
Remind myself that I am merely a human,
Simply lost again.
Lost her,
Or has she stayed with me and only gone to blur?
Is it fun or fur?

25 September 2013


Receive the good news with the bad,
Even though it seems to be mostly bad news out there,
This scary world we live in.
But we must be brave;
Fierce in the face of Against All Odds
Whether it's gods or God or universe or
Nothing you prefer.
This world is as real as we make it be,
But my reality depends on your realness, so be
That's the deal we make with each other.
I'll be real if you're real and she's real and he's definitely real.
The adjectives are subjective;
Just don't objectify me.


14 August 2013

Lonely nights

We did this already; we had this time to be apart.
We started separate, though still together; we had a separate start.
Who draws these lines and makes us move? What is this force?
What makes you go and holds me here? It's you, of course.
But am I selfish for wanting you,
Or has your selfishness become my due?
It's your right to be this way; but what about my rights?
Has everything I've ever done led to these lonely nights?

09 August 2013

in memoriam Valerie Ford

She was called the Tie-Dye Queen, and
She was the one who put two I's in Isaiah.
She said nappies instead of diapers (and when
She said diapers she used three syllables) and
She got beet-red when we said bloody, as in bloody this and bloody that.
She lived in a house on a lot next to the church
She attended with us who loved the way
She read the scriptures and made announcements.
She sang in the choir and brought her rainstick.
She led the church ladies in crafting kits for kids, and
She compelled us to turn in our blunt scissors.
She was called the Tie-Dye Queen because
She tie-dyed anything the dye would take to.
She tie-dyed tablecloths and tapestries;
She tie-dyed clothing pieces and pastors. In this way,
She coloured her world. You could say (and should say)
She coloured her world with much more than mere dye.
She brought humour and wit and grace as
She brought life to our church and community.
She was a bringer of life and the spirit.
She will be missed. Lord, will
She be missed! as we continue in this world
She made so much brighter by her presence. Indeed,
She will be missed and remembered, knowing
She carries on in heaven now, and it should not surprise us if
She tie-dyes the very clouds to red green blue yellow orange purple and all
       the colours in between.
She was, after all, the Tie-Dye Queen.

05 August 2013


What a modern age. We nearly live in a post-marital time, where children born out of wedlock are common and the marriage that does get entered into is broken as easily as fine glassware. What does it mean to be married? It used to be this solemn vow that two people made to never part, that sanctified and solidified a bond between these two people stronger than death. When did our words become so fragile, so changeable?

I suppose we shouldn't generalise; there are plenty of marriages out there that work, where children are born into happy families instead of uncertain times. (Are there any certain times?) And marriage doesn't have to be all about the children. There's another thing—love—that's meant to keep people together.

And love does. Love exists. Love makes us do the crazy stuff that we'd always said we'd never do but, when you put it in the context of being in love, you get a different perspective and suddenly you're taking the leap. Love gives us hope when there shouldn't be any, gives us a reason to get up in the morning. So when that love is challenged, or disrespected, or thought of carelessly, sure, we get a little agitated. It's not the way things were meant to be. This isn't what we signed up for.

One thing is for sure: there can be no selfishness in love. Love itself should be selfless, and marriage, by extension, should be the most selfless thing out there. When we start to act selfishly in marriage, we start to take away the very foundation of our marriages. We start to say that we, our selves, are more important that other's selves, when marriage is meant to guarantee that, while you're looking out for her, she's looking out for you. (Or he, or ze, or it, or however people want to identify in this gender-neutral age.) That's what the contract is. "Love one another."

Pain and sorrow, loss and want
Are storms that we can weather,
As we can with joy and hope
And love; that is, together.

03 May 2013


When we drink, we grow. It's something Shelby knew but couldn't place as she stared at the pink punch in the absurdly crystal bowl next to the crudités and caviar.

This wasn't her place, among heiresses and stockbrokers, and certainly not lamely standing before a bowl of champagne and sherbet, what passes for punch in this country. All hopes of her meeting a dashing European had been dashed when she noted that all of the male guests had a plus-one and a ring to prove it. Instead, she just took up smoking and was discussing the subtle difference between menthols by Camel and Marlboro when a dark fellow said something.

He was talking to someone else, but the accent was strangely familiar like that dream she'd had in Spain about a boy from Tuscany who taught her how to pick grapes from a vine. "Just like that," he'd said, staring deeply into her soul with crystal blue eyes like those you'd make a punch bowl from if you were some evil dictator who yearned for crystal bowls made from the eyes of Italians.

But she digressed.