Ashen Wings

As strange as it seemed, Ash was ecstatic with the brief conversation and where it would lead. He would doubtless be awake for days, but that held its own rewards, the least of which not being the heightened focus and rushing blood he would soon feel pulsing through his arteries. That he felt sober and wide awake was an expected and welcome relief. He’d had no more than a few beers throughout the day, and one glass of wine at dinner, but he rarely had more than one drink a night anymore.

The call had come shortly after dessert. The flavour of pumpkin pie on his lips distracted him from the exact address at which his presence was expected, but to his credit, it was more time efficient to plan a route and calculate a rough ETA and get himself quickly into motion. The details would arrive on his phone within minutes, and he could set the coordinates on the GPS once he was on the move and heading north. He excused himself and said his goodbyes as quickly as he thought he could politely do so. He was still apologizing when Aine deftly slipped his coat into his hand and closed his palm around it. He turned to look at her, and when their eyes met, the reason for his sudden haste was visible between them. They often shared the feeling of mutual knowledge. It was one of the things that solidified their friendship throughout the years. If anyone could truly know him, it was Aine.

Not letting go of his hand, she leaned towards him, whispered into his ear and planted a kiss on his cheek; a kiss that set him free and cleared the way for wings spread wide to take flight. Through the black space he seemed to glide; through the door and out into the night. His vehicle barely keeping up with him as he sped on through the snow and towards the calling of his headlights. “Go!” he finally seemed to hear her breathe into him. To feel the words and her breath within his chest.

This night he would remember always. This night would come to him often in the blackness, reminding him that once triggered and released, he is indeed unstoppable.


Destiny’s Road

Twice over times, there’s been this boy. And thrice he’s been certain. Regret is experience’s attentive pupil. The once he was sure, was ignorance’s boasting. The twice, pain’s approach. The thrice has yet to reveal herself, once the licked wounds heal and his exposed heart stops its senseless feeling.

When he was a but a pup, he lived in East. Not the east we know today, but East at the top of maps. The East the rocks know and the East the plants turn towards, as the approaching dawn’s light waxes from beyond the horizon and further than dreams could then reach.

The East has always been wrought with dreams, and so our boy dreamt. Not of dancing sugared buns. Not of sheep. Not even of horse led carts or river boats. Our boy dreamt of dragons. Of chests of gold and songs and smoke. Our boy dreamt of shadows and voices and reek.

One cool spring morning the boy’s feet stung with restlessness and the yearning for adventure took his whole body by surprise. It wasn’t so much a decision to go for a walk; it was a need.

He walked from his house to the village with a heightened internal smile that turned the careless cow’s heads as he trod to nowhere in particular. He kicked his way across the crisscross roads and found himself entering a wider lane that he’d never known before. He paused there and reflected upon what he hoped he may know about this place. This was the road leading West; down from the world he knew and on towards the waning light of day’s end. This was the road that few trod, and yet, naught but grass dared grow upon. This broad forest way was said to lead to certain doom or uncertain boon, and unknown laws to awaken destiny’s known unlawfulness.

From some unlit space in his memory he heard a keen voice unleash: “only one thing is certain: surety is ignorance’s guise and wisdom’s folly.

Shielded with unsurety, the boy smiled, and stepped out upon Destiny’s Road!

Three Deep Breaths

I love your hands on me.
Fingertips, making love to my skin.
Like the first raindrops loving the earth.
Soil, raising up towards the sky.
Moaning softly, in triumphant abandon.

I love your hair on me.
Your femininity,
like soft iron on my hard heart.
How I lean towards your blade.
Giving in to your slow and steady pressing.

I love your eyes, on me.
Seeing me completely.
Gazing through my timeline.
Cooling your blood with my truth.
Drinking me in.
Your soul’s thirst erased.

Oh how I love your heart on; me.
Pumping my blood through my veins,
and life into every cell.

Your words on me, I love.
Images, flashing through me;
feeding me hopes and long lost dreams.
Filling me with sorrow and joy and laughter’s release.
Filling me with love for,

your smile.

On me.
Filling my mind with dreams.
With legends old.
With deeds brave.
With metal forged
and stone carved
and melodies.

Oh, how I love your kisses on my skin,
slipping through my slumber
and sinking me deeper into;

Your voice and laughter pelting my soul,
like raindrops on rock.
Snowflakes drifting; down.
Ice, seeping and expanding within.
Cracking my shell.
Shattering my core.
Pieces of me scattered,
as if to sow me into the earth.
As if to reap me;
mowing me down and resowing the best of.
Slowly shaping me.
Softly transforming me.
Constantly bringing out my hidden hues;
bright in your wetness.
Beautiful beneath your gaze on;

Razor Sharp Skin

I say to you, “where the fuck have you been all my life? With your razor sharp skin and eyes of silk. Did you not dream I was alive and in yearning? Could you not feel my pain throughout the years, and across the landscapes and oceans between?

And you grinned with hideous radiance as you drew your lipsticked cigarette’s last breathe. With heart aflame, I watched its essence and my own float to the ground at your feet. Your stilettos crushing me into the earth. Concrete, tapping in echo of you. Ecstasy sought. Ecstasy tasted. Faintly. Fleetingly. The tapping remained, click click clicking like crabs on the beach’s sunken rocks. Your cigarettes’ corpses resting, like tiny white skulls littering the sand around.

Nom de Plume

My wings bear my name,
and my ember within.
Lifting me higher than eyes can see.
Carrying my ears beyond reach of words.

My name holds the storm’s barrage,
to shatter watchtowers of the wicked,
and rogue waves to pound their stones into sand.

My name holds sails of hope and secret seas.

If we are to be judged,
let it be by the ships we build,
the light we share
and the fearlessness with which we stand.

Let your name be the ship you launch
and the tide you raise.

Let your name be candle wax upon tablecloth.

Let your name be your freedom, your cloak and your shield.

Let your name be your law, your land and your kin.

Quest for your name.
Court your name.
Oath bind your honour to your name.

Make love, raise children and birth worlds,
all with the beauty and worth
of your freshly forged name.

My name carries keys to doors unbreachable.

My name washes wounds
and quenches what water will not.

If one gift I could give,
it would be a name
to set the flames of your soul free
for your heart to sing.


You want words, and I want connection.

Show me your wounds
and I’ll show you victory.

Show me your light
and I’ll build ships to cross the skies of dark nights.
With sails of starlight,
powered by dreams.

I’ll build hulls to smash against rocks and ice;
and anchors to rust in the mud of our tears.
I’ll build rescue boats with songbirds perched.
Tables, for candle lit feasts,
to be set upon the shore.

And there, at the end of night,
you shall find your shipwright;

My Tongue: Salt Forged and Time Tempered

And when I finally tell you that I love you,
I know your waters will unleash themselves upon my beach.
It is not for unwant of them that I wait,
but for the burning thirst of my sand,
the relentless heat of the sun
and the majesty of your rising mist.

For when your ocean rises to engulf me,
I shall be at the mercy of your relentless sucking tide.
My shape and mass and location,
yours to command,
to push this way and pull that,
and to bear the pounding passion of your soul’s smashing.

And with the parting of your waters,
the fracture of both light and of sand shall be revealed
through salt’s forging and time’s tempering:
the crystal castles compressed
in defiant misunderstanding, stand.

Telescopes distant in awe focus
upon castles far dreamt near.
billions of light years within
the uncharted dances
of your stars yet unborn.
Stars, salt forged and time tempered.
Stars, fractured and wrought of devotion distraught.

For this I hold my tongue: for the clearing of your cosmo’s dust; collected in reverence of the astronomer’s birth.

My tongue holds back the waters.
My tongue controls time.

When I Was Alive

When I was alive, I was young and strong and pure of want and dance and tear.
When. I was alive, I was fresh as dawn’s dew in summer’s grass;
hips soaking, drip dropping down me;
socks drooping, skulking beneath slippery feet;
shoes, full of pre-pollen green, toes stuck to; dew.
So cold and so alive, when I was alive.
I touched you like only songs sweet of birds early can bear to; do.

And stealing through the field of love’s waking
and young tongue’s seeking and finding.
Oh how I grew and oh how you glistened.
I listened and you threw yourself upon me.
“Tell me that you love we; too…”

And when I was alive, I was so completely alive,
even the stars seized their singing and turned,
to shed their shining upon me and; you.

Till My Ashen Bones Lay

There is nothing to say except nonsense.

There’s nothing more wise than madness and smiles.

There’s no one I’d rather spend time with
than those who can tell me stories
of nothing in particular
and with passion or love or laughter
on their lips and in their eyes.

Conviction is ignorance
and nonsense is truth from the mouths of babes.

If you ever tell me anything,
tell me that all you know is that you know nothing,
and then I will believe every word you speak
till my ashen bones lay to rest
beneath endless layers of dust.

Then, you will be the voice in the darkness.

Then, when the world is on fire,
I will tell you my secrets
and show you my wounds.

Forever Born Upon the Sea of Sexuality

Forever born upon the Sea of Sexuality.
The intensity of Her threatens to destroy me,
yet She gives constant birth to he who I am.

The sun pushes up
through the steaming waters
and warms my moulting soul;
dries my body
and shapes my fresh frame.

And again the Sea’s neverending rage returns;
stripping me of my identity;
swallowing all but my love for Her,
for it is within
the blackness of Her storms
that I am most alive
and prepared to survive Her fury.

Again the sun appears
and again a new and eager storm is upon me
and again I am born upon the Sea!

My wrathful and unforgiving Mother;
ceaselessly giving birth
to who I am.
To who I was.
To who I will be.

Know You Are Beautiful

There is no great discovering to lead us to happiness.
There is no place or person or time.
Trying to be happy is a pursuit in itself,
and pursuits lead to disappointments.

We must just be.
Just be as we are,

We are a thousand times more beautiful
than our fears would have us believe.

We are the Warriors of Dreams
escaping daylight’s siege.

Know that You are worthy.
Know that our time with You is cherished.
Know that we are inspired by You
and cry for Your suffering.
Know that You are as beautiful as You feel
in the arms of those You love.

For it really is You reflected.

That beauty is You.

My Words Are My Wings

My Words Are My Wings

(Mirrors of Souls Perceived)

If I took the time
and filled this space
to tell you who I believe myself to be,
would you find fool or monarch?

And would that be mine light or thine?
Are we not reflected in the mirrors of all souls perceived?

Is it the shape of the object
or the light reflected which determines its colour?
Are they separable?
Are you, separable from light?
Would you survive; formless in the void of isolation?

(Clip Not My Tongue)

Some days I’m of noble blood, living on foreign beaches.
Drinking fine wines and keeping company majestic.

Other days I’m homeless and hoping that next meal will soon find me.
I am my slave ancestors.
Beaten. Helpless.
Stolen. Used.

I’m a poet.
The truest I know how to be,
in my life and love and pain constant yet curving.
I’m a poet in my (cowardly) cravings.

Today I am free of you and I and all we’ve ever dreamt I ought to be.
For in my words are my wings
and you will clip not my tongue nor my fingertips.

If there be a constant in my life,
it’s that change will soon be upon me,
stealing me away to days high and days low;
ushering me nobly;
dragging me through dust.

Dream Technician.
Wanderer and Artisan of Worlds.

Revealer of Souls’ Truths.
Smith of Stars Unborn.

Mariner of Skies Limitless.
Beholder of Self Unfolding.

Originally wrought for the About section of my page. Too fun not to share.
If I could fuck words, believe me I would.

Water in Your Hands

What I am, is water.

Hold me, just right, and I will mould in form to your very hands.
Once in your grasp, I am yours to drink.  Refresh yourself with my essence.
Cleanse yourself with me, and I will carry away your stains.
I am yours for as long as you hold me.

Spill me to the earth, soiled, and I shall join the clouds and rain upon you,
giving life to your crops, swelling your rivers and filling your wells.

Forests, I have raised. Forests, felled to house younglings.
Felled for space.  Cut for comfort.  Gone for good.

Mountains, I have devoured.
Pounding them into sand, and washing them away to the beaches
of islands yet unborn.

The blood of the slaughtered I have removed,
Feeding it to young grass, to strengthen the horses
which carry you to freedom; to new lands.

IMG_20140704_065005Please, respect me.
I am a precious resource.
I am life; yours and mine and the world’s.
I am in the dust of cultures long forgotten.
I am in the ashes of fires and in the blood of wars.
I am immortal.  And fragile beyond comprehension.
I am in the air which fills your lungs.

Mistreat me and I shall recede to whence I came.
Silently.  Peacefully.  Without warning or return.

Retain me and see your dams smashed for my resolve to break free of you.
Empires erased could not prevent my escape.
Without me, you are nothing.  Without me you are dust.

Expose me to the cold and I shall raise myself as a monstrous wall,
advancing across the frozen landscape, gouging out the earth before and beneath me.
Starving out both hunter and hunted.

I await you.  I seek you.  I am in longing to belong to your blood.
I yearn to take shape of your every vein, muscle, bone and breath.
I will make you what you are and always have been.

Spit me, piss me and bleed me and all I touch shall be of your dominion.

Please. See through me.
See how I shine for you, reflecting the light of the surrounding skies.
Blue as the eyes of babes.
Black as the moonless and starlit night; how I shine in the darkness for you.

Hold me in your hands,
and feel me in your lungs.

Dark Visitors in a Lighted Wood

He sits alone; as he fears, yet as he chooses. He is afraid this feeling will last till the end of his days; the eternity that is left for him to fear. He fears tomorrow now, loathes it. He wonders if he will ever again enjoy the heat of the beach with its dark and blinding sun and the sound of moving sand. He fears the eternal joy of those that no longer surround him; If only they too were in constant pain, then perhaps he could do something to relieve them. He would not leave them to rot with the lies of love forever echoing in the empty houses of their lost souls. As the world mercilessly churns he can taste his fear polluting his soul, twisting paradise into endless isolation.

The days are eternal.

His own thoughts scare him. He wonders where did such venom begin and will it never end. He is truly in awe of the evil curses uttered in the woods, giving voice to the true demons and their desire to spill both life and love on the forest floor. His disbelief prevents him from praying to his lost god(s) for the return of his clean spirit and the expulsion of these strange new visitors from black realms that open his thoughts to them. Never did he dream he could pray for such harm and hates his own mind in its deepening sickness. He wonders if his own death would appease the hateful bastards within, or would he be cursed to ceaselessly walk the earth, tasting his fear and watching for the return of light.

The Spirit of a wooded Mountain once revealed Its face to him and the flight of waking birds was the voice of beauty as She danced the sun over the hills and into being. He will be mindful of the Wise and Beautiful Ones when he next enters Their space, treading softly in Their land of light and fortune. He will pray to Them, asking for Their endurance and company. They are true wisdom. They bore witness to the distant people in their time of waking. They will help him to see that these evil thoughts are no more than fungus feeding on that which rots and that they too serve their purpose and bear fruit in time.

The days ahead will bring an end to hard truth, and the wind will blow in our favour.

Spring of 2011 – My first piece of writing since childhood, I believe, and my only piece for awhile afterwards.  Exorcism is hard and liberating.  Identifying our demons is key to understanding our shadows.