new look

September 2021 was the last time I posted. In these little baby steps in returning to writing more, I thought I would mess around with a new look for the website. Not sure that this will be the version that I settle on but it will do for now. Sunflowers are my favorite flower (next to roses) and after such a long hard (and very grey) winter here in Ontario, Canada, I need to see blue sky every time I visit to post.

As the days move on I will likely find more photos from the archives to share but will mainly focus on keeping everything simple and ‘clean’ looking. I will write more about this later, but two years of lockdowns with this pandemic has proven to me that I can live with simplicity. I can live, not just survive but thrive in it. More reflection to come on that soon.


hopping a barbedwire fence

Many years ago, I had the privilege of being part of a writing group called Diving Deeper. There were many writers from all over the world who gathered together to talk about writing, about going deeper into our story telling, and diving into the places we really didn’t want to write about. Being able to write, share and get to know this group of writers was a very special time for me both as a writer and as a person. It was with this group I learned about distance, about trying not to write about something personal for example, that was traumatic or intense for a few years, sometimes as long as five years because the time between will help you to be able to move past some of the raw emotions tied to the event. I think this concept must have seeped into my soul because it has been a long time since I have like writing anything at all.

In fact, it has been two years maybe more since I even attempted to keep a journal of any kind. Daily writing has been very difficult for me to do, like running straight into the barbed wire instead of hopping over it like a graceful gazelle. I have tried to write even a few lines every day but it never lasts for more than day or so. I have been thinking about why that is today. I think it has a lot to do with the dramatic and drastic changes that the pandemic has brought to not just my life, but to everyone’s (the global scale overwhelms me to think about). My recent return to working in the office is also dramatic change from working in relative isolation in my apartment for the past 2 years. The pandemic of course is not over but protocols and mandates are changing or being lifted. I think that it has all been too intense and too immediate for me to be able to get the distance I need to be able to write about any of it. At the same time, I need to write about it. At least some of it. Maybe all of it.

I am not big on grand declarations. This one is not meant to be one of them (although it seems like it is growing into one) but it is a starting point. Like hopping a barbed wire fence when you have a niggling thought in your head. There was a time when I couldn’t stop writing. There was so much buzzing around in my mind. I don’t know if I am going to be able to dive into anything. I am not sure if anything I write now, whether it is fiction or non-fiction will be possible, but I feel an inner push to try. Maybe it is a desire to get some balance back into my life, the fire I hold for writing or maybe something entirely different, but I am waking up in the middle of the night thinking about writing. That is usually a pretty good sign to get back to it. There are stories percolating which have been at a low boil for almost a hundred months now. They are starting to beg to be written. Not only are the stories are asking for attention, but poems, thoughts and dreams are asking to be recorded. I can’t even remember the last time a poem has woken me up or made me stop in the middle of doing something so that I could write it down, but it has been happening. It is good. Not that I have actually listened and written anything down yet, but it is good that the feeling has returned.

All this to say that I plan on writing more, soon. What will arrive? I have no idea. If nothing arrives, I have a couple of notebooks filled with fragments of poetry and stories that I could type out. The little writing that I have been doing has been handwritten. We will see what happens. I may even write about what the past two years have been like for me. I have really resisted the idea of writing about what pandemic life has been like, and what my personal experience has been. I am not sure that it will be at all interesting for anyone else to read but I have never let that stop me from being able to write for myself. I think I need to do that, write for myself. I had a niggle when I just typed this… write for myself. I have repeated it three times now so I really must do it.  

Anyway, more to come.



a part of me
remains unchanged
in the time
we have known
each other

your reflection
a drop
to meet the calm, cool
lake water

moments wrapped 
in layers
like pebbles rolling
in endless waves

I am there
that part of me
that has always
been tumbling

You are there
in those rolling ripples
the ones you made
through my life
with simple words
with love
and I am 
no longer unseen



like a fly crawling
across the screen door
on a hot August afternoon
time passes
in slow plodding steps
when you are gone

I listen to the cicada scream
in the trees
the heat of the day grows
as I coax another minute
on the clock to stumble
into the past

you are never far
from my thoughts
still I count the minutes
the hours
the days
until I hear your voice
knowing I only have
to close my eyes
to see you 
open my heart
to feel you
open my arms
to hold you


do I begin

along these empty lines
to unfold the days
lay them out on the desk
in carefully crafted phrases
wind them in delicate circles
around my body
tucked into a thousand pieces of paper
waiting for the north wind
to catch them through the window
with hope
in the fresh crisp air
days stretch over rooftops
long lines left by sunsets 
and shadows
waiting for the sky 
to change
dust collects on shelves
decades old
while I sit in the half light
to whispers 
and heart beats
holding joy 
before it fades


la 2021

turn the dial

turn the dial
as the sun passes
the window
orange glow
soup heats on the stove
I stretch my arms
to wrap around
the empty space
empty embrace
before me
fluorescent light 
distorts my reflection
lines point
in different directions
around the eyes
don't know where to look
to find the truth
which line to step along
or trace
night creeps up
onto the windowsill
perched just outside
looking in


la 2021


lines on the page
drawn with a careful hand
outlines move
in slow curves
to the centre
crossing over
in unexpected intersections

blank pages slowly fill
colour pulled by sunlight
sneaking through cracks

we are okay alone
in the corners of our soul
together is better
when the lines meet

la 2021

your voice falls

your voice falls
over me
like honey
from a spoon
held high enough
to slip down 
to cover
to soothe 
to calm

I breathe
for the first time
not realizing
I had held my breath
for years

breath comes
dressed in laughter
in tears
in healing
in freedom

an unintended gift
not understood
it does not matter
now that the cage door
is open
I stretch beyond
what I bowed to
and gather 
torn pieces
in my arms


la 2020

the pause after the end

the pause after the end
leaning into another beginning

that place
I want
to step into it

fold my body
fold my heart
fold myself
to curl around you 
to hold you close
to me
and be held
beyond the edge
of myself

like a thousand steel needles
I fear
if I close my eyes
I am lost
bound and torn
into slim ribbons
of existence

I hold myself out
to where dreams thrive
and follow me
like music
through the trees
ask for nothing
in return

just a pause

la 2020

I have let these threads

I have let these threads
weave between us
in loose and fragile patterns
that complicates itself
in the futility of existence

I go
and return
to you

as the sun passes the window
pulling light into corners
where it has not 
before leaving

I wake
and sleep
not moving 
in this isolation
what needs 

I have let these threads
weave between us
in loose and fragile patterns

I have let these threads

la 2020

I have not loved you

I have not loved you
in the first 18,471 days
I have known you
not once

I have not felt 
a tenderness 
towards you
or felt compassion
in seeing your reflection
or cared for you
before another
not once

I have not walked
through my soul's estate
wondering what I
could do to care
for you more

but now, 
here we are
in conversation
for the first time


la 2020

182 days

one hundred 
and eighty two days
blurred together
like paint smeared on canvas
like a photograph 
left too long in the sun
like gibberish dreams 
that fill the night
nothing makes sense
silence binds isolation 
with threads
left dangling, untended
to knot in the early fall winds
dances on the edge
with uncertainty
avoidance brings inspection
and distraction by the hand
but I... 
I sit with you, love
and wonder
what you
will teach


la 2020