love, masculinity, poetry, women


There are those

Who you no longer see

But feel

Not ghosts nor enemies


Unresolved questions

Made into a smile

A light which is with me


And those who wish

Malign influence

Are denied it

For I have been walking


To witness only

My own events and learn

As much as celebrate

I feel the well wishes

The disdain

But bear them lightly

As their wisdom left marks

As guides to better states



His sorties

Conducted under

Cover of darkness

Collating possessions

Small errands

Visits to allies

In territory

Alien and dismal

To him

The small, worn allure

Has faded

He knows better places

Exist, mostly within himself

And there were distant voices

Who called him to his own


Away and towards himself

Sees people abraded by the

Slow grind of life here

He is an ambassador

Holding a tear shaped bottle of

Light within himself

The spiders of his earlier weaknesses

Held at bay

So he enters

Gathers and then returns

Back to cool forest

The same burst of warmth

When he sees her again

The only thing he threw

To the lava

Was his bullshit

And he knows

He’s been quite the orc

In his time

But there’s no shame

In working towards

A throne

A crown

A kingdom

Where the sun doesn’t burn

beauty, life, love, poetry, women

Home is a person

I won’t miss the quiet


But my friends are with me

Discarded the things

Which didn’t give me joy

Always travelled light

But it is a great leap forward

But I’m not so much landing

As ascending

She makes me want to be better

In a way that

Resists the weak parts

And I’ve grown stronger

If a bit slower

But look

I’m heading up

Somewhere else

But still


Is a person

After all

poetry, Uncategorized

free one

Despite the last few months of conversation,

sifting through the wreckage,

things came up between them

which made him sick to hear.

He had confessed and admitted to everything,

which made it easier to bear.

Allowed her to speak in cold terms of how he had hurt her

Although she was incensed by his betrayal,

the years between themĀ 

lent things a degree of equanimity

What hurt her the most

Was the other woman wasn’t even that attractive

Which stung him a little

As the truth always did

Swelling membraneous regrets

From the anaphylaxis of betrayal

But she had desired him

And, together he tells her

How he loved her more than the other woman

Embarrassed but stronger for confessing

How miserable it had made him

So fleeting a pleasure

Such sustained miseries to pay for

He does not expect sympathy

His weaknesses left their mark on him

But he’s a better man

(Or he’s trying to be)

What stuck in his throat

Was she had gone to his house

Told his former wife all this

And never

Even gave

Her real name

(It meant ‘free one’)

But he knew how much,

In the end, it had cost him,


But not quite


Were he a preaching man,

He would caution against such vagaries

But he lacks the faith

To convince anyone beyond his own halting steps

Towards truth and if no one else thanks him,

He’s grateful to never think, speak or act

In such ways as to draw such things

To him again.


beauty, love, lust, poetry, sex, women

In some small way

Quiet inside

come to you

Breathe you in

Nose against the nape 

Of your neck

Hands wandering around

Gruff chuckles

Giggles joining

Nothing I would call force

But a playful wrestle

Mark you in some small way

Make sure you know

Who you belong to

beauty, love, men, poetry, women

Vicious Angels

We are atoms

In collision


Through it all

I feel you

As I go about my purpose

Through pain and hunger

Late into the night

Even as disaster looms

Like vicious angels

I remain


And in this

You surrender

Gentle animal

Kind to everyone

Implicit strength

Leaner now

But still

Tuned into

The symphony of you

I hear it

Can pluck it from silence

No matter how hard

You may try

Tear down

Or build

When it comes to you

All the same

Isn’t it?

Now shut up and come here

I want you to feel me

With a force I’m not sure

Wouldn’t leave marks

poetry, Uncategorized

garden tribute

Pain flowing

Like ink through water

Down my arm like

A needling supplicant

Awake for hours

And only the words

Hold it at bay

I save my opinions of some

Walled gardens

Made of words

Some are tributes

Rendered in kindness

Others get barren, dead

Crime scenes

Which is which,

Well, it depends

On how well you

Treated the gardener

Before I picked up my tools

And began to write

But even those

Who want my scorn

Seldom get it

Because they receive instead

The gift of my blithe indifference

Not even willing to draw a sickened breath

To wish harm

Upon them.