poetry, silence, stoicism, strength, women

Filed under silence

I will keep

All our secrets

But not dwell on them

Too often


Like sips

To moisten the lips

But there is a beast

Which knows no restraint

And there are people

Monsters who would find

Meat and marrow

In releasing him

So, curation

Falls to a tender, attentive


Filed under silence

beauty, masculinity, poetry, stoicism

Another Round

I acknowledge the exhaustion


This burden of performance

Relinquished after

Before the show

Remove the war paint

Unbuckle the armour

For a time,

Feel each ache and concern

Let them stretch and walk around

Then away

Because I ask nothing of sympathy

Just a moment to contemplate

Check my gut and say

Sometimes I don’t always have

The solution

But, always, I am the solution,

Spectacular when I’m inspired

To be so

But the day calls

Let me know if you are well

The game begins

Another round

And the die is warm

In my palm

masculinity, poetry, stoicism, women

Other Rooms, Other Times

Some things

Are taken to other rooms

At other times

Like tea ceremonies

Relief like peeling the skin

Of an orange with your thumbs

An anguished strain

Taken to other rooms

Because no one sees tears

And thinks better of them

Outside, everyone

Pukes up their slightest feelings

Invites you to look

At the intestinal mandala on the pavement

Proclaims it a sign of sensitivity

Virtue as they slap palms

Against the smooth surface

Of the tower they climb

But I renounced

My worship

Of furtive Gods,

You cannot lose

A game you do not


And as the victims form a tower

I go to other rooms

Shed a tear for what might have been

What was lost

In the fire



stoicism, Uncategorized, writing

quiet rock

The pages are done

Writing ahead

A quiet flurry of

Activity as your soft breath

Whispers of rest calling

Letting you sleep

Whilst I attend to my purpose,

This part of me

The certainty of self

Dutiful and oftentimes

Holding in the giddy sweeping

Boyhood we never relinquish

And still the sight of you

Brings it to the surface

Like blood underneath

Skin struck with a telling blow

But I am the rock

Soft only to your touch

But steadfast and I wonder

If it blunts my appeal

But I know no other way

Than this, the purpose and

Its strength, the sustenance

And my goals, polished but not


You alongside them

And so, pages done,

I wait for you to awaken

A sleepy smile

And here comes the rush

All over again.

anxiety, beauty, creative writing, grief, loneliness, love, masculinity, maturity, nature, passion, poetry, sex, stoicism, Uncategorized, women, writing

The End Of The Affair (Quote)

I loved this film, beautifully filmed and devastating. This scene struck me in particular.
Love doesn’t end, just because we don’t see each other.
Maurice Bendrix:
Doesn’t it?
People go on loving God, don’t they? All their lives. Without seeing him.
Maurice Bendrix:
That’s not my kind of love.
Maybe there is no other kind.
art, bath, beauty, creative writing, desire, emotion, erotic poetry, loneliness, love, lust, man, masculinity, passion, poetry, psychology, seduction, sensuality, short fiction, short stories, silence, social media, stoicism, strength, Uncategorized, wisdom, women, writing

Reflections in two mirrors

He sent them to be seen by her. That he had tangible proof of his commitment to his purpose and his growth. Each session, each rejection of easy but costly temptation was there in the heft of his pectorals, the lines and striations in his hip flexors and the way that the softness around his jawline was disappearing. He loved the reaction, knowing that she carried the coiling heat of want within her. A talisman against the bland sweep of days. He could not fake the look in his eyes, in a moment sourced in purest expression of his primal, sexual self. Such awareness and acceptance was rare, he had denied it before, but now he was comforted and protected by it.

She struggled with it. She knew the angles to offset the parts of herself that remained distasteful to her. Her body rebelled with the marks of time, but his reaction cast its  magic over her. A litany of informed praise, fuelled by want rather than need. Through him, she saw herself and it rubbed raw against everything else around her. A sweet pain, an eroticized grief that in its rejection, left deep scars that only he would be able to heal.

Now the mirror, the chain of static images connects them both and they pretend it is not there for the sake of sanity.

It remains though, and it would take so little yet so much to pick it up again and feel its comforting, powerful weight.

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Trials lie in wait

On every corner

I hold within

A spark of purpose

I am earth, air, fire, water

And all things

Within it


By anything

Beyond will

And purpose.

Each quiet hour

Before dawn

Pen makes

Love to paper

Fingers seduce

The keyboard

If you would

Find me anywhere