Too soon I speak, a victim of my passions, swept away in the tides of dreams that may never be; I illuminate life with a flame unchecked, a soul untempered by what is: whispers into echoes rise and upon my words I fall too late.


Between this and that I am torn, caught in a moment passing from then to now                         to then and back again, while resolve waxes and wanes between thoughts and impulses rendered obsolete by indecision.

An End

Time in my hands is temporary, all I have is now, no future promised by men or gods except the one that ends; and here in light and breath is the freedom of being bound to this moment and holding it until it passes.

Sanitarium Magazine Issue #8

Sanitarium issue #8 is out now, available through Amazon in print and e-reader formats. I contributed a couple reviews to this issue, one of 'Whistable' by Stephen Volk, a must-read story of any fan of Hammer films and especially of Peter Cushing, and a review of the classic story 'The Willows' by Algernon Blackwood, one... Continue Reading →

Taking Flight

this moment perfect, untouched awaiting expression through reflection of things we can't see this place of being resonant in the waking of mind and spirit and the freedom that comes in this moment with you


An hour passes,-or was it me that moved?-and nothing changesthat hadn’t already;but for the simplicity of time,elegant and harsh,I’d have no conceptof being stranded here.


Weakness plagues me,wearies my soul,warns me ofwhat is to be,what is yet to come;a while though,I’ve yet to go,a way to travelbefore my walk is done,but these wounds I’ll carryas worry haunts meand weakens my resolve.Weep not though, norwish me well, forwhat I have andwhat I amI have made through thework of my own hands.


We walk through valleys in the shadow of mountains while seeking to rise above what we are, oblivious to what is right there; but if our eyes be lifted away from the ground in search of the sun we might know the sight of what lies ahead and not the path others have worn.


Uncertainty consuming, a conflagration of doubt consummating a marriage of distress and distraction causes the spirit to falter and slip away; an unwinding of the ties that bind, unintended and unwanted releases all sense of security, all for an unwelcome distance between poet and muse.

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