Not The Moon

You can rearrange the Stars
Scatter the flakes of light
Across the oceanic unknown
Throw the whole thing in retrograde
Letting the moon pull through its phases
And the waters swell towards the satellites
But be wary of laying blame
Of the actions of your own hands
On celestial choreography
Feel the pull of a force
More grand that you will ever grasp
But hold tight the gift of knowledge
That the steps are yours to take


What if I told you this was everything?
Every secret that stuck to your tongue,
Was all for this?
All your falling
All your flying
All your firecracker crying
All your saying
"Now is not the time."
You don't have to begin
By getting it right.
But dare to begin
What needs to be done.

And when you're sitting in the thick of it,
Second thoughts holding doors for the third.
Quicksand and Apathy
To be anything but perfect
The fear that stalls you before you can start
The theory of gravity.
You don't have to begin
By getting it right.
But dare to begin
What needs to be done.


A sacred shade of blue
Resides in the edges of the atmosphere
And the deep ocean trenches
Where the blues pull towards black
And the unknowing becomes as
Desirable as the knowing.


I used to only sing about broken hearts
For a time, that was the only emotion strong enough
To come surging out of my bones in the shape of a song.
I used to only sing about being lost
Only because when I was lost
I knew I would feel at home behind steel and wood
Rumbling spruce and shaking strings.
I used to only sing about what was gone
An attempt to touch a ghost
And make solid what was just smoke and ash.
Now I try to sing of truth
The soaring as much as the sorrow
The expansive space between being alone and being lonely
The exaltation of simply being.


You are not made of metaphors. You are not excuses or insecurities, fears or follies. You are not trapped inside the empty words they offered when they said they couldn't stay. Maybe you are a maybe. A word constantly floating on the currents of endless possibility while remaining steadfast in the ability to change its own mind. A word that is neither locked in the dark closet of No, nor tied to the table of Yes with chest wide open and heart beating wild for everyone to see. A compass that is free to point its arrow in any direction and to walk that path for days or decades, and then maybe, just maybe, decide to turn around. 

My Favourite Firecracker

Here's to my favourite firecracker
Fuse too short and fire too bright
You exploded before we were ready
Left us running for cover
Instead of looking up
Eyes wide and mouths open
In breathless awe of your beauty

Here's to my favourite shipwreck
Cracked timber and sunken treasures
Every sailor leaning in to the siren song
Blind to the rocks
To the waves and the shore
Eyes closed and lips curled
Singing together as the waters rose

Here's to my favourite slow dance
An oceanic rock from side to side
With no care of the sounds from the radio
Moving to our own rhythm
The one that we made together
Eyes soft and lips brushing
Wishing the song would play all night

Great Poems

We are all great poems.
Epic odysseys of free verse slam poetry sonnets.
Spine tingling stories of barbed wire broken hearts
And patchwork passion plays.
Each breath a word on the page
Of the book on the shelf
In the Great Library.
Evenings in and wandering road trips.
Hope filled glances and bad horror movies.
Forgotten friends and hospital waiting rooms.
Holding hands.
Stolen kisses.