Category Archives: Ponderings

would you?

if you were asked

to forget everything

you thought you knew

would you?

if you were asked

to embrace your scars

as a masterful tattoo

would you?

if you were asked

to adopt an alternate way

of viewing blue

would you?

if you were asked

lay down your swords

and stop the abuse

would you?

if you were asked

to solve life’s puzzle

using past as the clues

would you?

if you were asked

to travel along a path

others deem as taboo

would you?

if you were asked

to live in a world

with a rose coloured hue

would you?

if you were asked

to spread your wings

and aim for the moon

would you?

if you were asked

to plant your feet

until possibilities grew

would you?

if you were asked

to let your pain die

and birth life anew

would you?

if you were asked

to taste the potential

and not swallow, yet chew

would you?

if you were asked

to surrender your heart

to ultimate truth

would you?

if you were asked

to create your own destiny

would you


if you were asked

to love me

the way i love you

would you?

if you were asked…

would you? 

in complete heart

she’d been here before

turning this very corner
only to stumble
upon another sharp edge
cutting into her every truth
she knew
there’d be a hill up ahead
a climb of tiring incline
that curved gently at the crest
allowing a brief triumphant rest
before yet another slide
into more
of the flesh scoring stories
that held her life’s stride
as she traced her way
around the edges
to the familiar beat
of this puzzled heart
right back to the start
her journey seemed endless
as though she’d been placed
strategically positioned
in a much bigger game
she had her moments
of immense shame
blaming her lack of understanding
as to why she kept returning
to this blackened terrain
until today
when she doubled over
only not in crippled pain
but how this conundrum
that commanded her attention
suddenly rippled in vivid reflection
this hollowed cavern
that she’d avoided
for eternal days and nights
was never a missing piece
yet her own beautiful darkness
filling her heart
piecing her whole
in peace
This poem was originally entered into a Voella Poetry Challenge. To view it on their site, and scroll some wonderfully poetic minds, click here. Trust me, take a coffee with you 😉

Far from through

From a very young age I’ve spent a majority of my time enveloped in darkness. Glimpses of light sporadically peeking through, more as a reminder that the tunnel I’m exploring does indeed seem to have an end. Love, being the ultimate goal, caused my search to deepen beyond the flesh of life’s soils, and dig… Boy, did I dig! Throughout my journey, I’ve met demons that wore my face, as their chastising voices laced my every thought. Until I thought, no more. I surrendered. I gave in. The blackened hole that was how I knew my soul to be, completely swallowed me.
Depression claimed me. It was bliss!
I no longer needed to hide my tears, no longer needed to paint on a smile, no need to be, anything. I had found the perfect dark corner of the world. Indifference. From here, nobody could ever reach me, harm me, hurt me, kill me, love me…wait… Nobody can ever love me… Fuck! What have I done?
Yeah, it’s one thing to realise that you’ve buried yourself alive, it’s a completely different task when recognising that it’s only you that has the claws that can scrape through this cryptic labrynth that you’ve burrowed your way into over the past three decades. Where the fuck does one start? Is the beginning the last shovel of dirt i coated my mind in, or is it all the way back to the first?
Now the claustrophobia kicks in! Great! The weight of every decision I have ever made crushing my chest, even the moments that I left for others to create seem to have fallen and landed on my already suffocating breath. The universe is fucked up, and it’s all my fault! Ok, so maybe this seems a tad dramatic, but I never said depression was rational. Honestly, I believe rationality is far overrated anyway. If I let my ‘mature’ mind decide all the paths to take, where’s the room, the freedom, to learn, grow from my own mistakes?
I picked up a saying, just a few years ago, in a moment where a microphone was being shoved into the faces of my best friend and I, karaoke! No way! We both shrilled… Until, she turned to me, and said, “What would your 65 year old self say?”
So, we both skipped to the stage and belted out a tune… It was hideous. But fuck it was fun! From then on, this 65 year old me has been pretty much cross stitching me new pieces of bravery from the opposite shoulder to the little lady I have labeled ‘miss rationality’. Which one wears red, who cares? All I know, is that before I even consult with lil miss, I give the aging lady a spin and twirl. Oh the things this 65 year old woman has had me do, I’m seriously blushing at the thoughts. Perhaps when I’m her age, I’ll write about the life we shared.
All I know, is that one moment of courage is enough to start turning these retched soils over…
All I know, is this darkness that lingers, whispers, beckons my return, is just another sign for me to pick up that shiny microphone and belt out another terribly pitched tune…
All I know, is that this 65 year old self and I are far from through!

…and the journey continues…



A 15 year old boy from my children’s school committed suicide yesterday. While my heart swells with incomprehensible compassion for his family, my head is (at the risk of sounding a complete bitch) fucking sad, confused and angry!
He reached out, on facebook, and was greeted with niceties, offers of help, kindness… He didn’t take them.
What he did take, was…..nothing.
The End.
Now, I for one, have found myself in serious contemplation of ending my life, and trust me, it didn’t end with my teens…
Darkness happens…
To every being here.
Darkness is not afraid to grab hold of a strong person and break them, darkness doesn’t discriminate against riches…
Darkness is… It just is… Dark.
The thing that angers me, is the fact that this boy, will never, EVER, see the light at the end of his struggle. He’ll never be able to look at his wounds and scars, and smile to himself coz he made it, through that pain…
He’ll not meet his adult self, not share a moment of ecstatic love, not hold a baby of his own, not grow into all that he could be.
He just is…. Gone…
My heart breaks in times like these. I just wish he knew there was so very much more to see, do…
Now I’m not going to sit here and blow wind up you, by saying as soon as you decide to keep going, life magically becomes sparkly and effortless, it doesn’t. It’s hard. Sometimes so bloody hard, you can’t see straight, but fuck, it’s so worth it!

Please, if you’re reading this, just know, for every reason you believe you won’t ever reach the end of the dark, there’s a billion more as to why you deserve to greet it…alive!

Take care of that heart, it’ll thank you when you experience a moment of understanding as to why we go/grow through things like this.

Love you, always xx


One year on…

One year ago today, on old hallows eve, I picked up the keys to my new life. Since then, I have run around like a crazed woman, unlocking doors I never dreamed truly existed. The breeze that enveloped me had soft tones of a previously unmet freedom, yet, the scent that lingered, and is continuously swirling, is that of flourishing growth, broadening with intent of nourishment.
One year ago, I closed the door on a 22 year long relationship, marriage. I must admit, the entire journey has been nothing short of overwhelming.
Firstly, the man I have spent most moments of my life with, is one that has completely earned my gratitude and respect, not to mention my lifelong friendship, but more than that, he held my hand through breaths that turned into tears, that grew into years of a girl questioning her inner world. He held my heart when the darkness claimed my entirety. He held a light, knowing that one day I’d find the strength to open my eyes, see it, and seek to live in it. I’m not sure if whilst doing this, he even contemplated that once I tasted the light, I’d possibly step free of his caress, and fly into the sunset, but he did it anyway, selflessly, only to kiss me, as my feet stepped over the marital threshold, into the life I was destined to be part of. He owns my awe. I’m not sure if I’d have that kind of strength and composure. I’m so eternally grateful that he did. Does.
So, on this day, twelve months later, all I have to show for my newfound boundless space, is this cheshire grin. Not just a toothy smirk that has been painted on with my makeup, rather one that honestly, I would need to struggle in order to stop it from escaping from within. It is the most real thing I have felt, in what seems like eternity. All I have is this smile. And the man to thank is the very one that wiped away torrents of tears. So this message, is purely a letter of love, for the past, the present, and the future…. Bring it on!
Thank you M, for being my savior. You deserve every happiness this world has to offer. Love You xxx


My Poet Tree

Each of these following words, were gifted by the minds of some truly beautiful people of whom I have met, and kept, in my heart, since my time spent on twitter. They aren’t all writers, nor poets, just ones that I couldn’t bear to not have a small piece of them remain here, with me, together, in unity, for some sense of eternity.
To all those that contributed to this post, I curtsey, in complete gratitude. To those who are reading these words yet weren’t requested to participate, please don’t think you haven’t touched me, deeply, it’s just that these entries, I literarily needed.
Hope you enjoy this exquisite collection of poetic journeys I’ve had the privilege of being witness to.
These poets, were sent the same image, were not asked anything other than to gift me their words, their interpretation. And, without question, without concern, I had them flooding through my inbox within minutes. This, spoke volumes to me. As my intention was not to plug, nor promote, not to escalate their social status, not to do anything other than provide a home for their poem. And here, they shall reside.
With Love, Always x

















Please, by all means, if this image speaks to you, let your pen flow, in response, in the comment section below x

Why does it feel…

Why does it feel
like an eternity
since I kissed those lips?
When in reality
it’s merely been but a breath
that is yet to be exhaled
Why does it feel
as though my flesh
has been left abandoned?
When in reality
my limbs, my neck, my breasts
still bear bruises of your bite
Why does it feel
so long ago
that you held me close?
When in reality
the warmth of your touch
still smolders deeply inside
Why does it feel
like forever ago
that I got lost in your eyes?
When in reality
neither you
nor I
have blinked


I don’t often write of love.

I don’t often write of love.
Sure, I may occasionally pen
Directed as a suggestion, more so than a profession. Yet, who am I to suggest such a thing? For I, myself know not what it means.
Sure, I’m familiar with the term, have used it broadly in exclamation of intensity, but what confusion simply using one word can often bring. I am a mother, a grand one at that. No, not a boast, I’m just that old. My love for these beings is undoubtedly the most intense I’ve experienced. Yes, I know I’d lift a car if one happened to be between me and the moment of ones life and death. This love, is without question. But upon reflection, would I find such strength, such a will within myself, to lift said burden from crushing me? History has proven to me, no. Now that’s not to say that my future reads as bleak, not admitting I find myself unworthy, it’s simply reminding myself that’s it’s only me, that will ever stop me from feeling truly worthy, of love.
I love to write of lust! The thrusts of such carnal toe curling throes, flows so easily from my pen. Again, I wonder if it’s because I feel safer with the boundary that using the word ‘lust’ over ‘love’ implies.
To be totally truthful, ‘love’ scares the absolute fuck out of me.
That single moment of undeniable vulnerability simultaneously makes me ache in yearning to taste, and hide my heart away… in aid of what, keeping it safe? Love of ones Self, is no doubt my life’s goal. Well, a challenge so far, but a goal none the less… Love of and for another, that love that has kept the hands and hearts of poets occupied for eons of time, and will continue to do so for eternity I suspect, yes, that love, terrifies me. I mean, honestly, allowing one soul to reach in, behind every mask I adorn, strip me of all pretense, cull me of any shelter, bare me of these layers that I’ve tirelessly placed in self preservation, of protection, against breaking, against being taken, as a fool, as a love sick fool…yep…terrified!
And what of the moment of realization that on paper, the realities simply do not connect all the dots, yet the way every moment of every single day is completely drenched by thoughts of how they make you feel, complete, worthy, wanted, needed. Is that enough? Is that love? Or just another lust that wears a cloak of blood pumping greed? Does love even need to make sense? Or is that the whole purpose? It never does, never will? Is that the hurdle that must be leapt? The edge of the cliff that must be found? The jump, the fall, the not knowing if you’ll crash n burn or flap n soar?
Fucked if I know! All I’m sure of is that I don’t often write of love.
For I, myself know not what it means…


Thanks for the a•muse•ment

A slave to these letters
that pour from my pen
A novice to the script
a seeker of deeper dialect
I found an ever expansive world
that drew me back again and again

I found you

So I followed a few
deviantly delicious muses
Some to coax poetry
others biting for bruises
Tickling my linguistic tongue
you splayed your diction in succumb

So I fed

Filling my cup with your essence
drowning my core in your verse
Scrolling pages and pages
of erotically pictorial prose
And the hurts the pains the wails
of souls as lost and broken as mine

We bled

My thesaurus has never squealed
quite like she does when I tweet
Excitedly bouncing off the shelf
spreading in an arched spine relief
Glowing as she reveals her secrets
to this awed unknowing word thief

We played

Until one day
This one actually
I noticed a change in how I wrote
A choking notion provoking this note
Once there was you as a muse
Now all I see are words I can’t use

Let me show you

(If you see yourself in this passage, please know, you’ve touched me)

Just in case the darker sins I embrace
with a brave ethereal light does fright
I dance with a dandelion love
for moons miss adventures
immortality sighing scarlet velvet hues
to break the poetic downfall of snow
The carnal howl as a coyotes eye
bores into one of jaded beauty
has words escape me as they pour
into firm handed love of a distant rain
Unashamedly I read as a voyeur
more so than venetians could hide
So I dreamed in magenta tones
of lost moments cast like voodoo
Pearls of perfection left shadows
on georgian walls of silent whispers
letters hidden behind bold rocks
vying to be inked upon midnight stars

All in the need to be freed

Eye would read….

And that, is merely your @
Not a whisper
of the continuous content
you constantly infuse
between each line
with your musings
of syntactical sublime

Perhaps that influx can wait
for another day, some other time

My point here is this
my voice seems to be amiss
My pen stutters in bound binary
songs that no longer resound me
So, I bid thee
a little silent reprieve

Thank you for bearing your souls
upon a heart that will never forget

It’s just time…
to step away…
and breathe…


Time, to change

is of the essence
they say
There’s no time
like the present
is fleeting
is precious
stands still
is wasted
always changes
They say

And… ‘They’ are right…
And not…

Some times
stuck in ages
of old patterning
Take an example
or rather
Poetry books
Have you ever noticed
upon a second hand
book sale stroll
how a fictitious novel
of maybe a year
since its release
is completely dog eared
and adoringly used
yet those books
that were penned
by those poets
now passed
into historical grasp
stand tall
and pristine?

to change

In this day
and age
our daily lives
with an over abundance
of experiences
to explore
we have time
to turn one page
just one
a day….

to change

A questioning mind
has me ponder why
a novel finds
so many cupped hands
caressing spines
Is it perhaps
that the story
calls you back
to flick those delicious pages
like a world
your return
to delve
out of yours
and in to theirs?

Then what
of the poets?
Because they pen
one life per page
Does it lack
in an engage
Fall short
of a returning
dance with their words?

to change

To all
or any
that read these words
it’s poetry
that has steered you
to even know
i exist
My request
is simply this…

Next time
any time
every time…
you see a book
of heart
bleeding poetry…
and think…
Do i have time…
to let these words
my poetic thirst…

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