1 New Poem

Unanswered Question

I used to live like prophecy,
spiking winds of cold iron
whipped up when you’d come to view;

How you said we were as two rains,
hurricane, light drizzle,
but couldn’t make out who was which

How I felt as the attic keeper
with my light and scribing tools
burnt oil into dawn.

With winters spent in isolation,
figures tramping through schoolyard
snow in heavy boots , scratch worn jackets,

There was still the hope in heart
we’d live our years together
be floating points in ether,

Have little lives of patience,
grace, tea times with friends,
where outside

Storms couldn’t rend us,
where memories would tether
and chords bind until forever.

But I don’t live like that anymore.

And you were always and never,
living in shade of trees
from the storm, alone.

1 New Poem

A Long Epilogue

A passing of phones poles,
windbreak trees on winter morning,
comes draped in waning thoughts

Of how we’re all going crazy here,
in boxes moving, static,
voyaging out at dawn’s light to

Do something we scarcely remember
as having worked its way
into etchings of memory:

Springs that ran dry to drink,
words that lasted until
the flattery came out of them.

. . .

I walked until there was no deal,
no bloody shirt treaty left unsigned,
no hill left to take in anger,

And watched the snakes and sinners
perched upon the cliffs,
shedding their skin-clothes until

Born anew in summer rain,
fixed faces were above us
laughing that we would

Never see their graces again
never speak the same verses
of pale moonlight pure.

1 New Poem

Spare Parts

We were only bodies after all:
odd-shaped things that
cry, breathe, manage themselves
out the door to daylight
and tire scratchings each day.

Until the slip of nights eternal
beckons, and we go under
its graces, separating
in the abattoir our
twenty-or-so pieces of worth

From this place and next.

How strange it must be when
all is removed, shorn of hair
and meaning, tossed to oceans

When rest takes us over
and we wail no more for
lost mothers, no more for
once-great loves, no more
in the stitching spaces
we used to roam.

“They won’t remember your
innards, you see; whatever they say,
it’s just a form to fill in
with dreams, hopes, desires.”

Whatever you were was just
whatever they took from
the odd shapes and made whole.

1 New Poem

A Light Ritual

Waking noxious, to
self-washing worlds, I stood
grey, blankets piled at foot
and mess, learning to forget
which wall shadows had danced
before.

Greet the turning clocks
without envy, peace in afternoon
was the world for me,
wishing to be absent all pain,
worry, essence of abattoir
and flipped page.

Feet aflame, eyes outrunning
the pressed pavement, I looked
for thundering snows to pass
find my well-marked place to
venture

Beyond these splattered floorboard
walls, beyond picture frames
seeming to align no more
youthful faces within.

Conjure, jostle, make alchemy
of words sparking against
each other, heat and light,
blinding both, lost to
cinder.

And you ask, over and above,
what will come of the dance
this time?

I wish for always and never,
sickly lines blurring,
but do not recognize,

The champagne-rose masks.

Debut Novel Coming in 2025

 

Really happy to be able to share the news that my novel, Smaller Animals, will published in November 2025.

I just got the cover and proofs from my publisher Collective Ink earlier this month and it's the culmination to this point of a journey that started back in the summer of 2019 when I decided to take the plunge and see if I had a full novel in me. In a broader sense, I've been writing creatively since high school, in various forms, and this has been a goal I never thought I'd really reach. It's exciting, humbling and sort of unbelievable all at once.

Stay tuned for more on how to pre-order and definitely let me know if you'd be interested in connecting on this!

New Poem

 Lament for Eden

You faded the other day,
like light in Eire’s west,
retiring from beating time,
sun and sweat, closing in shutters
making a mess of bed clothes.

These were the bookshelves we left
unorganized, the tattooed skin I
couldn’t interpret, absent-minded that
I was back then.

I was innocent of it, nursing
grief wounds that came
unhealed, scabrous in time,
that you had helped sew up
lick clean, dress in
silk covering.

And how playful we were, naked,
unashamed, frolicking through
meadows, melodious, without care
for cuts a branch bramble
would give to those not
heeding.

I fell too easily then, coarse
feet against night air and
grass stain; that the trick
mirror had revealed all
was worsened from wear.

As your form turned void,
shapeless then unholy, I wept:

thinking of how we would never
again be so close to our
Garden, always so distant
from Grace, in glass highways

endless stone arches.

Announcement on Novel Publishing

 Some exciting news:

As you may or may not know, I've had a novel manuscript I've been shopping around and refining for the last couple of years. As of last week I got an offer on publishing it and I've decided to move forward with it as Tuesday afternoon. 

It will be about a year or so from now until publication, so, more details to follow but for now suffice to say that I will be publishing with the Roundfire Books imprint of Collective Ink publishers.

I'm very excited  to have this happening and will hopefully set up a launch event next year in Ottawa to share the moment with supporters.

If anyone is interested in learning more, please do not hesitate to contact me! I would love to connect particularly if you have experience in the literary world or would be willing to help with promotion or endorsements over the next little while.