The White Picket Fence


her hand barbed like the rose


a magician of the street

your eyes loose her grip

like satin you slip beneath 

her steal 

and like the man 

you’ve always been told 

to be 

you take her hand 

and step towards the kiss 

for steps are made 

for those who seek 

and not a word is said 

as you play your hand 

becoming one 

the white picket fence 



dim lit corners

silhouette high

the lust of old red brick walls

stained with graffiti

of smudged desires

binged on drink drugs and empty butts

of No

Stubbed out

in the stained alley’s

where night shades the addictions

of no relief

just wants of needs taken

like stimulants

till the taken is no longer a need

but an existence

of ones survival

here families are grown

from the tattered and torn


tattooed around her thighs

a merry go round

of moths and night lights


into the bright of day

not gone

just blinded out

by the light

waiting on a corner

for the moon

to spoon with

beneath the dim lit night

The Willow : A Short Story


The Willow first hears their whispers then a slow heaving breathing in and out

Two dark shadows suddenly appear beneath the Willow, she hangs her braids

close to the ground leaning with the wind listens.

The sound of tearing and the pain comes with no warning and with such force.. The Willows grains split,

Screaming as each root that holds her steadfast is tested against the dark shadows grip, that twists and twists till the

Willows braid rips of

and then another

and another

and another ….

Will it ever stop, the  pain is unbearable, the Willow near collapse in frantic display

stretches her limbs to the wind that catches her thoughts

and runs its many fingers as a distraction through the shadows hair

The shadow suddenly stops. Reaching out to the wind without noticing
steps onto a crack in the  pathway  and out of the blue
like a shotgun of fire, Blasts Daylight
Shards of Sunlight and Glares come down hard and fierce upon the Shadows
Lighting up  the Willow till not even the blue skies of day can be seen.
As a shriek of white noise takes flight, an eyepatch of black covers the Suns one eye
A Pirate crow from the porthole of the sky
has snuffed out all light taking the Shadows life, one by one they are gone
The Willow looks down
as the last of the wind takes what is left of the day
no evidence of the shadows death can be seen
Gone too are the whispers and all that lays beneath the Willow is the torn of  braids,
a crack in the path, a feather of white and the darkness of a pirate crow called night


Your Ghost


your ghost

wears my smile

I gave to you

the day we said our last goodbye

each day I walk

you pass me by

on the streets

in a shop

crossing points in paths

your ghost

an echo

through the lines of hello hellos

empty calls

and at night around a lone dim light

a moth flying in circles

just a flicker of your smile

as I watch your ghost

beneath the light

by morning

the sun turns

its warmth wakes my eyes

and here your ghost lingers

for one last time

in my dreams

and then I wake

to see a moth


towards the light


I miss you my ghost my smile I miss you …. always from me to you love