When your words form silence
And your presence is absent
The volume of your intentions is deafening
Then your words form hope
And your heart takes a moment
The corner to turn is approaching

White space

Free-written poetry, survival through moments of depression and the hope of escape as life resumes.

The white-space.
Pain just seemed to happen to her she felt nothing. It was part of the process, part of the cycle,
Just something to endure.
Where words failed and help too distant.
When the fear overwhelms and invades all senses,

Continue reading “White space”


Your voice; a symphony
You stole a chord
When you disappeared
There’s a gap in music
Syncopated heartbreak
Underscoring you
Rhythm like rain
Melody like moonlight
Holding onto hope
Love & laughter so light
But tears in tornadoes
Our symphony
Our fight

The poem that can’t be written

A poet struggling with the unrequited love of their muse
Published on Spillwords in 2016

And so it starts; the question of the ending begins.

Knowing you can’t love me.
But your arms can hold me home
Knowing you can’t need me
And I can’t bear to be alone…

Omnipresent stuttering holds the pen fast in my grasp
And the juxtaposition of my desire is disillusioned fast.
Tortollogy of my feelings fall fast upon the page
But ink kills the creation – Continue reading “The poem that can’t be written”

One day

A poem about a woman’s letter to her lover who is lost to his worser self and her hope for his return.

Two halves to every story, to sides to every curse,
The hatred or the lies of love, I fear for which is worse.

Held in his arms but locked inside your heart
When I hold my breath you don’t feel so far
In the blink of a heartbeat I hear your voice
Waiting for the moment when it becomes my choice

The cold hands coiled around my own
Could never be warm, or make me feel home
It’s your eyes I want to live in

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It’s 3am & the silence is deafening,
I long for daybreak to steady the tempest,
Until then I have music to soothe my mind
The lyrics that resinate and take hold of your heart,
The dreams that help to keep your fears and hopes apart
It’s 3am & the silence is closing in,
I look for comfort in the unrest,
and I have music to pass the time
No matter how the ghostly hand grips your chest,
Theres the hope that it’s love that survives the best.


The syllables cascade through my senses,
As my tongue shapes the semantics of words,
Words I’ll never say,
Words; ineffective
Insufficient & verbose
Falling into deafness
Faded & weak
Then a jolt;
Sound returns
Free again

Puck’s heart

A soliloquy written for puck; her love for oberon. Excerpt From an original play: ‘Cubed’

A soliloquy showing Puck’s love for Oberon. From an original play: ‘Cubed’

Our love is as a melody; once magical – now mundane.

If he could simply take his time to listen, truly listen to the words with his heart he should find what he fell for, what enchanted him about our song.

He loves me not, but my heart holds me to his will at least a while longer. I cannot work my charms upon him, he is immune to such trickery, and I could not live with myself, nor not with him neither if he were not to be authentic in his love.

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Oberon’s lament

Oberon explains his influence over 3 catalytic characters from some of Shakespeare’s plays. An excerpt from an original play: ‘Cubed’

Prologue; Oberon’s lament

Look thou there, what dost thou see?
A Man, a Monster, a Wizard? Or a Whisp?
But in the blink of an eye, it could all be missed.
1…2…3. 1 – 2 – 3!

I beg of you all a spell, a moment in time;
And I’ll break your schemic rhythm of rhyme.
Wilt thou not listen and but observe a short while.
Ask I not for forgiveness, ‘tis indeed not my trial.
Nor not to forget, not a smile, not a tear,
Nor to learn more of me than you see here.

I mean only to take you on a journey. Wilt thou tarry?
Even in rags, ‘tis some fortune I carry.
Lend me your ears and we will transcend time,
Now to my story, I am done with this rhyme.

I was once a king – A King, a lover and husband and a good man.
Yet – you seem to trust me not – No matter. All will transpire with time.
I pray you, embrace my tale if only with a lighthearted eye.

Continue reading “Oberon’s lament”