Free Verse

Published in Poetry Canada (2005)

I am the raven,
silent black space
behind a knot
in a tree,
the deep, hollow breath
of thick shadows
that whisper secrets
to the night.

I am the silhouette
of budding acacias,
over weary elephants
yawning in the shade.
And I am the low rumble
from purring throats
sweeping across the grasses
of the warm earth.

I am the stillness
before lightning scratches
across a purple-blue sky,
soft after-glow
left behind the eyes
when the world fades back
to black.

I am the rich red earth
that formed me
in my mother's womb,
the sculpted ebony wood
from the banks of the Sand River.

I am the eye
swooping down on desert dunes
and palm groves.
I am the dance of wings
against the African sky.
And I am the raven.

Nothing Matters

hours go by,
and then weeks.
and when months
blow past me
like bubble gum wrappers
and empty potato chip bags
along a dusty sidewalk,
nothing seems to matter.

and the cold, deep places
fall into colder,
deeper places,
then out of sight.

and you don't reach
for me.
and when the memory
of the reaching
nothing matters

Slow Hands Pressing Flesh

I imagine you here,
cupping my breasts
i n s l o w h a n d s,
eyeing them gingerly
as when a boy
plucks his neighbour's melons.
They bud for you;
you salivate

and press yourself
against my naked flesh,
teasing, tasting,
snaking curves,
and lapping
succulent juices you inspire.

Oh, God forgive the theft of fruit,
the intoxication of its wine!

Nobody's Little Girl

Published in Tattered Daisies

Nobody's wife
Drags her feet
Across the freshly polished floor.
She stares briefly into the reflection
her past has made,
Then with arms folded across herself,
She turns away.

Nobody's lover
Gazes down
On an empty bed
Draped in silk and purple.
Teased by the dreams
Her future once promised,
She quietly peels back the covers
To her coffin.

Nobody's little girl
Tucks herself into bed
And cries herself to sleep.


there's a hole where a future fell in,
and there's a knot that tightens
in a stomach.
a head tilts forward
and there's vomit in a sink.
there's a phone dangling
over a bedside table, where words
spat into an unsuspecting ear.
there are tears that soak a pillow
and there's a hole.

The Scar

This is the scar left when I picked
the crusting blood that formed
over the cut he gave me.
It was a gusher when I first got it -
that's when tears and blood fogged
the eyes with much weeping.
It scabbed over that winter,
and no one was around to stop me
from picking at it under the covers,
remembering him in the pain.

For A Time
Published in I Write

The notes of a song
are enclosed
in a heart-shaped porcelain frame
above my bed.

Night provokes the song
and I listen.

For a time, we dance.

The wall light
throws our shadows
across the room
and we embrace,
we make love...

for a time.

Your eyes breathe into mine
melting all inhibitions.

The sun provokes the song
and I listen.

For a time, we dance.

Published in Under Construction

She is silent
And still,
While a raging storm
Brews inside her.

The box has been opened,
Where passions explode
And spill over
The sides of reason.

Moved by the sweet pains
That gauge at her emotions,
She rocks her body
In response to the downpour
Violently beating outside -
Vibrating inside.

Then a tear escapes,

Published in Under Construction

...and there you are.
The voice of you
is spread out before me,
and I listen.

And I inhale you deeply
in my desperate desire
to know you,

to consume you

to become
part of you.

You Trembled
Published in I Write

You came to me in a whisper,
and all my senses were tied up
in your embrace.

You lured me into your night
where we made love
under open skies.

And no one watched
as the moon held our shadows
behind the clouds.

No one saw you tremble
in the chill of our monotony,
as words were silenced,

and you grew tired
of that part of you
you saw in me.

Published in Tattered Daisies

As she watches the monstrous rod
plunge deep into the earth,
pumping below the surface,
churning out the core's fluid;

as the rhythmic clanging of steel
against heavy steel
reverberates through the humid air,
vibrating in her chest;

as the submissive earth lies,
cavity opened wide,
eagerly yielding essential juices,
her groin quakes.

She cracks a knowing smile.

In Time

I don't know how to wake up in the morning
and not think of you,
and not rehearse the moments
you occupied in my dreams.
I don't know how to stir my tea
without seeing your face
or hearing your voice whispering my name.
I haven't yet learned
how to step out of the shower
and not feel your hands along my wet curves
as you kiss the warmth back into my skin.
And I'm no good at pressing my face to my pillow
without feeling your breath
against the back of my neck
and wishing your arms
were the covers embracing me.

But I'll try again tomorrow.

Published in Tattered Daisies

Words drop.
Rhythms interrupted,
Deep shadows

Waltzing steps
no longer play
in the powdery, orange
of afternoon.


only dust
on the floor.

Playing In The Moonlight
Published in Tattered Daisies

Shadows flicker the moonlight
that bathes our skin in a citrus haze.
The soft dark lies
like a blanket over our play
then we roll
and we rumble.
Legs wrap as we tumble
tongues explore and tickle,
and we giggle.

A hush hums
through the air around us
then we swing
and we sway
and we fray our fingers
through our hair
and squeeze the air
that whispers through the grasses
beneath us.

I Bleed

there is such an urgency
to put my pen to paper and write -
to bleed in puddles upon this page
so as to leave an indelible stain
in the eyes and minds of the readers -
that I prick myself.
And the pen spits up a drop
that spreads out in all directions,
soaking into the white fibres
of the page.

I prick myself again
and with the tip of my tongue,
guide the liquid across the page
in loops and lines
that laugh outside myself,
hollowing out the throbs
oozing from my wounds.

I prick myself yet again
and feel
as the numbness clots inside.

Parting Over Breakfast

She reaches for the honey
and watches the tea bag bleed
into the water,
as it bobs above and below
the surface.

He watches his bitter brew
stain her cheeks
and whispers to himself
that there are no more egg shells
in goodbye.

Published in Under Construction

Words are shaken
and thrown out
from a gambler's arm
and I follow their dots
their deep, black dots.
I cry back the music
they make.

Another roll
and I'm drawn to
their tumbling.
Falling out of the mouth
they tickle the tongue,
and I laugh...
and I cry

Another crap shoot.

I Am Not Your Lover
Published in I Write

Yes, I let you touch me,
let you slide your hand
over my spine
and guide me with gentle steps
on the dance floor.
I softened in your embrace
and opened myself
to a kiss.
But I am not your lover!

I didn't ask to be remembered,
to be pulled out of my bed
to occupy your dreams.
I don't want to dominate your thoughts
at the return of a familiar song.

So if I led you to believe
that our brief burst of passion
was more than a moment
of emotional weakness,
I'm sorry...

But I am not your lover!