you slip through the undergrowth unseen unnoticed in the grey mist of dawn a shadow flitting from one tree to the next ghostly in your...

We follow the trails of sparkling light to the golden windows where laughter and music sing. Inside, it looks warm — a bubble of heat,...

Long may she reign; may she always pick herself back up again. May flowers bloom in her steps and the sun shine upon her crown. May she...

He wakes up and she fades into a world of dreams and hopes and undying devotion. She waits at the corner of his vision, taunts with her...

You find yourself in the scattered pieces of this land. The ruins are the memories of times long lost and gone, uninhabited,...

Frost creeps over the ground, the day has reached its end. Like snowflakes swirling in the lamp light we slowly come to rest under gentle...

I like the frost. I like the way it creeps across the world, like a blanket of shimmering light. It catches in the glow of lamps and...

I found your bottle. I found your shards. Bleak and dulled, the gleam still caught my eyes. One moonlit night I walked the beach of an...

Can glass float? Hollowed out, paper-thin, filled with air — will the waves carry it or will it drown? Where will the shards go? Who will...

You empty the blue bottle in the middle of the night. The city lights rush past painting streaks of light in an otherwise dismal heart....

Sometimes I wonder what is a more worthy topic of poetry: hurled obscenities and allusive (elusive) remarks about ideologies and...

I sit at the kitchen table and write. A square of morning light falls on me. I watch the shadow of my pen wander across the page like a...

They offer me jasmine in the morning, while dawn creeps over the horizon to peer at our silence. Steam rises as the temperature drops to...

I chase her through the snow, the woman I should have been, until she fades into the grey distance, taunting me with her laughter and...

Any number of minutes in Heaven becomes permanent when you die. Assuming there is a Heaven. But even if there isn't, even if there's only...

My bookshelf came furnished with Freud and Jung, with political treaties and dreaded histories of battles long since won, of three swords...

Recently I've found time swallowing my words Like a beast of hunger at a gourmet restaurant Swallows each little canapé And wants for...

The hidden side of the moon is red. He doesn't know how he knows; he's never been there, never seen it, doesn't know anyone who's seen it...

We picked and collected and harvested to our hearts' content and when we came home, we filled jars and bottles and baskets and boxes to...

When they shut the curtains in the silence of their own room, they let their armour rest and expose their blood and veins to the gentle...