To Give

I’m baffled as to
what it could be
about my knee,
my knuckle,
my thigh,
that makes your fingers
flow and fly across me
as we sit
comfortably complicit
in the film unfolding,
as we accept the start
of the story sprouting
between us.

But I do know your right
hand has worked and wrested
and wrestled metal for
ten hours of the last several:

And that you still have
something left in it for me
makes you


The Electrical Closet

In the waiting room I am
the only one
writing a poem, but
especially on an iPhone.

This is because everyone else
is old and dull and fat,
and I hope I don’t sound as
unkind to you as I do when I say that
but it’s true.

It makes me feel no better ten minutes later,
the young man who comes in on a walker
accompanied by his mother at the counter.

She pays. I know that look on her face.

There are twenty seats open here,
at least –
but a lumbering senior sporting a blue
takes the one right next to me.

At first, I shuffle claustrophobically,
as he elbows out the crossword page,
but then it crosses my mind:

What if I am young and blonde,
and look like his long-gone wife at my age?

What if it’s only me he gets to sit next to today?

What if he doesn’t have any sisters left,
or that new person to text,
or the Snapchat app to make him laugh after the fact?

Or what if he just ends up needing to know
the name of the Count in Figaro, or
the capitol city of Idaho?

I settle back, and say “hello” to my fellow




Because I may be all he’s got.


The Wiser Heart

Before I got smart,
–not of my own doing,
I assure you–
I thought that the
world’s most romantic
words were “I love you.”

And knowing what I do
I know that it’s not
The phrase “I do” either.

Certainly it doesn’t include
“will” or “did.”
Care is a gift at a moment’s notice,
in a moment that is the present one.

No, now I know romance is
“don’t worry,
I am here.”

Or maybe only

Things Have Changed

Is there any phrase I could say that would
make your boots quiver quite in the same way?
It’s okay if it causes rage:
A closer end comes of a turned-over page,
And whether it’s a good or bad part for a heart,
Hearts are hammy actors who love to die on stage.

“The Boys Who Wouldn’t Grow Up” Review + Giveaway


For those of you who read my poetry, maybe you’re interested in my novel and you don’t even know it yet! Review and a giveaway contest for two copies is here!

Originally posted on The Things I Am Crazy For:

Happy Thursday everyone!

Back in the winter, I read this post about ways you know you went to St Andrews. It spread like wildfire on FB, being shared and liked by everyone in the St Andrews sphere! There is a book mentioned in this post and I was intrigued. A few weeks later, in one of my fit of St Andrews withdrawal, I bought a PDF version online.

Quick summary: The book is set in a fictitious sea-side Scottish town – clearly inspired by St Andrews, the university and its traditions. It centres mainly around two female undergrads, their relationships and their circle of friends. I can’t say much more without ruining the plot, honestly!

theboyswhobook quote

When I started reading it, it felt weird. It was as though I was peaking in a fellow St Andrean’s diary. While I didn’t do my undergrad there and it focuses on undergrad life…

View original 750 more words

Be Careful of Wishing for Romance Unless You’re Willing to Live with the Consequences

There comes a moment when you wonder if that once-every-few-years

kind of kiss is going to ever really leave your lips. Because when it hits once, it’s

already on its way to hitting another day. No matter how much it feels like time

to expire that line, and let it straighten out instead of wrapping it about in a series of curves that

look too much like love for comfort you’ll never go through with it; you love the thrill to much.

Not that it comforts you any less while you look for some honest-to-goodness endlessness.



For some, hopes hang strong on
mason jars and wedding gowns,
on gleaming marble counter tops.

But all I need’s book, bed, and dog,
and doors that do not need their lock.

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