Saturday, December 26, 2015


My eyes must have been closed
Did you leave in my sleep?
Did I trust you would be there
When I woke up?

What part of your heart died
So you could walk away?

There were too many miles
To break my heart
We weren't face to face yet
But a friendship ended
That was still a little child.

Smiles and tears
On a tender heart
That enjoyed the sound of
Your music
Your poems
The inside of your imagination

But piano keys never die
I only heard me play our song
We never put our heads on each others
Shoulders. Except that once
In my dream.

Are you still alive
Are you still feeling after all this mess
You've been warned you can't
Break my ...

Holes in a Swiss cheese moon
The reflection of the earth
Are just ponds of darkness
Your magic and kindness
Has left the room harsh and cold

Perhaps you forgot how well you made me laugh

Perhaps what we collected over the months
Was nothing more than
Perhaps perhaps perhaps
Are all the words that are
Left over like garbage

You have my tears
But not my heart
You may have had my friendship
With a shielded heart
This hello still believes in love

Tuesday, December 15, 2015

I Does Good

I did good tonight. I really enjoyed singing Defying Gravity and I had a chance to show my music teacher what I figured out last night.

You see, I'm not a great pianist. I'm really good at singing notes as they're played. And my right hand playing the melody is usually good; vocally and handy. But that doesn't help my ear training.

I'm singing Coal Town Road and The Water is Wide. Both songs require me to sing without the piano. I have to figure out how to navigate the pitch and timing on my own.

So last night I worked on The Water is Wide by stepping away from the piano and doing the song line by line until I didn't need the piano.

Now I can tell you that after an hour I still need a lot of work. But I realized I'm not as helplessly tone deaf as I thought I was.  And there is hope.

Tonight I sang The Water is Wide for my music teacher and was so scared. I was standing there by myself and I had to believe I was good enough to sing in front of her.

I said think of it as a conversation with a friend. I'm just telling her a piece of poetry, a piece of someone's day set to music; and I calmed down.

The things that I'm learning are coming together.

And she said I did good.

Monday, December 7, 2015

Little Me

I guess that is what I learned last night. That I think I haven't done anything worthy of creative respect in the last 20 years. I have to change the way I see how creative I am. Not believe my worth by how famous I'm not; but how happy and alive I am. 

That makes me smile.

I'm happy my creativity keeps me alive. Searching for new  challenges even though sometimes the choices I make are difficult and lonely.

My creativity is my self love, my personality. Maybe I should stop punishing myself for making the decisions I want to -need to make. Stop telling myself the negative and start pointing out the possibility that I'm happy not because someone says so, but because I can see it in my heart.

So last night I felt small in the presence of three amazing performers. Tonight I remind myself how important I am to living in to the next  moment.

Thursday, December 3, 2015

15 Seconds

Who knew that in 15 Seconds; in the time of a dream, one could feel so much love and so much loss.

I worked with award winning film makers, when I awaken after the dream I am reminded that I no longer do film, only in my dreams.

He is real in my dreams, the love I have for him is real. While filming this movie he falls to his death; we are everyone and everything in our dreams.

The alarm goes off; for 7 hours I tell myself it's just a dream, and in the 7th hour I tell myself that is 15 Seconds and forty years, the dream is real, and I'm ok to cry.

Saturday, November 28, 2015


I am just sitting here, kissing tini on the forehead, and thinking about what I invest my time, love, and money on.

I spend a lot of time alone, on the kitties, a house that's not mine, and hours writing and singing to myself.

Will I be paid back in anything but instant gratification and happiness?  Will I enter the next 20 years of my life and find out I should be married with my own house and a savings account? Or is this all going to work out fine?

Up till now I have not been able to look at the future. Right now I know I'm happy with the Duncan style family that  I have. But what about tomorrow? What decisions will I have to make for the future based on the ones I've made so far?

Friday, November 27, 2015

We are not afraid

Today I was listening to a new agent on the phone, probably had never done anything like this  before, she sounded terrified. I said to myself "oh little one, there's nothing to be afraid of, you just jump in and have a conversation with a new friend"

And I thought about all the singing and story telling that has scared the poop out of me.

Is fear that easy to calm? When I get up to sing in front of people next time do I just  think of it as a well rehearsed conversation?

I don't know yet if it will work, but it's worth a try.

Sunday, November 8, 2015

Silent Voice Speak

The question
Is a big one
Why do I keep going?
Keep getting up
All the days
And live?

Will I stop that journey...
And just give up?
One one of those days
Or will 80mg of Prozac
Keep me wondering
What is on the other side of tomorrow
Will she be brighter
Give me the answers
I'm looking for...

Why all the days?
Am I the only one who feels like this?
Do people without depression
Wonder why they keep waking
Why they say yes to the orange juice
And newspapers and keep going

Their silent voices
Pounding palms
On the glass ceiling
Begging to be set free.

I tried freedom
Let the voices run
In the dark allies
Of the theatre
My intuition
Too great
The heart too sad

And so I wrap your self
In a blanket
Drive to the country
Let long walks
And days of writing
Let the silent voice speak.

Monday, October 12, 2015

Little Prayers

Perhaps it' time to stop living alone, doing it all on my own. Perhaps it's time to partner up.

I can't stay here in this world of tumble weeds and dust devils it's time to keep moving.

I hear you worship your deities and worship is different than mine.

I've heard you sing to your deity but you must not hear me when I pray to, as all the strings to my harp are broken.

I have learned to pray to my own deity using my own voice and my own words maybe as humans we need something greater than us to talk to to ask questions to to wait for a response in the flicker of tree leaves in the voice of the wind

Perhaps I too need a god to ask questions to, questions that are greater than myself. I use my own words and my own voice and wait for the gods response in the flicker of the tree leaves, in the whisper of the wind.

I'm fascinated by people who want to do things for other people I do something for other people and I get hurt and I get tired that's why I don't have a god I don't want to so something for someone else. But today I ask what does my god want me to do?

A world of the deities unravel around me some have been written before some have yet to be found some gods live on stars some on hope and some in my heart. I have to listen even closer, writing and singing and meditation is my prayer.

Perhaps I needed to calm the fuck down.

There's a line in the universe that god puts you on when you believe. I don't want to hurt so i deny success and keep going on a path that is devoid of magic, despite the magic I believe in.

How do you know when you get lost in the forest and just go around in circles? It's time to sit down and let the gods catch up to me.

There is a god like a husband an equal we both know different things on my path I confuse looking for a husband for looking for a god for I am without both and think I can combine the two but to make a husband a god and a god a husband makes the world stop turning for a while. I see too much in a god and not enough in a husband and I can only know these things when I sit down to write it can only be real when I write it.

I need to wear a red robe and let the saints find me and rescue me and bring me back to life .

Sunday, October 4, 2015

Blue Soup

The witch stood by the fire and stirred the contents of her pot. She was a witch because of what she could see in that pot as she stirred. The pot of full of visions happening sights sounds feelings. Today she stirred a pot of blue soup. You don't eat blue soup you just stir it and hum songs you learned as a child. Inside the blue soup, was a man struggling to lift heavy objects on his own. The neighbour went out and asked if he needed help. He laughed.

The witch stood by her fire and stirred the contents of her pot. Tonight she was hungry and was making split pea soup. It smelled delicious. Just the right amount of herbs and the broth was just salty enough to balance out the vegetables. Do you need help with that asked the man? And the sound of his own laughter came through the soup.

That laughter sounds mean, he said
That's how you laughed at me when I asked you for help.
But this is different.

Is it?

Thursday, October 1, 2015

differenting the person with a pill

I haven't written much over the last couple weeks. I haven't posted anything much either. You see the person I got my prescriptions from decided I needed a review of my medication, upping the prozac and slimming down the abilify.
Like any changing of medication like this, it has it moments of complete exhaustion and complete confusion.
I sat down to write last night and used the whole hour to look at facebook. That was all my brain could do. Today I can write little things at work, and tonight I'm just taking stock of where I am, and tryng not be frustrated. This stuff changes the way I am, makes me a different person, for better or for worse.

I hope it works out for the best.

Sunday, September 27, 2015

Gravel Rash

I heard the river sing my song
I heard the water echo my words
I heard the rain wash away the
Rocks and stones in my soul

Here the dreams of night
Cross over in to the breath of light
Here the tarot cards
Become journal pages

I woke up to the host
Moving the wine closer
To the man who never drinks
Tempting the dreamers with elixir

I had a dream of snow
As the night went cold
I could feel the frost
Break the fourth wall

I throw the rusty soul
An old blanket to keep it warm
The organ whistles a rock tune
As I walk past the church

Dear God take the gravel
Rash off my skin
As if I had never fallen

Down the road.

Thursday, September 17, 2015

I see it...

We have some some angels here in Canada this week, a little girl whose father was shot and she was on a nation wide Amber Alert, And a police officer. There are of course many other angels that have left earth, not in a natural way, but these two, the media is feeding us. They're high profile, tiny and blond. We had the news on at work (I don't watch tv or have a tv at home) so I've heard the breaking news on both ladies.

I guess as a woman I should be thankful to be alive.

I too frequented the Halifax bars and was not a police officer. I too had a mans jobs and in that city and was not always supported.

I guess it's difficult for me because we're always told to learn to defend ourselves. And if a police officer can't defend herself against a monster. And a monster doesn't respect a female police officer. Then who is safe?

I know what halifax was like on women 20 years ago. The attitude was not good. The universities were in the news for their cheers and treatment of woman. And now.

We have many angels in Canada many woman and children who haven't made it in this world. Many who haven't been publicized.

There are a lot of living angels in Europe right now, trying to survive on train tracks. And the wrong side of fences.

There's a lot to think about, as who we are, as humans, as Canadians and if we want to keep picking woman and children from under bridges, out of lakes and garbage cans and oceans and pig feed.

Maybe we need to reach out to one woman in our lives, maybe it's even ourselves and say “I love you.”

Usually I do animals rights, human rights is not my forte but lets start somewhere.

Let's start by identifying and seeing what is happening say “I see it. I'm aware of it. What's next?”


Last night I knew what I wanted. In my dreams I had a new job, and there were new cloths and make up (cruelty free of course) I thought is was an interesting dream because I asked myself what makes me sad and cloths make me sad right now. I loved cloths when I was tiny but now they're not so much fun.

I love shopping for cloths which I don't have money for right now. I spent a lot on cloths last year and can't do it again this year, but my dreams yearn to have a whole bunch of time and money for pretty cloths and colourful eyes and fingernails.

SO there I have one of my answers; I'm sad because I don't get to play dress up all the time. Like the ladies on TV. Like I grew up watching on TV when I was a kidlet obsessed with entertainment tonight and the Oscars and Oprah and her endless closet of shoes.

I tell myself now that I have made a decision to have music and cats; and new cloths lost out on the deal. So I need to treat myself to some special cloths time knowing how important it is to my dreams. Just not as much as last year.

I should also clean up the cloths I have now, treat the closet with some r e s p e c t so I realize what I have to dress up in 'cause I get a lot of cool cloths for “free” too.

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

I Am Try

I'm opal
a bubble in the sky
a stone in the heart
a little friend curled on my chest
when I wake up in the morning

I'm hope
a dream in the sky
a wish in the heart
Another moment when I
won't let see how lucky I am

I'm sadness
a face in the mirror
a stone in the sidewalk
a little darkness curled up in my mind
when I wake up in the morning

And while many fall
I keep going
I am hope
I write my soul another story
And many rise above me...

I am opal on the beach
And i stop writing for moment
Stop inviting the imaginary for tea

I am hope
I am and will be

It's a sad time in my heart, like realizing for a moment that I won't be having kids I realize that I am alone and it doesn't matter how many imaginary friends I have, how many cats I have, how many dreams I have, when I wake up in the morning, when I come home at night, it's just me, and that's a lot of work, that's a lot of love I have for myself and that affects every relationship I have with real people.

There are a lot of people that don't make it and a lot of people that do and I seem to be trapped in the middle of do and do not. I am try.

Monday, September 7, 2015

Green Grass

Note: this comes from a day of meditation, reading and being in a very safe place. I lit candles, mowed the grass and did my tarot cards to get to a place where I could look this memory in the eye. It's a tough one. But I think I can finally grow from it. It will probably be explored again and written less cryptically in the future but this is the best I can do for now.

I pick out a memory I had from 11-12 years ago.
I was fired twice from a job I wanted to stay in, until I could beat depression, and work in theatre and film again. Just one more day was all I needed; just one more sleep.

I hold those two moments in my hand and they become one moment of fear and shame and misunderstanding and hate. A hate storm. I start by remembering it as a twenty year old and then turn it around and look at it like a 40 year old. 

I did something right because they never did fire me.

I learned that maybe, although  loved the job, the time and the place was not for me, so I put in my two weeks notice, very shortly after.

At forty I would like to say that I could handle it better. I can look at the situation and know I'm not her anymore that moment that I'm holding in my hands now, does not have to be as big and dramatic as it was back then. I can turn that memory into a bubble and let it float away. It does not have to affect my every decision now a days.

Left behind is the green grass and an empty spot that once housed this fear and shame, that needs to be replaced from the heart of this 40 year old, cleaning up.

come on and take me down to
where the grass grows green
on my heart where I
rest without pain
Where I choose my time
and place like a wedding
I chose where and how I leave darkness
like sleeping in the afternoon
I chose how to let that part of me live
that darkness in your soul
that peel that had gone black
I let it go
and now the grass grows on my heart
The spider and crickets play hopscotch
tickle my nose with their tiny feet
and my toes are met by caterpillars
turning into butterflies
but I had to let the grass grow first

Monday, August 31, 2015

Just Go for It

Today I had an interview of sorts. It was cute. I was asked five questions

1)      What would I do if I won a million dollars?  
2)      What fictional place would I like to go?
3)      What time would I like to go to in a time machine?
4)      Who would I like to have dinner with?
5)      What age would I like to stay at?

The million dollar one threw me because I don’t usually buy a lotto ticket and I never really put into words what I would do if I came upon a shit load of money in my life. If I won the lottery I would buy a house give some to the local animal shelter and travel for a week or two at a time. But a million, that has limits so I better make it good, right?

So I said I would buy an apartment in Paris and write poetry and travel Europe.

I also have a saying that it doesn’t matter, the money will come if it’s really meant to be, so why don’t I drop everything and do it, go to Paris (or England as my French is marde) and see Europe and write poetry about it.

The truth is I tried to do it post university, and I tried to teach English overseas, both endeavours fell through. SO I got two cats a job and a singing teacher.

SO the opportunity and will is there to try again sometime but I made other choices in life that I have to respect.

One of the questions I wasn’t asked was. What would I redo In my life? Answer: I wouldn’t give up on music, the two times, I did.

I would have tried to take it in university and not cared if I was told I wasn’t good enough, I would have tried anyway, and when I moved home I wouldn’t have stopped singing for 9 years and lost what little voice I had. So if you’re standing at a cross roads think what would I do if I had all the talent? What would I do if I had a million dollars? 

just go for it. 

Saturday, August 29, 2015

Guitar with No Strings

There’s a towel on my dripping wet hair as I stand out on the cabin deck and stare at the lake, the sun is going down and my brain starts remembering everything that happened today. I hesitate for a moment there are things that have happened in the past that I don’t let run freely in my mind and I hope that they will leave me alone on such a complete day.
On the lake shore he sits, the fire he has been working on for the last 15 minutes has grown in a nice dome shape for us to roast veggie dogs and vegan marshmallows on.  He brought his own hot dogs but he said all marshmallows are vegan so he knows mine would taste good.
The dream I had last night when I was alone came back to me. One older, and a virgin, said that she wouldn’t have sex with just anyone because she wasn’t willing to be abused, love hurts she said she understands that, but doesn’t want to get abused, the other one as if to prove her point correct said she had a free sex life and sometimes there were things that hurt more than love should have that sometimes it was messed up and violent.
I tried to understand which was right and which was wrong and realized I had to stop somewhere in the middle open and free yet cautious. So when he came down the beach, sandals and socks a guitar and said he too was here alone bordering between boredom and being overwhelmed with things to do. He had to keep moving he said the view from the rented cottage was great but he had to keep moving keep thinking.
He didn’t want to find me.
But I told him I sing a bit and that I tried to make a fire on this august night but the only thing crackling were the crickets.
I joined him again down by the lake and he began to play Bell Bottom Blues I’ve listen to the album 24 nights millions of times and knew enough to sing a long and hummed the phrases I didn’t know. Then he let me pick a song I knew I picked Leavin’ on a Jet Plane we sang for a while and he headed back to his cabin and I to mine.  I walked by the next morning, to the location of his cabin, down a trail I’d never been, I followed his sandal in the mud.

There was nothing there but an old barn and in guitar with no strings.

Monday, August 17, 2015

Just Be Me

Any work I did on myself was to make myself likeable to the boys, to everyone really. I thought if I watched movies and listened to conversations I could decide what boys liked, what people in general liked and what they didn't like and I would be sure not to do what they didn't like. But people still got mad at me even though I was pretty sure I was striving to be the perfect person.

I can stop doing that now and just be me.

There’s been so many things and places and people who have come right out and said they didn't like me that it’s built in, the shame and the lack of confidence. Though, I fight all the way, Like when one boss sad “NO one here wanted you to get the job, but don’t let that get you down.” I kept going, feeling entitled, I had won the job by points and it was mine. And I kept going in confidence, but it broke me down a bit. I knew everyone already had decisions made. And one bad morning when a co-worker out of nowhere told me to quit because I didn't like the job, I did quit. Not really my own decision. But, I guess I probably never really did get the support I needed.

On a whole I don’t worry about whether all the boys like me but in my mind I want to be ready for “that one.” OK I want all the boys to like me so that I can have my pick, but that’s never worked either.

I just have to be me, do any fixing that needs to be fixed and not worry about who I'm doing it for: do it because it makes me happy and healthy.

Plus I just need to be me.

Monday, July 20, 2015

Mr. Jones

|Tonight I was sure I heard the neighbour complain about my singing. Spray my window with their garden house. I think of my friend who always comments on how happy I get when I talk about music, my whole world lights up and jumps through my eyes.
Don't turn away from me, don't say words that are going to only hurt you in the end. Because me, I'm learning to fly. Don't you want to see the transformation from caterpillar to butterfly, the magic of ugly to beautiful?
Don't misunderstand this noise, it's my heart waking up, has your heart never awakened before, sometimes it needs to scream in order to hit the high notes and then and then, it is beautiful. Loud but beautiful.
Don't you want to hear my voice soar, see my heart magic. That's what I want for you, without the drugs, without the hate.
I guess you know we'll have to become the dream, that's the only way to face the fear.
Leave the neighbourhood behind, let them worry about the height of the grass, and the price of the land. I'll shovel and rake for you, but let me sing, for goodness sakes let me sing.
I listen to my heart, and I rise, like magic I rise, high into the sky.
Tonight I hear you whisper, as I walked by that I'm not really a writer, cause I don't get paid. And not everyone likes my pen, not everyone likes when I write.
Don't you realize, that mess of words, lifts me up from depression and so I keep writing.
Don't think I do it to impress you, to earn your money. Your kind words make my heart sing, but that's not why I write.

I write to keep up with me, you see, my heart is my own; Mr Jones

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Night Mares

not my photo or picture

Just in the middle this evening. I've been coming home from work this week singing for an hour and going to bed exhausted. I have a practice, to prepare for my recording session, so I've been singing and video taping like crazy

The nightmares have become worse as the week went on, last night was unbearable. Tonight, I sang for 1/2 an hour and came out to the writing room and proceeded to journal. I needed it.

There's all this newness this year that is young and fresh: that is me following my heart, so much happiness when the child inside gets to sing, but there's a lot of the old me hanging on, because this child still needs an adult.

Writing is my adult, facing the fears of the world sinking under the water and all the boats I've come in contact with sit under the ocean, they're all parts of me.

I walk through the desert of life. I am dying of thirst, and come across a well. Excited I look in but it is poisoned and polluted. I have to choose between death and death, which way would I like to die?

The pictures on my camera are of chopped up people, in my dream I am trying to show you the pictures I took, I know they are in there, I don't remember the body parts, I don't know how they got there, how all those pieces got separated, don't know what they mean to me as a dream. I just laugh and throw the camera to the side.

Sunday, July 5, 2015

My Baby Grand

I hunt and peck the notes, like a wild child. Each note I sing with passion. So much emotion I find in my heart, in my voice, in my song.

Years ago I caught the last stringed high note, hit the pitch like a wild batter.

I rested, exhausted in body and mind. It was the kind of awkward silence felt by a stranger waiting for his curtain to rise.

I sang and sang, then fell into tiredness.

Descending into the ocean, to the plucking of the his cello, leaves on a breeze, falling among the trees.

I play the keys but no sounds. The strings of the baby grand have all been cut by garden shears, wire cutters.

In a red stemmed glass, I catch sight of my face, I lean into the droplets of sugar. Glass after glass, I know all the pain can be fixed. I just need a few new strings.

Me, the only one listening, the only one speaking, me, writing on my bed. Free, legs bent at the knees and bare feet sway in the air.
The silent baby grand leads to tunes on the laptop. My finger tips choose the letters I need.

I hear my voice again in my words. I whisper “I couldn't have done it without you...”

The baby grand sitting in the living, the glasses of wine, now I make decisions by myself, I do it, by writing, by dreaming, by myself.

It took years to buy strings and play again. I relearn the notes, from the wild children I know, I hear old patterns and start new ones.

All the while I look for the monster that cut my strings, that created the silence.

He was the one who took me to the dance, my ears cupped with his hands, saying “I couldn't have played the dance without you.”

“...But I could have done so much more.”

The Air The Walls

My name is Kendra. I am 5 years old. The kids at school pick at me because I'm the biggest kid in the class. They say I'm different. That's all I know. Is what other people say. I don't know I'm allowed to know myself. I research the books, and the looks in others peoples eyes and try to be who they want me to be.

I have a pony, no one else has a pony, they have each other, and I think I'm not special because I'm not like them. I don't see how lucky I am, just how distant I am. I learn to talk to the walls, to the air.

My name is Kendra, I am 10 Years. There aren't friends in my life. Only my mom and dad. When people come over I sit with the adults. The kids in my house play with each other, at parties and potlucks. I sit with my mom and her friends. Learn how to be 40. When we're not at school we're at the local shelter, another mile between me and my classmates. The adults at the shelter don't realize they're my only connection to humans. We too are different. I learn to talk to the walls, to the air.

My name is Kendra I am 40 years old. But I never survived the teenage years. The person I was, as a child, was so different than who I was at 20 and 30. It made me sick, emotional dark and sticky, tired all the time in this constant push and pull. I was told I could be anything I wanted to be, so I tired to be everything, and the person, everyone else wanted. SO I'm 40 going on 12, always 12.

So I have my favorite spot, in the sun porch, a glassed in front room that is perfect in the early morning as the sun crawls up over the corner of the house and shines pink through the window.

My favorite space has 2 cats and a piano; As I learn to love them, I learn to love myself. Like a 12 year old, over and over again; A 12 year old and her kittens.

Today I woke up and looked at my hands and my heart, I don't look at my face. I love me as I am in my imagination. I can't bear to hear other people say no to my friendship, because I am different.

Today I woke up after a long night with friends my own age, I woke up with another set of hands, another beating heart, beside me. He looked into my face and said I was beautiful and I believed him. And then he left. I talked to the walls, to the air.

My name is Kendra, my favorite is love. And I must be growing up. 40 Going on 40. I am different and that's OK.
I've never said that before.

Saturday, June 27, 2015

The Drops

I wrote during that hurricane
Wind transforming the rain
beyond the bedroom curtain
That hurricane that ripped
The foundation
that tree that collapsed
on the house roof

And I said I'm going
To see that storm
face to face
into the eye of the hurricane
collect it's raindrops
for my album
Beside the pictures
of us

Ohh I love the storms
that pull us to our knees
and show us our souls
in the rusty chrome
Show me my soul
my reflection
Show me that soul
in my collection
of rain drops
from the hurricane

Friday, June 26, 2015


The baby sat in my living room. Played like a child, hunted and pecked the notes, but each note sang with so much passion. So much emotion learning to find in my heart. I caught the last stringed high note, three days ago, hit all the notes. I was so strong, I held that song in my hands, in my throat like power, I would be back soon.
For two days I rested, exhausted in body and mind. It was the kind of awkward silence felt by a stranger before the curtain rises; planning my own recording session. When I sing and sing and then fall in tiredness.

I fall descending into the ocean, like the plucking of the cello, like leaves on a breeze. Falling among the trees. Some of the strings of the baby grand have all been cut by garden shears and wire cutters. Now I walk a different path, fly me above all I've chosen. Show the future to me. Show me where this is leading
The baby sitting in the living room, a red stemmed glass. In it I caught sight of my face, I lean into the ripples of sugar. Glass after glass, I know all the pain can be fixed, I just need a few new strings. I whisper “I couldn't have done it without you.”
Here I am, a million miles a way; Me the only one listening, the only one speaking is me, writing on my bed. My bare feet, free, bend at the knees and sway in the air. The silent baby grand leads to tunes on the laptop. My finger tips choose the letters I need to bring my voice back to life.

I catch my voice. Catch it while it runs in the other direction. It's relearning the notes, from childhood, from my early 20's. It hearing old patterns and starting new ones.

The baby grand sitting in the living, the glasses of wine. Now I make decisions. By myself, that I regularly wouldn't be able to make, by myself. I do it, by writing. By dreaming, By myself.

For two weeks I look for the monster that cut my strings, that created the silence, that took me to the dance but held my ears with his hands, and said “I couldn't have made it to the dance without you.”

I couldn't have done it without you but I could have done so much more.

Rise me high above the ocean, Rise me high above the trees, Take me up above the paths I've chosen.
Show my future to me. Tonight I caught one last high note, fell to the ground, and stood back up again.

Monday, June 22, 2015

(That's Me)

I was walking to work this morning, putting myself down. "Oh look the car stopped for the ugly fat girl." (That's me.) "Oh look the man crossed the road so he didn't have to be on the same side as the ugly fat girl." (That's me.)

And then I realized that it was very nice for that car to stop. He wasn't yelling those words out his car window. I was the one using them. And that man crossing the street, lived, or at least was visiting, that house he crossed the street to get to.

Yep those were MY voices in MY head.

Although a very confident person, I'm shattered by, and always am at war with, the negatives in my head and my heart. I think I have magic powers that I can see into someone else's mind and hear their voices telling me I'm ugly. Watching their eyes dodge me, I know what they're thinking.

(That's me.) Those are just my own troubles in my own head. Sure some of them may be real. But the only one saying those things is me.

I'm the one poisoning my own heart and soul. Why? Because I don't want the world to think, I think, I'm pretty, when I'm not. I want them to know, I know my place, but that I'm good in other ways. I want people to know, I know, my voice isn't perfect, my body's not perfect. I need me to remember this, to remember my place.

That's me.

Not anymore, I'm peeling away the layers of me, that hate me, and replacing it with love.

Sunday, June 14, 2015

My Mind Is O K

Let the sun go down now. Let the day end. Let the sun set orange and pink. I can't see it through the clouded windows in the hospital. I've lost count of how long I've been here. They took my watch away from me to put in the IV.

See my mind is ok. I can hear the people say that I should be dead, that I should have the right to choose. I can dream that in a few minutes I'll be 10 again and able to stand up and toss a ball to my loved one.

I can't even sit up without coughing. I heard a lady say earlier that it looked like my eyes had sunk into my head, I don't know. Where are all the mirrors.

My family told the Dr. I should have my own room. Privacy. He said "don't worry I'll take care of it," that was 10 am this morning. I'm sitting out in the hall.

I remember the day I was 14 and didn't think I was beautiful enough. And the day at 60 I decided I was beautiful enough for this world. I cried for all the years that passed in between.

You see my mind is ok. I can remember being the valedictorian. I remember running cross country and being the lead in the play and being a mother a grand mother. I remember falling in love and getting married.

I remember the day I couldn't get out of bed on my own. I stopped worrying about whether or not I was pretty enough.

My family told the Dr. I should have my own room. They brought me slippers and placed food in front of me. The nurses said feeding me was a waste of solid food and sighed when they took the left overs away.

Apple juice I wanted apple juice.

But I couldn't speak.

All I ask is that in my final days, final moments you treat me with dignity and sanity and know that even though I can't speak; I still have feelings.

You see my mind is ok.


Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Love My Babes

today was a hard day.

today and last night
I cried

For the third time
I had to get eye drops
for my Izzy

It's expensive and a long drive to the vet we trust
I want her to be happy and healthy

I give her kisses at the vet so she's not scared
so she knows I'm not going to leave her there

She hid under the bed for a while
when she came home and Tini
sat under with her until they had it all talked out
or sniffed out
or whatever sisters do

This afternoon after all the hissing and spitting and hiding
she heard me curl up in bed, I was exhausted
She lay down beside me for cuddle time

"Mommy I still love you" she said
"You do what you can do for me."

I thought about people leaving her behind
and how much she trusts me
and I'm crying now so I guess I love her and I guess I am her mama
There's not a lot I would do anything for
but she just touches my heart all the days

This cat that everyone left behind

Sunday, June 7, 2015

Plain Little Girl

not my photo
"I am just a plain little girl"
Sitting on the ocean's cliffs
Miles of waves whisper to me
And say "You are just a plan little girl."

I've had so much love
Crashing inside my heart
I've washed ashore so many times
Tonight's the night; I fall in love

And he said "you are worthy of the moon
You are worthy of the stars in the sky
You are worthy of nothing less than all my love
I must go now good bye."

Under the moon a light is conceived
That light that echo's from the sun
Under the moon he answers that I
I am just a plain little girl

Sitting on the ocean shore
Watching his ship sailing away
I watch knowing love is sailing
Once more

So many people yearn for love
Manipulate it. I learned
From a master to not be scared
And just be there to love myself

And he said "you are worthy of the moon
You are worthy of the stars in the sky
You are worthy of nothing less than all my love
I must go now good bye."

Monday, June 1, 2015

The Garden

not my photo
Tiny child, but not too tiny, strong, yet confused. Tiny child, scooping up little pieces of knowledge from the bottom of the barn. This tiny bit of knowledge I found along the side of the road, and at forty I have a tiny bit of information scooped up in my hands.

Who are you? Who am I? Why are you still here? Shutting me out? Shutting me down? Why are you still here? Why do I still run to you like that little child who is so dependant on your acceptance. Why are we still here? Why haven't we fought for our lives, why do you still silence me in the night.

From the darkness on the shore, the luminaires along the tide that reminds me I can never be free. The darkness in the schools, the faces that seemed so distant? The ideas and friendship like nothing I understood. The darkness of  the city in the rain with only the red light followed by green and yellow.

Always red and yellow against the wet pavement. At forty I have the darkness part understood. The red part grows strong.

Why are you still here? When I tried so hard to run away. Why are you still here when I replaced all those years with darkness. I was only left with the times when my body begged to cry; to die
Enter the knight, the part, of my heart that kept fighting. The tarot card that always comes galloping out of the field, that comes out of the fire to remind me :This is where I kept fighting, for the tiny bit of light. Why I kept scooping the barn floor. This is the garden that I sow, not of crocus or tulips but with in the bed of darkness I sprout the golden seed.

With my tiny tears light is grown with the drop from my eyes. I scream from my tiny house... Why are you still here?

Thursday, May 28, 2015

The Cat, The Boy, The Dream

Crinkled paper, with words that the white cat chews into pieces. She's my editor, my recycler. There's a shadow of a pen on the bedroom wall. There's a little flashlight I use to write poetry, It was a present from my mother for Christmas because she knows I like to write poetry in bed. Anything can happen, in the imagination, under the covers of a writer.

My covers are chocolate brown, with a hit of rose. They cover my shoulders and my feet. If I put them over my head I don't see the lights of the cars that drive by on the street outside. I can form pictures under the lids of my closed eyes. They begin a lullaby of sight, and I lose control of the night. It's this loss of control that terrifies me some nights. I'm too terrified of my dreams to sleep and yet I am too tired not to close my eyes.

I close my eyes and toss and turn

All of a sudden a little boy is before me, his hands held out palms up asking only for the love a child asks for weeks before his love goes sour. He is begging for his parents back. I am a counsellor in his half-way house of dreams.

I watch as one mother comes back feeling guilty about what she left behind, although with no idea of how to fix it, without the means or will to take him back. I watch as they stare each other down too afraid too love, too afraid to hate, this is the moment the little boys eyes turn black and he starts writing a future of torture and pain.

The mothers tea she finished in the car, she finished to give her strength, her pregnant belly not allowing her to have coffee. Her tea still on her breath, the tea he says he can smell for weeks, though we do not keep tea or coffee in this house... Where is the tea? he would ask who is drinking the teas? Is my mother here? did she bring the baby? My brother, my sister?

I wake up at 4 am. I lift the cat up by the stomach, four feet hanging down facing the ground like a toy, a toy I hold so carefully. She too is half asleep. I take her to my bed and insist she stay with me; keep my safe from the night, as if I have any say in where my cat stays or goes inside these walls.

Sunday, May 24, 2015

The Rising Sun When the Soul is a Moon

I learned very soon that I can't be who I want to be all the time, I need to follow the rules. I need to behave myself and fit in. That when I talk and get excited people don't always understand me and when I get depressed, I start to cry, and I get scared that it's going to go "too far". I medicate myself so I don't cry at all, so that I hear the minimal amount of speaking in my head (so I don't run off into traffic, etc) I have to shut myself down. I have to say "You don't want to go any where alone that you can't get to by walking." Because I know that biking and driving are dangerous for me, I just know it. I feel that being too far away from home is dangerous, it's a fear I have.

Going outside when I don't have to is uncomfortable for me because I have to be a person, and people think I'm like everyone else, and if they want to know why I'm not, then I have to explain that I'm dealing with depression and they all have different opinons about it, that I can't anticipate. I can hide it for a little while and then I think I just start to confuse people.

I am happy, within the limits that I have. The person that I a right now, in this very moment, is happy, when I hear the saddness of other people living with depression and how unahppy they are at their situation it reminds me how much I have sacrificed to be happy. How much I'm not angry at or sad about depression, all that's left is the depression, I'm not depressed because I have depression.

I'm not like other people. I can get in trouble when I'm over the top if I'm really silly, If I'm in a sad place, I'll make a joke, if i'm in a good place I'll make a joke. How I see the world so differently, how quickly I am to point something out or make a joke, so that I fit in, or that people say I'm strange or weird which is better than people telling me I'm sad.

There are things I keep inside so that people don't look at me like "You have to deal with that?" I've had to deal with that twice this week. That I was concious about. I remarked" it hurts but I keep going." I have  quick wit so I'll throw a joke out, or gave a performance of the banana boat song, or Uptown Funk so people don't have to know that I'm ready to curl up in bed and just stare at a wall.

I can do that, my Body will shut down. I'll have had plenty of sleep and I know that I'll need a pot of coffee to even do my morning pages. I can put my head on my Hello Kitty pillow and stare for hours into nothing, strange voices going through my head talking about "12 sandwiches" and "A smokey mountian"; both which have no relevence to anything else around me.

I can tell you I'm an introvert, but I can also tell you my insides suck at being around people, because what I do and what goes through my mind is very different than everyone else.

Living with depression means that a lot of people can't help me. It's so abstract and so selective to how each person deals with it. I tell people dealing to follow their intution but I work on my intuation for hours at a time writing and meditating.

 My mom asked me today why I had so many witch craft books and it's because if I meditate with a spell (prayer) or a potion I'm stronger. Take a day in the week with a certian candle a goddnesss,and a certian point in the compass and some sort of mythical creature and magic happens in my mind. That puts me different places than other people as well.

For me magic is real, maybe that's why I have good days too, because my mind makes things magic. It doesn't see the logic behind many things only the imagination and the imagination is usually way cool.  Dreams are dark but the imagination lifts me up. I'm virtually tone deaf so each note sung or played is different, when I sing, I get to be magic. It also makes it harder because I can sing a song over and over again and still not realize it's the same note I sang three bars ago.

So there you go, that's what I shared about myself today.  I know that some of the stories need greater explanations, characters, people dreams and feelings, but that is me, and why I do weird things, write weird, sing weird and why I can be happy, even though my deepest souls core is very black.

Friday, May 22, 2015

Laundry Is Hard

The clock says 11:11 that has to mean something other than it's past my bed time.  11:12 that's pretty cool too.

Ok so today I pulled a pair of oversized (for me) jeans out of the closet and wore them to work. I had a belt to keep them up and a shirt that I actually bought new, not second hand in any way. A) I didn't do laundry last week so I was pretty much down to the last pair of pants I had (I have to go to the laundry mat 15 minutes up the road and I don't drive so laundry is hard) B) I realized on the walk home that I really didn't care about how I looked.

When I was skinny there were so many interesting options for cloths that looked good. When I was skinny I could throw a dress over jeans and still look tini tiny.  But now I just want cloths that don't cut off circulation to my feet.

I began to wonder if I reached a new high: yay I'm comfortable and happy and my shirt is cool; the lady who has the same one says so.

Or a new low: my pants are three sizes two big and I don't care, it's the end of the world anyway.

I wondered how many woman dress up just for men and deduced that I've finally given up and just dress for myself. Which is ok if I have a sense of style and passion. Nope and Nope.

Is that sad that I don't care how I look because no ones going to be interested anyway. I guess that's the next thing I have to deal with my cloths and my compassion about what I wear.
I was a teenager once and loved buying new cloths and making sure they fit right and maybe just maybe I would fit in with the world around me. In the last little while I've really taken to not worrying about if I fit in or not, but maybe I need to care a little bit more. Or maybe this fashion faux pa is the real me.

I'm just happy when something fits. Even if it needs a belt.

Thursday, May 14, 2015


A watched candle burns memories into ashes and dirt
A flicker recites stories of the past finding the path into dreams
I gather the dreams as a peasant would gather flowers, caught in the embrace
In the dreams arms I risk completely losing myself into unconsciousness
I lay there in the bed, ruffling through the days, taking weeks to wake back up again

Tuesday, May 12, 2015


Listen, it's the sound of people bringing their friends down, most people don't raise up people, they put them down and talk about them behind their back. If any part of you is different they're only going to use that against you as well, they're just assholes rise above.

That's why the song "you raise me up" is so important it's not meant for a group of people it's meant for that one person who sticks out in a universe of people who want to be better than you. There are so many who want to beat you in a race and in get ahead of you in life and in a lot of cases they will use anything they can against you.

Don't "not care." Really, don't do it because everyone else is doing it. Don't sit quietly. Don't tattle everytime it happens. DO what makes you strong and lifts everyone else up around you even if they're hurting you prove to your soul that you can raise people up, and if they hurt you so much that you don't want to raise them up leave and find new people.

Monday, May 11, 2015

When Tomorrow

When tomorrow
wakes up and
knocks on the door
with the dreams of ghosts
and wild children
past curfew
take me into my dreams
when I'm wide awake
and cross the line
from bliss into this

When tonight
falls asleep
it will take my dreams
to a special place
of hibernation
and hold it
for when the sun sets
I cross the line
to a place where
anything can come true

When I get off work
It's my and a keyboard
and a little voice
alive with fire
soft skin
terrified eyes
and a need to take
one more step forward
to my love


Sunday, May 3, 2015


I have darkness asleep on my shoulders
a blanket of shadows
I am unable to live while living
unable to move while moving

my eyes see
A memory of me running
feeling the wind
between my fingers

Still in my pj's I make it
a mile down the road
from where I was and
want to be

A tunnel
A train
for miles and miles
no light
no forward
or back ward

I stop running
take a rest
some time to tie my laces
drink some water

I have run
unknowing where I was going
or how to get there
so I go home

Sunday, April 26, 2015


I enter the doors
Made by paper
And words
I will skim
Like milk,
Spilled over the leather
The bindings, utter sounds
To remind me of
Of the body of words
I wish to learn
Like sugar in my tea

I study
This new romance
Make new rules
And as soon as they're law
Break them

I reach the core
The verbs, the adjectives
And, oh yes, the nouns
The language a volcano
I try
The first time
I see your eyes
The words I learned
From the travel guide
And no one
Not even you
Understands a word I say

But you see my passion
And take my hand
Phrases and images
Give way like the
Castle is falling behind us
Pictures come alive
With the words
I see mine
Turn into yours
Before I open
My mouth

One day I say
"I love you"
In your language
And it makes sense
So many words
That have been said before
Are only crumpled paper
Except that this one sentence

Is a written passage way to the kiss of a foreign tongue

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

In Dark Places

I'm growing light; I am a flower of light, in dark places. All this time I wondered if I made the right decision. All this time I've hated my theatre degree because I didn't understand until now, right now, that I was following a dream, following my heart.

I was embarressed because I went to university and didn't get a job doing Theatre, or History, or English. I was embarressed because it took me a while to find my place. I was frustrated because it took me a while to not come home and just sleep.

I'm growing light, I didn't realize it, but when I started singing again I opened up the zipper between light and dark, and let the sunshine in. I've doubted and still doubt my abilities, but I'm getting stronger as I do write night and singing lessons, as I keep writing and recording on my own. I took film and now I record myself reading my poems, singing. It's little but it's one step at a time

It's a lesson in faith, to hang on. In 1995 I said I wanted to take theatre, be an artist, and no one stopped me. In 2015 I feel it all falling into place, if only for a moment, life and dreams start to come together and meet. I see the reasons for my choices in the past and I applaud myself for the perserverence I have shown over the last 20 years.

There will proabably always be pain and struggle, but I'm learning who I am, I am lighting up my darkness.

Saturday, April 18, 2015

The Navigator

I don't remember much from being a child. I think because I don't have a lot of people to remind me. SO much of conversations parents and relatives and friends since childhood, is "remember the time you rolled in the mud in the mud flats?" or "sang something beautiful at the church service?" In our family we don't really talk about or remember things like that. The event happened, a few people were there, they didn't like that we got all dirty or that they had to sit through the whole service to hear me mess up Morning has Broken.

I do know I was a mixture of impulsive and thoughtful as a child. I would do whatever I wanted to do and then think about the consequences and decide how I would react and talk in the future.

I liked to have jokes and conversations planned out in my head, I remember post university when my Hotel friends missed a joke I saw unravel in my head, I tried to direct it, like the director I had been in university. But I know that over the years I've become more and more aware of myself. I didn't think it was possible to be more away of myself now than what I was twenty years ago, but I am.

I've become a human navigator I write poetry like maps of the past, like maps of my feelings. I get up early in the morning to go over my dreams and stay up late at night pointing my life in the direction I want with song and words.

I think about what people say, people that I have to be around, people that I choose to be around and see how their words affect me. I embrace the good ones and heal from the sad ones.

I live the present by navigating the past.

Friday, April 17, 2015

Butterflies Around the Moon

Someones praying tonight
I hear their sighs
Their words like butterflys
Around the moon

Someone is playing their
Old stand up piano
For the last time
Before they leave it
In the golden field
The June bugs to play it with
Their June bug toes

The sounds of dreams
Waking up in the night
To realize
The prayer wasn't for the child
But for me

The sound of keys
As I walk out the door
One more time
To do something
I pray for

I just can't shake
The sound of my voice
Asking for one more wish
One more dream coming true
And then praying
For someone I've never met

My words butterflies
Around the moon