There’s always one isn’t there
Slopping beer all over his shoes
He’s jostling for position
Hand secure upon the barrier
But his shoulders aren’t quite through
Because a fangirl, already half cut
Is hogging space for two
Arms are sleeves of coloured ink
Hair is blonde and striped in pink
Boobs are large and cupped in lace…
He might try conversation
“I love your tats; the skull, the eagle
...

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The ghost that flitters through your sleepless night

may be fully alive in another’s  daytime sight,

for the dimensions where they appear as a wisp

may not be the same as that where they’re kissed…

Imagine if your mind is ready for this notion just yet

that the ghosts which you see are not dead for I bet,

what you see is merely a slim projection coming from

another di...

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In The Halls Of The Kingmaker

I touch the rough stone walls,
feeling the room whisper with history.
The open fires cast medieval glows,
while wood smoke threads the tapestries.
Floorboards shiver underfoot,
groaning softly in their dotage
as visitors step gently
in the footsteps of kings.

Up and around
the spiral staircase,
just wide enough
to fit a climbing guest
whose hands
bru...

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One thing I am proud of most:

I never believed in ghosts.

Because shadows are shadows,

Or worse, penumbras up close,

And smoke leads to smoldered embers,

Not the fire one might suppose.

Reputations are ruined

By what one may think they know.

When you listen to stories,

Remember, there are no ghosts.

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