Thursday, May 28, 2020

Saturday, April 11, 2020

No Walls

I love sitting down with a box full of random words, pictures, colours, old magazines and making collages. Sometimes they turn into zines and other times it's a one-off. These creative moments, especially now during prolonged social distancing and quarantine, are therapeutic as f.

How are you getting creative these days?

Thought (Magnetic Poem #4)



to   you

Tuesday, April 7, 2020

Gilded Words (Magnetic Poem #3)

Gilded Words

books are the solution

full of sound & beauty


                  follow the                     words

The Language of Art (Plunderverse Poem #5)

The Language of Art

language is intelligent, idiosyncratic,
                             a life's work                                      elements of
                       a seemless

                                                the artists' own words
                            the language
keening, strident, warlike, seductive


                                                              provocations, flashes


                                         profoundly awake
                                   eyes open

seizing the light
working under cover of darkness
                            obscuring darkness

Thursday, March 26, 2020

A Kafkaesque Self (Magnetic Poem #2)

                                      do you feel it?

                                                 ennui & delight
                                                beauty & languish
                                                obtuse & cunning

                                   this herculean banality

a Kafkaesque self

Monday, March 23, 2020

Slather Language Here (Magnetic Poem #1)

Creativity is like a deep well, and as long as you keep it nourished, its waters will be there for you.

During this time of self-isolation, I realized I need creative time to play and get away from screens. So, this series of poetic interventions into my day, via my fridge haha (thanks magnetic poetry!) is meant as a creative outlet.

Here's the first poem. But technically this is Day 9 of self-isolation.

slather language here
miscreant missives

a system for
fecund ennui

(N is for Neville who died of ennui
- Edward Gorey)

Wednesday, November 6, 2019

Fall Haiku

The last leaf whispers
"I want to stay with you, Tree"
Wind has other plans


I am the last leaf
I am always the last leaf
Until Wind finds me


The last leaf trembles
"Goodbye, Tree, until next time"
Wind comes out to play

Thursday, September 5, 2019

Zombie Self-Portrait (Plunderverse Poem # 4)

Zombie Self-Portrait

I remember the first year art had changed

the art making happened in the neglected rental
with strangely shaped rooms and walls
crawling with words 

and mysteriously the electricity was spotty
crackling, black-stained extension cords

ideal for her plans

astral abstractions on canvas and paper
graphite greys and jaundiced yellows

a figure made of nightmare

early evidence of zombification
long tresses of hair and insects
jellyfish sacs and vermin
snakes for flesh 
surrounding a grinning set of human teeth

dumpster-dive faces,
masks of mess

black hole covered over 
with an aggregate of natural wonders
and street horrors

Monday, July 29, 2019

The Spectacle (Plunderverse Poem #3)

The Spectacle

it comes back to the
icons of my personal history
the bizarreness of growing up,
my desire to collect,
this obsessive accumulation of information

archives for the show

I took the photograph of the original,
fascinated by familiar

half snowing, half raining
so precarious that they would seem to be falling

Friday, July 5, 2019

Edges of Resistance (Plunderverse Poem #2)

Here's the full spread:

Edges of Resistance

voices are lyric,
strident, warlike
operatic and celebratory

horizontal panels,
collaged typewriter text
missile-like tongues

then a change
horrendous, almost unspeakable,
but different

I decided to make Woman the protagonist
presented in profile
she carries under her arm
a giant

Replying, she expressed her discomfort
at being the subject of a photograph

"I am my work ... the piece is more myself 
than the person,"

an act of revolt
angry, defiant, silenced
the ideal voice for having uttered 
the most extreme expressions of alienation

Tuesday, July 2, 2019

Light's Shadow (Plunderverse Poem #1)

Fun with plunderverse poetry (aka blackout poetry). I'm working on a zine edition full of plunderverse, so stay tuned!

plunderverse poem

I have this image
of Nature
really small
a seaside theme

born again
it didn't matter
It was more like
projects that were advancing me

unknown again
discovery within
start all over
in a way 
of assemblage aesthetic

Sunday, April 7, 2019

Welcome to the Dollhouse

This piece is my first attempt at being  a poetics pirate! I’m trying my hand a unique form called Plunderverse. It’s an “Expressive Subjects” prompt that I’ve been meaning to try for a while. The idea is that you take a poem or a piece of writing you like, and you take out bits and pieces from it and make a variation of the original.

In my case, I’m not even using a poem. Instead, as I was listening to the audiobook of the book Beautiful Boy (a father’s memoir of living with his son’s drug addiction), I took notes on words and passages that I liked, and made something new.


Both homes seem illusory.
Teenagers complain, integrate their lives badly, a flaw in their character

A flaw in their lives.

Books, quiet, low-grade melancholia
Two weeks to cram in surfing

Re-enactments & the vanishing act. Wait for the shuttle,
trailing minors with magic markers.

Open cardigan. Suitcase of your things. Warbling lyrics through the airplane.

Scary eyes, woo-woo chorus, percussion, cacophony, pounding.


Test drive the minivan for your growing family
Less trampled beaches
Rolling in the waves
Seaweed crust
Waiting for the next wave to crash down

On the way home, ceaseless back-and-forth
Worldly, sagacious child but with emotional chasms.
Meagre consolation.

Welcome to the dollhouse.


Building storeys
lines of text, layers
of sedimentary rock
of sentences building an edifice
of a tower of babel, skyscrapers built on air

sand castles of stone

Stories are set in stone
until they grow wings
and shatter the sculpture block

We tell ourselves stories
to make sense of the chaos
around us, within us
to throw meaning against the wall

We store parts of ourselves in our stories,
like squirrels store nuts in their cheeks
and forget where they buried them

stored inside a vessel,
an amphora of oil
secure for millennia
in Socrates’ grave

keepsake in a sealed jar,
a boat built inside with delicate
set adrift on ocean waves

seagulls have stories
they keep to themselves
swooping to peek through
smudged glass

Refracted stories
ride infrared waves beyond vision
distort memories
light up recesses and buried treasure
cover like a down duvet
goose flesh across your arms as you hear a story
hitting its mark on the tender spots you pretend don’t hurt

Picture frames
expensive and heavy mounted on walls
to showcase that you’re worthy
of oak

Framed like pictures snapped on iPhones
filtered for effect
Clarendon & Juno
to manicure our moments

stories built up in sediment