There is power in knowledge we say.

Hands sunk into pages,

curling under typography and quill scratch

to drag out the secrets

someone else left behind.


There is power in knowledge we say.

Tapping at temples

to indicate something more

locked away under synapse and cell,

a threat that the safety

could easily be clicked off.


There is power in words we say,

even ones unheard.

Loose lips spill secrets,

cost lives,

loose wars…

then again,

clever ones can do just the same.


So far there have been more pages turned than footsteps trodden in my life. This isn’t necessarily bad. Those pages and the words have fed into everything I am, everything I want to be, everything I want to do. They have set pins into maps for locations I can see and given me the chance to create for myself that which no longer exists. I could walk the world over and never find the moment when the Parthenon stood whole, or Stephen Sauvestre sat hunched over sketched out plans, or Henry De Audley first saw the finished Red Castle. However, I am not content with pages instead of footsteps, and it is time for my feet to catch up.


Time changes all things,

sweeping stone to sand and dust.

Witness what comes next.

012c7dca2ad1d4a3e4e65cee445bafcd7bffc29be1 A Haibun for DVersePoets. Thank you for the wonderful prompt and a fantastically interesting article.

Upon The Fingers Of One Hand

You can count them on one hand,

those ones that mean the most

care the most

put up with the most.


You can gather acquaintance like confetti,

but there are always gaps between fingers

where people fall through

and when the wind sweeps by

it will leave you with empty palms.


Those ones who cling on,

who can be counted on one hand

are the ones who’ll scale mountains,

dig beneath oceans,

trek over desert

and parachute in over enemy territory.


All for the sake

of standing in the background

to push you forwards,

when the spotlight seems too bright.


Continue reading “Upon The Fingers Of One Hand”