my mind insults me

snapping at my self-esteem it

stones me

scarring my outerbeing with



the balloon in my chest is growing

filled with laughter and tears all at once

it will explode in a mess a disaster

eyes stung with needles and vision

tainted with the lightening red scars

that have crept across them when I

wasn’t really looking. 

I want to see

the world that everyone is speaking of

If I could scrape one layer off

remove the badly polished finish and

start raw again





It echoes in the hollow of our chests

mortality reminding us to rest

grieving for futures yet unfound

to destinies we are still bound

a party still in my dreams a 

party just out of

reach another world and half

a world away when I

felt together again




It burns red

a train of thought that trails

infiltrating minds

a chain of connected channels

changing things.

Changing this.

It speaks

in reflection and lessons


It leans

a gravity to guide  and

show you where the ground



Feet, to take you places. 

Feelings, to know. 

Facts, are an illusion

Frogs, are wonderful

Face, your fears

Find, your destiny

Forget, those bitter memories

Finish, this ferbungled foetry. 



Death of a Naturalist- Seamus Heaney

Death Of A Naturalist

All year the flax-dam festered in the heart
Of the townland; green and heavy headed
Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods.
Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun.
Bubbles gargled delicately, bluebottles
Wove a strong gauze of sound around the smell.
There were dragon-flies, spotted butterflies,
But best of all was the warm thick slobber
Of frogspawn that grew like clotted water
In the shade of the banks. Here, every spring
I would fill jampotfuls of the jellied
Specks to range on window-sills at home,
On shelves at school, and wait and watch until
The fattening dots burst into nimble-
Swimming tadpoles. Miss Walls would tell us how
The daddy frog was called a bullfrog
And how he croaked and how the mammy frog
Laid hundreds of little eggs and this was
Frogspawn. You could tell the weather by frogs too
For they were yellow in the sun and brown
In rain.
Then one hot day when fields were rank
With cowdung in the grass the angry frogs
Invaded the flax-dam; I ducked through hedges
To a coarse croaking that I had not heard
Before. The air was thick with a bass chorus.
Right down the dam gross-bellied frogs were cocked
On sods; their loose necks pulsed like sails. Some hopped:
The slap and plop were obscene threats. Some sat
Poised like mud grenades, their blunt heads farting.
I sickened, turned, and ran. The great slime kings
Were gathered there for vengeance and I knew
That if I dipped my hand the spawn would clutch it. 

Seamus Heaney, April 13, 1939- August 30, 2013

capoeira pretraining

workout in sets of 


jumps and sit


breath until you



into the sky

knees bent and


body twisted

kicks straight

into knees chests

hands into


duck attack

duck attack

duck attack

left right

kick punch

switch and 


lungs stretch

pivot dance

and breath

remember to


eye contact!

dreams and nightmares

A fanged and red-eyed white lynx prowls menacingly

growling against the window



and then we are somewhere else

and there is a party to go to

-I had written down the name

on a notepad in my dreams

You are alive and well

so well!

golden chandeliers and everything

pink and gold and glitter and

house music progressive


tripping our minds into

an overjoyful joy