You cannot write alone, no more than you can be alone inside your own poems. The muse is not only,  in contemporary vernacular, an inspirit but a facilitator…the acknowledged or unacknowledged antagonist… the opposition that creates the energy and story of the poem…the need and the means. It provides the imagination with context, and when all is said and done, the text itself. The freeness of our trees, the birdies of our birds, the pity of our forgiveness, the beauty of our longing, our paralysis, our prevarications, our palaver, all may saturate the colours and textures of our poems, but they are masks over the singular face of the archetype.

Stanley Plumly
Autobiography and Archetrype,

an intolerable yearning

December 4, 2018

Once it was possible to earn a living by writing love letters for others: the lost, the lonely, the tongue tied would cough up hard cash for a letter containing words of passion, entreaties of love, of desire and need. These letters, to be sent by the purchaser to their beloved, were, by their very nature, a shared emotional space. A good writer would use words like honey-coated darts; he would fan the flames of longing in the heart of the desired one. He would create an intolerable yearning in the mind of the letter’s recipient thus making possible a fiery union of love –


you still want it

October 2, 2018

You want to love him in a way, in a way that didn’t hurt & now you know that isn’t love at all. Sometimes, you still want it. Meanwhile, all the blue in the world is burning, even if you won’t look at it.

Yves Olade
Something I’d Lie About

hurting you

September 8, 2018

Something else is hurting you – that’s why you need pot or whiskey, or whips and rubber suits, or screaming music turned so fucking loud you can’t think.

Charles Bukowski
The Big Pot Game
Tales of Ordinary Madness

She Said

August 28, 2018

She said she will,
but doesn’t mean she wants too.
She said she can,
but doesn’t mean she needs too.
She said “not now”
But it didn’t stop you.

Jillian McLean

I Saw You

August 6, 2018

Needing Dick

January 20, 2018

The nature of love

November 11, 2017

Before everything is over
I would like to make love to you
the same number of times as a gentleman knocking on a
door that will never open for him.

The same number of times a mirror fails to reflect the spirit
of a ruined man.
The same number of times a young woman
discovers in the middle of a noisy party
that she is alone.

I would like to make love to you like a man
leaning his face from the window of a passenger train to catch
one more look at the one woman he ever
truly adored, but now he must leave behind.

Like a circus performer looking up at a ceiling of trapeze rings,
crazy lights and precarious high wires,
knowing he will never climb that high.

Like a washed up prize fighter reaching for the canvas
because it is his only friend.
Like a bum reaching for a twenty dollar bill
that is blowing across a busy boulevard.

I would like to make love to you
before the passersby pass by
before the falling sun falls out of this world
and into the next, before the brown bear of winter falls
into his magnificent winter slumber.

I would like to make love to you with my forehead
pressed to your naked waist.
with my platelets pulsing in your veins.
With my brain on fire and snow falling on your
hissing flames

I would like to make love to you a hundred times
with the shuddering knowledge of
you, with your frozen smile and untraceable fingertips.
you with your indecipherable dreams.

Because I am doomed to live with you even when I am
without you – you with your incomplete shoulders.
You with your rainbow coloured lips.

You with your empty hands.
Your perfumed silence, your perfect elegance.
You, with the sunlight that leaks out of
your darkness and into my world.

George Wallace


June 11, 2017