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Ashes In Drury Lane
This poem tumbles through a surreal nursery, where idioms curdle and lullabies unravel. A fair lady shapes gold from dust, the Muffin Man kindles fire instead of flour, and flying pigs signal impossible beginnings. What starts in whimsy ends in quiet ruin—a cradle of contradictions where even patty cakes fall. Here, the rhythm is real,…
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The burden of Shame
Some pain is too raw for casual retelling. A few weeks ago, my son sent a short text saying he was ending our relationship and needed time to heal. No explanations—just silence. In that quiet, I imagined what his heart might’ve said if it hadn’t sealed shut. This poem is my interpretation of that silence—not…
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Ballad of the Quiet Evening
Sometimes the hardest truth comes not from others, but from within. My husband is facing the painful reality that his father—once admired—was emotionally abusive, and he’s seen those same patterns in himself. It’s been raw, but he’s met it with courage and tears. Last night, we watched the sun set in silence. That quiet moment…
Echoes In The Current 