Monday Books: Introducing Snapshots

I’m so proud and excited to announce that I’ve had a new poetry micro-chapbook accepted for publication by Broken Sleep Books!

Named Snapshots, it’s a collection of short vignettes about every-day life: the things you see when you pay attention, and some of the things you see when you’re only half paying attention. It’s sort of a throwback to my first chapbook, Tiny Moments, which in a similar vein illustrates short moments and catches them in time.

At the moment I don’t have a release date, but more details to come!

tales + believers + premonitions

they pass down their short
bits of wisdom, hard-earned through
learning and doing.
these tales act as lessons, hide
harsh truth in pretty cloaking.

 

they are believers.
what they know is true; if they
don't know it, then it
mustn't be true. and if they
don't know it, they never will.

 

they have, sometimes, odd
little premonitions. it
would spook them, but they
have their stories. they keep their
stories straight, written in stone.

weather + life + opaque

the weather has turned
nasty, driving rain sheeting
down over city
streets. below my boots, puddles
form, little rivers running.

 

it becomes habit
to prepare coffee or tea
in a travel flask,
still hot and ready to drink
no matter the conditions.

 

life is paused as rain
opaque in its heaviness
whips at the window.
later, the clouds clear and the
sun gleams harsh on glossy glass.

poetry 101 rehab: revolution

pace the pavement,
punctually tired.
routine well-established
(if you're not careful

you will wear the
asphalt down)

same old days;
they ignore dark winter's
chill kiss
(summer's humid embrace
as well)

pace the path
you accidentally created
day after week
after month.

snap and tear;
you're darkest in your
imagination.

(it won't change anything,
you know?)

pacing turns frenzied
hurrying towards a dozen
imagined goals.
(there's never enough time,

is there?)

and on a blistering-hot day,
(you're not even aware of it yet)
this is how you decide.

it's time for your
revolution.

the deluge

she is the
deluge,
one you never
see coming.

not until it's
too late,
that is.

watch out for her.
she will wreck a
mansion
with a
thought,
lay waste to a city
in a heartbeat.

and she won't
think twice before
she does.

she sweeps through
the world.
it is no more than
a playground to her.

she dances in the
street, careless and
wild and
unchallenged.
(none will challenge
her)

watch her hair
tangle in the
air, a Gordian
knot of nature's making.

watch her twirl,
wildness in her
blood
unrepentant and
casually destructive.

she is a
hypnotist
and you
cannot
look away.

vortex

this happens again and again.

you are the scrawl, the
faded dull white writing on
a murky piece of blackboard.
i am the silent scribe.

this is my duty, you
see to always write and
keep our records for posterity.
always drawn back to you.

magnetised we are not, but
still we gravitate towards one
another as if we were.
these records won't keep themselves.

time for a new ledger.