come back with me

let those shy eyes fall

as lips remember the taste

of that place

that glass city by the sea

where birds lent their wings

to kaleidoscope beams

oh how you’d chase

as you soared

high upon those rusty swings


come back with me

let us remember my love

what it meant to run wild

how it felt to be free

beyond a heavy heart

back to never ending dreams

where words glittered

as golden as your hair

painting tall tales upon the air


come back with me

where tears never knew the way

and the trees

those delicious story tellers

oh the worlds they’d use to splay


come back with me

to that glass city by the sea

where waves kissed you true

and getting lost in the rain

was where you remembered

all the parts of you

Listen to me read Come

Poe Places: A Historical Journey in the Footsteps of Edgar Allan Poe: London, England

It’s taken me several years thus far to travel up and down the East Coast in search of the places entwined with the history of poet and writer, Edgar Allan Poe. His works have been such an inspiration to my own pen and he birthed my love of poetry and the detective story. So it makes absolute logical sense to travel up and down the coast to follow in the footsteps of a dead guy from 300 years ago right? Right.

Edgar was born in Boston, Massachusetts to David and Elizabeth Poe. He had two siblings, older brother Henry and younger sister Rosalie. The children, at a young age, found themselves parentless as their father abandoned them and at the age of three, Edgar’s mother, a then actress in Richmond, Virginia, died of tuberculosis. The children were then separated. Henry was sent to live with his paternal grandparents in Boston, Rosalie to the McKenzie’s of Richmond and Edgar was adopted by John and Frances Allan, also of Richmond, Virginia.

While the places I have visited thus far are all of importance and have their own individual connection to Poe, they are not in any historical order and notably the states of New York and Massachusetts I have yet to visit. Today’s adventure, however, takes me to a place I’ve desired to visit for as long as I can remember and it may have a little or everything to do with a certain bear who loves marmalade.

A little after four years of being adopted by John and Frances Allan, the family moved to England where six year old Edgar would eventually spend the next five years of his life. The family began their journey in Liverpool, traveling to Scotland to visit family members before settling in London. Within those five years, the family moved around quite a bit, living in the Bloomsbury district of London where Poe attended a boarding school in the nearby district of Chelsea for three years and then finally during his last two years across the pond, attended Reverend John Bransby’s Manor School in the small town of Stoke Newington. It is here that I ventured to walk in his footsteps.

While the actual boarding school has long since been demolished, today at N16 Stoke Newington, Church Street, 172 (this was challenging to keep straight in my head to say correctly to the incredibly kind cab driver) two memorials rest. One is that of a bust of Poe commissioned by the Edgar Allan Poe Society of Prague in 2011 as well as a brown plaque produced by the London Borough of Hackney of that same year.

As with every place that Poe has notably spent time in, it is presumed that such place influenced and inspired his writing. It is known Poe frequented the British Museum and is thought perhaps where his interest and creative imagination with science began. As well, he also likely visited the Tower of London where he would have had a glimpse of the famous (albeit clipped wings) ravens. Several of his works are set in London including The Fall of the House of Usher and Ligeia, The Balloon Hoax, and a lesser known romantic comedy, (yes, you read that correctly, a comedy) A Succession of Sunday’s.

“a dream like and spirit soothing place, that venerable old town. At this moment, I fancy, I feel the refreshing chilliness of its deeply-shadowed avenues, inhale the fragrance of its thousand shrubberies, and thrill anew with indefinable delight, at the deep hollow note of the church-bell, breaking, each hour, with sullen and sudden roar, upon the stillness of the dusky atmosphere in which the fretted gothic steeple lay imbedded and asleep…..”

Edgar Allan Poe describing Stoke Newington

Londoners are quite proud of their place in Poe history and two significant connections with Britain are that of a brass telescope that John Allan purchased for Edgar while in London, which is now housed in the collection at the Poe House in Baltimore, Maryland. Additionally, of a literary significance, it was The Library of the British Museum that discovered the first known copy of Poe’s first collection of poetry, Tamerlane.

telescope gifted to Edgar Allan Poe from John Allan while residing in London and as it sits today at the Poe House of Baltimore.

Thanks for reading and if you’ve stumbled upon my journey for the first time, you can read here to see where I have been thus far in my now ten years and counting adventures of following in the footsteps of Edgar Allan Poe.

nesting herons

So this summer thus far has found me in the midst of home repairs and remodeling which has kept me away from weekend journeys with my camera. Imagine my surprise and humbling luck when I discovered a heron nest in my own backyard!

My best guess, based on what I’ve seen of them, is that it is a yellow-crowned night heron nest. I’ve spotted both the adults and what I believe to be at least one juvenile thus far. I discovered them at the start of the weekend and have been watching it and them and their extraordinary behaviors all weekend. To get such an intimate look into their habitat is quite intriguing and has inspired me to educate myself a bit more of the species and their nesting behaviors.

I am a fan of the great blue heron and living on the coast, I get to see them often. I had no idea, however, that there are over sixty species of heron found in various parts of the world. Upon researching more, I discovered that when it comes to the yellow-crowned night heron as well as the black crowned night heron, their young look a bit different which is what initially had me confused as to what I was seeing. The adult has a yellow stripe along its crown (hence the name) with a black head. Their bill is black, the eyes are red, and their body is gray. Juveniles, on the other hand, are brown with tiny white spots and have a black bill and will remain this way for their first year.

The early morning proved rewarding when I was able to witness the harrowing fall of one of the juveniles from the nest and find its wings. This did something to me watching the courage quietly forge between its wings and left a lasting memory.

I hope you enjoy the images I captured just as much as I did watching them.

into the great wide open…

under them skies of blue…

a rebel without a clue…

thank you for viewing! if you’d like to see more of my nature inspired photography, you can visit my instagram gallery here where I share random captures from my travels and my own backyard.

hollow: a haiku

hollow paths glitter

beyond a yellow brick road

unadorned jewels wait

I remember this day when I happened upon this view very vividly for two reasons. One, it was the first time my son stood beside me with his own camera after finding his own interest in photography. Two, it was the first time I used my landscape lens and upon returning home to review the images I captured, I got teary-eyed for it seemed for the first time ever I was able to actually capture a moment precisely the way my eye found it.

When I look at this, just as that day, I think of Homer’s Odyssey. I think of the yellow brick road, the journey of life we all take, oblivious to what lies ahead. I think of the temptations, all the glitter of the world that ultimately becomes but a dressing that will tatter and fade but how tempting it is to experience, to taste, to wander into. I think of that trap that many of us experience of trying to keep up with all things and everyone around us and the disappoint that follows when it’s sometimes discovered unachievable.

I am discovering life beyond that yellow brick road. I am finding the gratification and joy within the simple things of life. It’s a path that’s a little slower, goes unnoticed and often will find you alone but what a jewel it is. Often my feet become bruised with its never-ending wander and I truly believe (and aspire) that I will never stop walking along its path.


in the perfume of dawn

i sprawl in naked wander

in the wake of he

for his touch sheds my worry

as leaves floating from the fall tree

his kiss returns the waterfall

that bathes the season in me

and i, in budding refrain, need but whisper


please before you leave

won’t you graze my cheek again

for this avalanche he awoke

that roses and roars in my stream,

it nibbles at the thorns

and clings now to his breeze

I captured this image last summer after visiting an area in Southwest Virginia where time seems to stand still and the sounds of nature burst at the seams, demanding your attention. (my kind of place) This small waterfall was a welcoming surprise, tucked into the corner of a trail. Behind me, that unfortunately I cannot find my shot of, I can recall the seemingly and intriguing “march of the mushrooms” in plight to the top of the hill.

There is something about nature that shall always glean my thoughts to that of a woman, in her growth, in her sexuality, in her resilience. My writing craves it. I can only continue to try my best and honor the spirit of that which my senses find and enjoy the journey.

Thank you for reading, and if you’d like to see more of my nature photography, you can find my random images from travels or local trails on my Instagram feed here.


lost in the depths of your lilac blue,

i curl round the stilled river of you

unfurling my buttons

from a winter wed

beneath woodlace and hawthorne

where my heart has fled

across the meadow,

beyond the thistle and dawn’s rise

i am the narcissus in wait

a paled for too long desire

that grows in your eyes

Because springtime always finds me with a desire to explore and discover perhaps a new flower or two, I pulled my camera out a few weekends ago and traveled to a favorite spot for spring blooms and my goodness they didn’t disappoint! Bluebells and tulips and a narcissus or two kept me gazing for a while. I especially loved, when capturing the white tulips, the play of the sun bouncing off their petals. So lovely. I hope you enjoy the view as much as I did.


the lord of her dawn
in the throes of fire, claims
a waltz in the figments of a hundred shades
that slip between them as invisible rain

as the ash settles in silky psalm
and drops to earth redrawn
they close their eyes to the thin places
and find their lost love song

Driving home with my Mom, during that magical golden hour, as the sun was setting, I kept seeing the trees in their nakedness seemingly as if they were on fire. I couldn’t help but think the scene was as if the trees were caught in a waltz with the sun, serenading them.

The following images are those that I captured. I love this time of year of transition, of rebirth.

one hundred love sonnets xvii : a poem by pablo Neruda

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
from the earth lives dimly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.

listen to me read one hundred love sonnets XVII


we etched sonnets on the trees
and drank midnight in the river
every time we held hands

this forest in me

where we carved our initials and etched

sonnets on the trees

where we drank of midnight from the river

gorged of our dreams

….how quiet you’ve become

i trace our letters, i whisper a melody

to the howling wind

i walk our once before path to find

the blush of my cheeks in the river

staring back at me

i call to gray clouds to purge themselves

of our dreams

i wait in the eternity, the kind that lingers

before the rain

and slip between the seasons, in the

hollow of our tree

from navel to breath, the rush of your green

swells within our frozen embrace

and you my love, drape canopies beneath a lavender sun

and return the forest in me.

Virginia in the Rain – Dave Matthews Band

winter gown

she dreams of serengeti

in the folds of her winter gown

where kings and queens cross winds in fertile bliss

parading in raffia robes and organic crown

she nests in the blue of its iris

as amber breath climbs the limbs of every tree,

her eyes rest upon the naked scars of the acacia to her,

a most treasured filigree

with cautious lips,

she grazes the constellations of its time

tracing the curve of its every year

each line fortelling of a resilience

of an unchained wildness to persevere

treading within its thrumming abyss

the fragrance of time stands still

as she drinks of that it holds hidden

in slow doses it does reveal

as copper kisses the horizon

she falls into its lean

the roar of the forest then

claims the beast in she

she dreams of serengeti

in the folds of her winter gown

as the roar of the forest then

stirs eyes awake

anext her waiting crown

listen to me read winter gown

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