Introducing Scrittura’s new owner — Well, my friends, rockers, and lovers of words…it wasn’t necessarily easy to make this decision to leave, and, even when it was made, it’s been difficult to fully let go. I’ve been on Medium for nearly five years, most of which time was also spent running this publication, this precious…

…and submissions are paused in the meantime. — It’s been nearly five years since I arrived on the Medium scene. I’ve met some incredible people, some extremely talented writers. But, everything must come to an end. This is mine. Between my energy output at work and the creative directions I’d like to go in the real world, I…

A fantastic poetic month wraps up — I don’t know what was in the universal water last month, but, my gods! you Scritturites sent in some heavily inspired material. It was difficult for me to even begin to choose five of my favourites. This makes me so happy. However, you may have sensed changes in the wind…

Wednesday Prose Poem: speaking of Carter — She was like a piano in a country where everybody has had their hands cut off — Angela Carter, “Black Venus” Unapproachable — or I’m not making any headway — against the vast white tub where you rest — where you escape the torment of my incoming wave — in…

Wednesday Prose Poem: taking on a movement — Hard to orient the senses when you’re always upside down, scrambling through the winter and sunset holding onto spare keys that don’t fit anything you own — spinning and sinking and spilling water outside the tub — water that doesn’t feed anything — just got to dry or mould, or…

Saturday Poetry Prompt: linking the image — Not mad like interesting connections — mad like ragged bag of compost leaves left well into November on Chestnut alley half-covered by snow and dog shit and then the song of some sacred smell begins to unfold the forsaken Quest to understand — but shopping for groceries has become the…

Wednesday Poetry Prompt: the open road — Going slow, so slow, on the skating rink that used to be the number 3 — heading northeast, again — Brooks scraping away the last stone covering my heart — head spun — there’s no trees for kilometres and kilometres, aching to hide but out here in the full sun…

Saturday Poetry Prompt: borrow from me — I’m having a hard time writing — so I make a new hole in my breastbone, a place where the incense can come to light — I know that somewhere, people are growing naked and secure, preparing the pile of lost clothes for the morning and losing themselves in the…— …

Wednesday Prose Poem: structure reversals — In the end the sentence was too loud and I never had the lucky point of view — I waded through escape as one more ritual defied what I could understand — holding to a well-beaten path but without the depth of vision to see how the purple grass embraces…