My sister is a beauty,
A photographer, an artist
And the best subject imaginable.
She is the main attraction of my coffee shop,
She’s the mainstay of Main Street.
Unlike every other woman I know,
She only carries her camera and her dignity.
And the gaze of a mirror;
Her plaid shirt, oversized even when it was mine.
A pair of tights earning their title
And sky-high leather boots, a rocker’s staple.
A cheesy beret, our mother’s bracelet.
Blonde locks like there are teardrops on her guitar.
And to complete the classic ensemble, Satan’s prized pearls:
The Cheshire Cat smile.
All tucked behind her expensive-as-hell camera.
And her phone, case with white box and black bow.
Just like my baby sister,
A photograph with a black bow.

I believe life is hiding a secret from me
I don't think it's meant to be so heavy and equally so empty


I lie awake seeking the moon for answers, staring at sunsets falling asleep in oceans
I know it wants me to find it

With every breath I chase the passion that will help me discover it
Discover something
Discover more than the mundane

I believe I'm one step closer, with every poem, every adventure, every photograph


Fueling with more fire every time,
so that it can simply just reveal itself

Don't worry...
We give the world vision
Words with color
Tasteful. delicious. language.

We stroke sixty shades of beauty
Accent the body
Observe. perfect. imperfections.

We layer music like cake
A sonorous crunch of bittersweet flavor
Crisp. textured. harmonies.

We expose raw motives of human beings
The aperture is our eye
Zoom. Focus. Click.

Don't worry...
Don't let Corporate America fool you.
Sure, we need doctors, lawyers, nurses, and politicians...but at the end of the day,
       that painting
       that melody
       that book
       that photo
  sparks dreams. desires. emotion.

her medium was a bucket of paint
brushes sprawled all over her plastic-covered floor.
her spinning chair would be splattered with reds and blues,
and her face would be purple.
his medium was his grandfather’s camera
a roll of film ready to be used.
it was old, yes, but he swore the photos taken would never age.
they had their own definition of art.
they used different instruments.
the way they perceived the world was different.
but if there was one thing they had in common
it was that they had fallen deeply in love with each other.

i love you like a painter loves his brushes.
how he’d always be careful with them,
taking his time to make his work perfect.
i love you like a photographer loves his camera.
how he’d always bring it around,
wanting to capture every perfect moment.
i love you like a writer loves his typewriter.
how the heavy push of the keys
are what bring him joy —
for he knew how beautiful the outcome would be.
i love you like i love … you.
how you’re always on my mind,
how you never leave my side,
how you love me too —
almost like love loves itself.

Your life consists of working hard hours, for not enough pay, hard days
Good, great people
But nothingness consoles you at the end of the day
Nothing to live for and nothing to fight for
You have become a waste of space
You don't contribute
You second guess
You

All the time fighting the same battles
Your heart, your tongue, and your liver, your mind set and your waist line
You are so far removed what you wanted ten years ago

Fell into a pattern of pay cheque to pay cheque

Living through decisions and then later, they're regrets

You need a huge change. It is scary, but dockside was the best decision you have ever made

Step outside, from your shredded sheltered comfort zone, and branch out a little more

Do what you always knew you were born to do!

Go take photographs, that mean something

Make your life important again

Not another bottle and not another regret

Do what you want to do!

Go to war, take pictures

Make your life mean something

When the Sun is at its brightest
It casts the harshest shadow
Behind each gain, there must be a loss
Each summit, a downhill
So a skilled photographer should know
When to take a rest or take a shot