Sleepy City


Not an echo, not a sound,

Life waits in silence while the rain washes over the wounds of the past

I’m walking on the same wet asphalt,

but the drops don’t touch me –

I am the sleepy city who can never be unpolluted.


 -by Anto & Chris

Late Night Freud and the First Glimmers of a New Idea

It’s too late at night to ponder too deeply… my head is heavy and my thoughts are muddled. A thought just occurred to me though and I can’t believe I didn’t figure this out before now.

My writing has changed over the past couple of years. I attributed my change in focus to many things – mainly the fact that I acquired an amazing writing partner. Almost everything I write now is a shared labour of love and we get so caught up in ‘our’ stuff, that the latest novel keeps getting pushed to the side. Inspiration pours out of me in the form of poems and lyrics now and it’s a very different mindset and process than when I write a novel.

When I write the novels, I sit by myself and step into a world that’s of my creation – but not mine. It’s pure fantasy.

When I write songs and poems, I write with and for my partner, about a world that’s ours. It’s our reality.

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You wear integrity like a suit of armour,
Its steely strength protects and defines who you are;
To question your word is to question your honour –
So this chink, this thing you deny is so bizarre.

I know it’s not your lie, it’s not even your choice,
But you keep it and hide it and help him disguise.
You who in anything else would raise up your voice,
Keep silent, pretending it’s okay he denies.

Does loyalty diminish your sense of outrage?
Where you’d normally plead truth, does love censor you?
Or are you silently glad of his masquerade?
For while there’s illusion, your mask is hidden too.


Take From Me…

Take from me what you need,
Lean on me when you’re weak,
Expect me to love you,
Assume my shoulder is always yours…
But don’t ever be fooled –
Don’t think that I can’t see…
You use me and give back…what?
It’s getting easier for me not to care.


The first lie was the hardest,
but the masquerade gets easier.
Hiding in front of them all,
we pretend there’s nothing between us.

Every time you touch my soul
I want to shout and claim you as mine,
But this secret I will keep…
and we’ll cherish every hidden kiss.

The Real Beauty is Reality

Publicity perfection,

posed for the rest of the world.

Measured light, cropped and spun – 

every shot is meant to stun. 

Symbols of us used as props – 

a promise around your neck, 

our book in leather, held tight – 

no other signs could burn so bright.

But the best pictures of you 

are out of focus, over-exposed – 

memories meant just for me… 

the part of you the world doesn’t see.

Just Another Night

The soft sounds of a breath, a tender chuckle, an ‘I love you’ in the night…

these gentle reverberations, so close and so intimate,

have the power to seige fortresses and win wars…

The depth of how our eyes hold steady and peer deep into each other’s souls…

In a single flash there is a crushing vulnerability that

by the sheer fact of its existance, creates unyielding strength. Everything exposed. Everything confessed. Everything safe in unquestionable trust

It’s just another night spent with you.

In trust, In love

Vulnerable in trust,
we fight to keep us sacred.
How could blythe words express who we are, what we share…
Profound, deep…pure. Our love,
it’s beyond the power of words.
Vulnerable in love,
we fight to keep each other strong.

An Eden Sinking

A tapestry beautiful and alive..
woven out of ribbon so rich and dense,
that it shimmers with nature’s first green,
Intricate layers of secrets and trust,
mysteries and magic that no one else can understand.
Judged from a distance,
the story is hidden within the picture –
a garden of hues – delicate threads of golden strength,
each stitch of every leaf is the battle, the love, the reason…
the belief in me and you…
But as the sun goes down, its dying glow
illuminating the warp and weft of what we’ve created,
the frayed edges of a hole are betrayed –
revealing an emptiness where the beauty falters,
not able to stay in the ugliness of words not spoken.