All That Remains

I still struggle with unresolved feelings
Anger, Disbelief, Loss, Grief
Gradually, these are being replaced
Time, the gentle healer works magick
My twin-spirited Poet, you lost the battle
Your inner darkness was too strong
Misunderstood, others helped it flourish
Good and evil, charming and cruel
So desperate for love, so destructive with it
I find that I mourn for both of you

The man you wanted the world to see
The man who desperately clung to me

My lover who was a stranger
Who gambled and lost with danger

Unpacking the detritus of my old life
I come across these trinkets and mementos
They don’t hurt me anymore
In fact, I’m glad to have them
They remind me of the other man
The better man
The one you said you wanted to be
Your half of you and me
Gone with the doppelgänger
That the world knew
Inextricably, one and the same
I mourn both the men
Who had one name…

~ kei
11 May 2015

Happy 55th Birthday Peter. Some things cannot be erased but resolution and forgiveness can come from the most unlikely sources and when we need it most…

All That Remains ©Karin Bole Tupper

All That Remains
©Karin Bole Tupper

That Season

He touched in her that place of innocence, the core of her being that was forever hopeful, a source of immutable joy. His smile fuelled in her the giddy joy of fireworks , that spark that made the ordinary extraordinary. His voice ran down her spine like the rain in spring, bringing her to life with all the exquisite burgeoning of the garden.

She reminded him of summer, when flowers bloomed, fields were ripe to bursting and the sky was an indescribable shade of blue. Her voice fell on his ears like musical notes and his fingers could barely capture the lyric that illuminated his thoughts. Laughter spilled from her lips and kissed his soul in a timbre tuned only to him.

Together they created a new season. The season of they. Endless. Glorious. Never to be matched by the mere turn of the earth on its axis…

~ kei
4 April 2015

Petites Pensées ~ Buried Treasure

So long ago, buried so deep

Your memory is the treasure

My pirate’s heart does keep


Run this heart through

Bloody your pen like a sword

Cover me with sweet lies

I’ll stand guard over your words


Ocean’s apart

Fathoms so deep

So it is with our love

And the secrets we keep

~ kei
19 February 2015

My Beloved

As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.
~ Song Of Songs

There is nothing in nature to compare
To my handsome Love, a man so rare

My Love is made tall, rugged and straight
Like the sheltering oaks at the edge of the lake

His hair falls round his face, soft, fine and dark
As velvet spanish moss on the live oak bark

Eyes dark and glowing with deeper mysteries
Than the oldest amber found in the seas

The beard on his face, so soft upon my skin
Softer yet than spring’s first bloomed catkin

Lips and tongue, both tease and beseech
Kisses sweeter than the ripest peach

Blissful surrender, I am his slave
Hard and strong like a rowan stave

His heart is strong, warm and true
Eclipses even the sun, breaking through

No, nothing in nature could ever compare
To my beloved, a man so rare

~ kei
November 2011


I took down the photographs of you that stood on the Moroccan inlay accent table at my elbow. I replaced them with jewel-tone vases and miniature orchids, a tiny version of the ones in your greenhouse. Your scarf is gone too. I want to remember winters that are more like the ones you know, the ones that I always teased you about. More like Muncie and less like Muncey. I gave it to a homeless man who had long hair and a beard and looked not in the least like you but made my heart leap nonetheless.

Our room still overlooks the garden, the aged cedar fence that is barely visible under a drapery of green ivy in the summer but that right now, looks like a lace work of skeletons. It’s not unbeautiful in its way… Not without poetry, like the dead roses that are still roses and so shall be until I call them by another name and I call it “the guest room” now…

I used to know you by a certain name. A name with consonants and syllables that caressed my tongue and sent chimera shivers through my thoughts. If you write to me and tell me that you have disowned your name, you will never hear it from my lips again; but left here to my own subconscious devices, I find myself etching its letters among words of love and spilled ink thoughts. Don’t flatter yourself. This is not a love poem.

These are just words that fall as effortlessly onto the page in front of me as they always did. If you asked any of the old gang, they’d tell you that most days I look right as rain but they don’t know that inside I’m a fucking hurricane and that sometimes I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams; threadbare and fraying and I could really use a friend because talking to myself is becoming a thing. Not to mention a run on sentence. I hate admitting that though I haven’t done in a very long while, I sometimes ache for the tiniest news of you – even if it’s bad and that seeing the home exterior paint chip colours makes me sad. The house we built together with bullshit and dreams and too much Budweiser and Strongbow… Not knowing that time is too damn short and that hurt does evaporate just like this snow that hasn’t stopped falling in two days but tastes as heavenly on my tongue as your mouth.

Come home nameless one.

Come home to me. I have never felt so alone, so utterly lost in this world. I’m not mad anymore. That’s more bullshit. I’m furious when I think about it too long. Come home, bring a pizza, bring those size twelve boots all covered in snow and wear them into the house. I don’t care…

I want to be your best friend again.

~ kei
3 February 2015

Pete's scarf

©Karin Bole Tupper

In Memoriam

This was written at the request of a friend, a woman who has shared part of my journey. She asked if I could write a farewell to be posted on the Facebook poetry page I had shared with the man I once loved and who I lost to his own inner demons. It’s been almost a year since I last heard from Peter. I’ve struggled with a goodbye I didn’t want but had to make, with grief and rage as secrets and not-so-secrets were revealed or confirmed. Having had the opportunity to share with his last partner and to hear from her, his words for me; I feel I can at last put this to rest. Not in the murk of those last days but in the sunshine that was once what he brought to my life.

Once upon a time…

There was a man who loved me. We were friends. We were colleagues. We spent almost two years together planning a life, writing books, creating this page and my own. We planned to marry, to open a writer’s retreat in upstate New York and to have a pied-à-terre here in Canada.

Some of my acquaintances here will remember those happy, creative times. Some will remember when it began to fall apart. None will ever know the full story or how the end was never really the end nor ever will be. The story is Peter’s and mine and it lives still in our words – the good and the bad chapters – and in the life that I live now.

So, the time passes and slowly I begin to realize…. Time does heal. It does not unbreak, it does not erase but it does soften the edges of the wound and it does replace the aching, the tears and sleepless nights with calm and grace. Time fades the hurt, it answers the questions and sometimes, it brings you a gift you couldn’t have imagined…

There aren’t words for the gratitude that I feel for meeting Anna, for her understanding, her belief and her kindness in asking me to say some words here.

Dear Peter, I will never understand the demons in your head. I will never understand how things went so wrong. At the end, I had to let you go. I couldn’t stay to watch your destruction become mine.

You did leave me a gift though; words that you spoke to Anna. A woman of grace and courage, a woman whom I am proud to call my friend. The healing began for me once I heard from her that yes, you had loved me.

I think that is all I needed to know…


Some of you may recall how Peter and I wrote back and forth. Two poems, one thought, one heart, he’d say. One of the first poems he wrote for me follows. I wrote my response, slightly different from the 2011 version, on my blog just short days ago and I share it below Peter’s. The words are raw; you may wish to stop reading now. The words at the end of mine come from one of our last conversations. Fitting I thought as it echoes the last line of his poem to me short years before. Our relationship was emotional, fiery, and incendiary at times – the words reflect that. I smiled as I read his poem, for the first time in so long, I left the spelling exactly as he wrote it, he’d relied on me to do the editing for the books we wrote together. We had many laughs over this, many good times before outside influences and Peter’s own demons began to prey on him. It’s important that people know that.

I’m sharing both these pieces in the spirit of healing, in the spirit of forgiveness and in the spirit of grace. For Peter, for myself, for our families and for what might have been.


by Peter Fifield on Tuesday, 22 November 2011 at 16:05 

Look at me Karin

as you look upon the night sky.

Look at me my love

and we’ll watch time pass us by.

Sing with me my green eyed angel

as we sing our own love song.

Sing with me Karin

and let the the world sing along.

Kiss me my love

and let us mould into one.

Kiss me my darling

until our last breath is gone.

Look at me my love

when you steal my lonely heart.

Look at me

as you tear my soul apart.

Look at me Karin

and don’t ever forget me.


By Karin Bole Tupper, 7 January 2015

I miss you so much sometimes…

You know, I can hardly write here anymore. You’ve spoiled me for any other man. I can’t – no – don’t want to write what is not. The irony isn’t lost on me. Nor you I suppose. Wherever it is that you are now.

Funny how anger can lose its razor-sharp edges over time. Almost a year now Baby.


That name slips off my tongue so easily. I hear it in your voice though. Bourbon and Marlboros, whispering over golden wheat fields. You loved my description of your voice.

And oh God – if there is such a thing – how I miss you when I hear the kiss of your voice against my ear. “Baby”, growled soft and low as you stand behind me, running your huge hands down my arms, stooped to reach the shell of my ear. I’ve never felt so safe and yet so bereft in my life as I do now.

I feel you everywhere.

You tattooed yourself onto my skin. Words, kisses, sweat, spit, cum… You wrote yourself onto my body, into my heart and soul. Wrenched out by the madness in your own and yet… here I am now.

Craving yet the smoothness of your skin, the long sinewy muscles of your thighs, thrumming under my fingertips, my lips, my tongue. Aching for those huge hands to run down my back, cup my ass and pull me close to you.

Whisper please… whisper again how much you love me. Tell me everything will be okay again someday.

For my desire is nothing but winter. My body cold and frozen, ice in my veins and a howling blizzard in my heart. All that remains of you, me, the fire of we.

Is this tiny spark.

This contained flame, this tip of your cigarette as you stub it out and once again pull me to you.

“You’re mine Kiddo. Always. Don’t forget me. Promise me Karin. Don’t ever forget me.”

~ kei
7 January 2015

B and P Necklace

Princess & Bleddyn, Kateri & Akwaho, Baby & Boo. Let that be what remains.


 I would say “Rest In Peace” but you aren’t gone, merely slipped out of sight as Dylan Thomas said. I choose to let the good memories reign. Whatever and whoever came during the period of your darkness is irrelevant and certainly cannot erase you and I.

Hyd nes ddiwrnod arall my Bleddyn.

~ kei
18 January 2015

We Never Finished That Conversation…

“me:  There are words that are hard to read but the reasons behind are completely understandable. One person can’t replace another in a loved one’s life; only make a new place in their heart.

Your experiences, the people you’ve loved and lost all these things make up who you are and I want you. I want you to heal and move forward yes but always knowing there were beautiful things before that don’t take anything away from me or from us.

You must acknowledge the pain and there will be angst. If there wasn’t then you wouldn’t be the man I think you are nor would you have acquired the grace and strength to become the man you’re meant to be. Acknowledging means finding context and moving forward, in a new way but not necessarily a way that means the past is forgotten.

It means you can begin anew. Clean.”

~ kei

I don’t know the date but sometimes, I would draft my responses to you before hitting “Send”. When you began to descend into the madness, we could got as lost in the fighting words as we did in the loving ones, the beautiful poetry and duets. At our end, such as it was; I wanted – needed – to be sure that I was truly reaching you with the one thing I knew you always cherished.

My words…


When you said that the rain followed you everywhere I was relieved
I’ve been wandering in this desert for so long now
My heart is parched and my soul is scorched

And baby, from where I was standing the tornado in your voice
Well, that sounded like a little bit of heaven, like a promise
To a body going too long on nothing

The rain started in the afternoon and I thought, I can hang on
I waited in the heat and the blast furnace of doubt and pain
The skies were open but you never came

My knees are bruised and bleeding from crawling across this lava floor
Curled in a ball trying to hang onto myself, don’t turn inside out
Shadows chase themselves across my fevered skin

Hours ticked down, the knock never came, only the lightning and the rain
Had you come, I’d let you in, anything to cool this fevered skin
Adrift.. Alone… Too bad I never learned to swim

~ kei
7 July 2012