A Sort of Danse Macabre

In fiery tongues of the ancient fireling,Dances the ghost of the Magician's Daughter,and her paramour, the starry-eyed Owl King,Their zephyrus song-revelry growing louder,Summon shadow-laughter, crackling kindling,While the warlock trapped weeps to be without her,Her, who lies in darkness, unseen fate-weaving,Whisper prayers for forgiveness in spring showers,Magic made real only through painful living.

Fragmented Words

After all is said and done, will my fragmented words mean anything, to anyone?

Adrift the Sea of Creativity

I am adrift the currents of my own creativity,A shattered moon overhead, looming despondently,Gleaming on the glassy surface of these calm seas,I breathe in the stars with shuddering ecstasy,And dive down into the unfathomable deeps,Harvesting glimmering pearls of my fantasies,Clinging like barnacles to shipwrecked stories,Full of potential, romantic, tragic, dreamy,But I dare not linger too … Continue reading Adrift the Sea of Creativity →

Unintended Poetry

There is an arrangement of flowers on the small patio across from me,A collection of red Tulips and silvery Lilies, well-tended and orderly,I have never seen the owner, but their commitment was clear to see,Inspired, I planted some flowers of my own, Fuchsias and Pansies,So I was a touch shocked to see, over the course … Continue reading Unintended Poetry →

In Abjurum

As the stone grows worn from the endless rains, It recalls a time before the lands had names, Before the tall trees were torn down and chained, When the wild things roamed alive and untamed, Living to be free, unyoked, without shame, Such was the way of things, the cycle maintained Until one day They … Continue reading In Abjurum →

A Peace that Comes with Rain

Eyes uplifted to distant starry heavens,As rain, like the mercy of an unkind god,Mingles with the naked, innocent tearsOf the ignorant, the pitiful, the unloved,Washes away the pain of living.

A Writer’s Curse

There are frightful ailments innumerable,to which writers are often susceptible:Writer's Block, Carpel Tunnel, Hot Cornea,but most dreaded is Partum non Eximia,that terrible disease called the Writer's Curse.It's when you've written something brilliant,But someone else did it better, first.

A Sort of Hunger

There is a pain somewhere inside of me,Sharp, sudden, cutting like striking glances,Trivial in the madness of the day,But gnaws on my bones when I'm most weary. In youth we must mistake the remedy:Form soothing balms with rushed dalliances,Or the comfort of endless holiday,Yet pain returns - patient, predatory. While age refines our life's stability,That … Continue reading A Sort of Hunger →

Poet, Transmuted

One day I believe I’ll melt away, Deeply asleep, Simply fall unto myself, a heap of reeking dreams, And become something so terrible, beautifully, Because my bleeding heart yet seeps eager poetry, A font of misery in deserts of apathy, So travelers can drink Deep of me and grow weary, Drowning in the reverie of … Continue reading Poet, Transmuted →

The Ruinous Path

So I must hesitate, chest pounding in misery, And consider my next moment, next eternity, Must I keep running along this desolate shore, To chase someone I that feel condemned to adore? If only I could catch up to you, reach out, and - But once again, you withdraw your outstretched hand. Every moment’s pause, … Continue reading The Ruinous Path →