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La Belle Annabel
I wandered lonely as a cloudThat floats on high o’er vales and hills,When all at once I saw a crowd,A host, of golden daffodils; And this maiden she lived with no other thoughtThan to love and be loved by me.She was a child and I was a child,In this kingdom by the sea; But we loved with a love that was more than love-I and my Annabel Lee;With a love that the winged seraphs of heavenCoveted her and me. And this is why I sojourn here,Alone and palely loitering,Though the sedge is withered from the lake,And no birds sing. Do not go gentle into that good night,Old age should burn…
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October
It’s mid October. Days and nights grow steadily cooler. The early morn sees more and more leaves laying sleepily on the ground, with low-lying fog in yonder fields, like a blanket of warmth. It’s somehow sad to see, and yet, I know it’s part of the cycle of rebirth every year. I love this time of year. Magical, mystical and ethereal. Looking for inspiration, I came across a lesser known author/poet whose story is quite interesting. And yes, inspiring. Elizabeth Orpha Hoyt. She was an American philosopher, author and poet who grew up in Athens, Ohio and who had such a thirst for knowledge. She was thought of as a…
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Faceless
I wrote this poem toward the end of 2020, when the “Covid-19 pandemic” was in full swing and many theories about the whole situation flourished. What was certainly true about that time was the heartbreak of loss, loneliness, fear, anxiety and anger it caused. Her smile was like a beacon of hope in a faceless crowdWhere a strange arctic atmosphere spread like oxygen-ignited fireDagger eyes and cutting words give chaseGod forbid she expose her glowing rosy cheeks and lips ! What fragile state we have become where the sight of exposed skin triggers rageAnd the slightest touch elicits a cascade of horror and outrageWhere men, women, and children sit in…
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The Drifter
Revenge doesn’t pay. Not even in the wild west. My intention was to write a sliver of life from the wild west, focusing on setting the mood and attitudes through descriptors and limited speech, and reflecting that period of time. This is a minimalistic approach to poetic story-telling. Similar to the method in which I wrote Revelations and Still, The Waters Call. 1: The Stage The day stretched as long as a hangman’s noose stifling in its sincerity as a spring dayLazy day shadows crept ever deeper A slow, melodic picking of a guitar set the toneWeather-worn fingers strum across a gut string tunerLeathered face under the wide brim…
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Leprechaun
I awake in my small bed one misty mornOn the old Callahan homesteadAnd who did I find but a LeprechaunPerched upon my threadbare bedspread. Did it startle me? Oh yes!My heart leapt into my throatHow did I get into this mess, I thoughtWasn’t this a stroke! My weary bones froze in placeLike a lamb before the slaughterTerror written all over my faceWhere was that holy water? “Who are you?” I cautiously whisperAnd it smiles and bares its teeth“I’m the tooth fairy” it says, then snickers“To see what’s underneath.” It pulls down the cover, claw by jagged clawPurring all the while — it was mad!My terror escalates as it shouts, “Hurrah!”Can…
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Love Letter – C
It has been months since we last drew breath togetherMy body and mind ache for you, my loveI fear my own sanityMy maid servants fear me… and well they should !From sun’s birth to its death, I crave youIf only it would do my bidding and bring you to meFor am I not a goddess who commands all ?And you a god? I smell you in my mindMy obsession is completeYour very thought a torture upon my soulWhy do you do this to your goddess? I know notThe thought of your touch brings me to the precipice of ecstasyA whirling painful ecstasyI want you flowing inside me, over me, beside…
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Revelations
Night of the howling moonWhispers of a fate to comeGateway’s heavy chains rattleSpirits attune to the summoningWisps of dragon’s breath fills the darknessA yawning chasm cracks open Whispers on the wind:come sing to us Upon the mount they waitInsanity, a temporary measureAll thought dissolvedPreening wails of delightScratching, crawling, bitingTearing at each other And yet, whispers on the wind:come play with us Thunder rumbles in the distanceCracks of lightning streak across the red skyEarth shakes with nervous anticipationThe storm approachesIts winds grow fierceThe prophesies of the Book of Joel revealed Voices carry on the wind:come be with us A lone wolf circles the mount, haunches highRed hatred its only sightGuardian of…
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Woven
A vast and desolate placeA sleek, dark voidThe pit of remembrance A memory of once long agoA sweet moment of brief respiteLost in the moon tide A voice devoid of emotionAn old record on a turntable — the end of a sad songScratching at the surface of consciousness A set of eyes that cannot seeA pair of hands that ache to touchEternal pain without knowing truth A basket woven of humanityA black tentacle weaving through our soulsJoining us forever in obscure machinations of life A moment of clarityA chilling truthThe façade is finally over. Life Series #3 Previous in the series: Jade Vine Next in the series: The Kiss
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Driver
We wander through life, it seemsWithout aim or direction Waiting for something magical to happenAlways waiting or delaying or procrastinatingNow that’s a word: procrastination Life seems to be one long stall of actionYes, we go through the motions We get up, work, go to bedThe monotony of lifeThat can’t be all there is This pattern repeats time and againIf this were all there was to life What would be the point?We ask ourselves, what would be the point?The point, someone might say, is not to do it Surely we are not here merely to take up spaceIn this vast world of living organisms Weeds and wild flowers tend to sprout at willAny given place…
