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poetry

myth of the poet

By heralding horn, within fable’s adorn, borne drifting in tales, the myth of the poet, exhumed, is exhaled. While poets hold the hand of god, defiled, we lesser beasts feast on pieced facade. Cloaked in golden rolls of smoke, rhymes, baroque, elope within covetous words bespoke. Imposters, marauders, lead royal ...
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poetry

hope’s cold remains

Bitterness, hope's cold remains, sees only malice, returning the same. Anger, is but sorrow with thorns, tears turned to ice, as sadness had warned. As an aside, I saw a post the other day which said that art, in its various forms, is hope. Sage words, and I wish I ...
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poetry

darkness, forsaken

Sunrise ignites the trees, gifting amber warmth to the chosen side, as long shadows creep away into the exile of winter's disgrace, aye-- reaching, dark fingers clawing across the earth's circumference, aching to feel the sun's love again. That hand once held-- has been severed, and cast out. Lonely darkness ...
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poetry

given

This morning, without thinking, I took my son's hand, gently placing a kiss into his palm, as I do with you. I thought upon what it might mean. It is a promise-- to love, always, to love completely. I am given ...
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/ Poetry / 10 Comments on given
poetry

the laughter of children quieted

Driving, the horse corpse in the passenger seat, stilled, tho its woeful eyes opened, I’d passed a small park in town, with rolling hills, too smooth and round for a heathen to set foot upon, and another where she and I had planned to meet, its wide lawn, flat and ...
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poetry

Peril

It's too simple a thing to think of love within the tidy boxes of right or wrong. Neither truly exists; there is however, peril: both of losing love, and of finding it ...
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prose

to go unnoticed

"To go unnoticed is by no means easy." ~ Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guittari A quote, a thought outside of its context, displaced, a dark shadow frozen within the transparent water-wall of our tilting ocean of individual perspective, becomes a wave that shall never fall, never laying its weighty truths ...
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prose

Never Told

We were told we could be anything, and look at how we've turned out. They never told us that we'd understand why people rob banks, steal, cheat, kill, and lie. They never told us that we'd understand criminality, while we riot with the sanctimonious incredulity expected of us— that we’d ...
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story

Born

I recall it all, thrown into the blood-on-white chaos of the delivery room, the shrieking people and the beeping of man’s life machines, the stark light first seen through closed eyes. It was all so different from the floating, dark serenity of the womb, where my thoughts found the peace ...
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poetry

ballads

on gray mornings the birds sing their gray songs hidden within the brier calling into this space where amber once lay warm upon Spring-bloom’s lavender and I wonder if I shall ever feel again as I’d once felt these loves-- all borrowed must be returned-- let the birds sing their ...
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/ Poetry / 2 Comments on ballads