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Words do no justice


I dreamt in poetry last night, I cannot remember a single word but I felt the art in my bones. Tried as I did to recall the pentameter it eluded my thoughts, fleeting shadows of metaphor and beauty. But you were there. This I know.

The image was spring mist and pastel blur, shifting heart-swells carried me aloft. I felt you rather than witnessed and that was far more tangible for the viewing. Perhaps there was not poetry as verse or couplet but movement and sensation, the enchanting poetry of your soul infused with my dreamscape. Whatever the truth of brushstrokes laid on masterpieces of desire, we were there and poetry was your sweet breath across my cheek.

I dreamt in poetry last night and awoke to find the stanzas contained no words, only you.

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Solaris kai Lunitari


As night trickles in

Helios hovers off shore

Bringing you my love


Day breaks on your skin

As Selene bathes mine, milk white

Pure as hearts desire


Half of Gaia’s girth

Spreads betwixt and between we

Sun and Moon our guise

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Nowhere to Hide

Emotions are sly snakes
they creep up
behind your back
chasing you down
spiral staircases
that lead nowhere
Like snipers
lying in wait
eyes trained
till you’re alone
then they strike
while you’re in line
checking out
at the market
and some old woman
in front
turns and says
“oh dear, are you okay?
I promise my order
won’t take long?

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A desideratum (or, Stumbling upon Hunab Ku may cause dizziness and confusion)

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24hours/7days a Week


Randomly I pick things off
like lint on my sweater
small things
that piss me off

the worker bee
giving it all
for the one
who makes
a drop by appearance
and is crowned queen

useless to bitch about
no one would care

but the lint balls
on my sweater
that reappear

wear and tear

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Over Exposed

You race
my blood

like apocalyptic rains

douse me
in fire
off your

my addiction
cryptic words
on display

is my mind
is this ride

like a secret
I have nowhere
else to hide

you expose me…

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Night Dreams


For those who can’t
find comfort
safety from the storm
who sleep
on different sea shores
or beds
in different homes
prayers to you this night
when laying down to sleep
hoping you find comfort
in each other
when you close
your eyes
and dream

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Quiet mornings of dawn
drawn selfishly
to myself
with purposeful  reflection
picking seeds
I’ve yet to sow
tomorrow I may see
tomorrow I may know
today, this morning
I want nothing
but this time
all to myself

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One last song before you go - A jayarrarr prompt


There is a symphony behind your eyes

A crescendo that builds on the corners of your smile

When I look at you it is music

Sweet, powerful. Moving

The lyric of your a cappella laughter drives me to duet

Sing to me as only you can, lift me with that falsetto spirit

Carry me through the day on chords of joy

There is a soundtrack to all lives and yours,

With cadence that speaks beyond language

Has infused itself in my score

The night is almost upon us, but my heart’s three-four beat


Leave me not mid set

One last song before you go? 

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Does it make a sound?

I am tired

Closing eyes and forgetting the world seems small comfort yet I take it as it is, an escape from broken branches and a rotting stump. Branches that once reached for lofty heights, supple lengths filled with life and growth. Now dry, cracked. Brittle. Strewn about waiting for savage fires embrace as kindling, as this is the measure of their worth now realised

The stump that once connected roots deep and far reaching to their sky loving counterparts slowly decaying in the wake of moss, termite and age. Failing as all grand things must in their time, a pathetic remnant of strength once envied.

I am tired

What impossible destruction visited to once proud flora, what insidious reduction of life to ruin. I have grown, flourished and fallen to the elements. No water may quench the thirst of my despair, no sun rays may invigorate that which hastens to dark disrepair. The forest mourns but all are static and reach in vain to a fallen willow

I am tired

Spread my shrinking substance across the hungry undergrowth, let all within my radius take sustenance from my meager offerings. This is my final gift, a far cry from hearth and home that offered sanctuary and shade but it is what I have left to imbue.

Sleep comes swift and the leaves are of sienna hue, there is naught I can do to resist the approaching Fall. Perhaps in time the acorn may take hold and what I once was might reclaim towering observance, but earthen nurseries are sparse. Creeper vines thick. The weather unforgiving.

And I am so very tired…