In the hushed silence between waves
sighs fill the night as stars come alive
and the breeze is a soft poem.
Nude in the moon light but for drifting
shadows the swirl in your glass keeps
perfect time with far off thunder.
I need to look away from your gun powder eyes
that lethal shot
before the fluttering of a thousand butterflies
betray me.
I breathe in the circlets of your cigarette and
the honey sweet scent of willing hostages.
As fragile as fireflies we escape to the madness of
our minds where all we have to do is live.

rainbow beach

Liliana Gigovic

We had wings

Then, wisdom grew from fruit

and  time was a seedling.

All creatures spoke the same,

hymns of bats, the breath of horses.

We were winged and freedom

was etched on the soles of our feet.

Pathways in the earth and sky were

known not charted.

We step naked into the blazing sun

bare ourselves  to golden rivers and

awesome tidal thunder.


Dali and The Garden of Eden

art by José Roosevelt, a Brazilian Surrealist, illustrator/painter.



Shadows and Reconciliation – Poetry Collab (Ft. Holly of House of Heart)

Much to my delight The Wolf Boy and I joined forces and collaborated. It was an honor and great fun. I hope you enjoy. Comments are closed here, please see the original.

Blog of the Wolf Boy

Where Shadows Cannot Reach (House of Heart)

Without you I’ve become narrow.

In your absence I’ve forgotten

how to love and autumn is an ache

beneath my ribs crumbling like

my world the last time I saw you.  

I have captured your voice,

reassembled it in my throat

so as not to forget the sound

of glossy wings.  

I have dissected our bones

cleansed them of guilt,

christened them forgiveness

that we can believe in.

In sleep I sense your aura orbiting

above me so that I may dream in your light

where shadows cannot reach.

Your Reconciled Man (Blog of the Wolf Boy)

Our two hearts once united have broken
From whence they’d mended, so tenderly and mild,
Sitting now beyond the point of reconciled,
Our two broken hearts like a lost-love’s token.
Seven days since the world last smiled
Without you this…

View original post 119 more words


Browsing through souvenirs

I am reminded of you.

The door to the past swings open

releasing sleek eels of memories

where I am nothing or at best

a trembling leaf lost on a autumn breeze.

Do you ever think of me?

See me in constellations pressed against the sky,

hear me in the surge of the tide?

I would seek comfort in the moon but I am

so trivial and he is taken by the stars.

In dreams my tongue is a crimson snake

Hungrily flicking the skin of your thigh

curling around the catch in my throat.

He is god and has named me regret.

I close our door with pried fingers.

I’ve given up on prayer hands.

Dove Mouth

Art by Rita Hardy

The Monarch

From my swing

I spot the Monarch

sipping from a nectary,

gently I snare him

by his dew drenched wings.

I wonder if he knows

his fate lies in my hands.

Clutched between my fingers

imagine how his heart pounds.

National Geographic


She soars above the clouds
as silent as the wind
lifted by an updraft
an undetectable realm of light
her receptors focused on a
brocade of pearls,
a shimmer of doves.
Shadowing the weakest
the broken winged
thé unaware,
her talons unsheathed
streak the sky cerise.


Gladwell Patterson Art


The world is wintry blue.
Vast and still yet there
is no comfort in the quiet.
The wolf inside me shakes
the snow from her fur,
travels through dark timbered
forests and blue gray mountains.
There are others moonstruck,
dusted with the same shine.
Together we trace a midnight
hover of crows unaware.

wings thrumming

I drift on an opalescent breeze
dreams flower in my hair
They shed in heaps of autumn leaves
rust and gold and green
I am traveling far from childhood
where dreams were never welcome
against transparent skies
I cast my tattered shadow
A Mayan goddess taking flight
thrumming ancient wings

goddess in flight

art by Karal Bak

the twilight hours

I feel you in the pouring rain

violent or soft as a breeze.

A distant star you fade into

the night from which you came.

Wounded hearts are slow to heal

but I have become indifferent to pain.

Sweet gardenias fill my rooms with mortality

decaying petals soaked in secrets

rhapsodize my dreams with the zephyr of your sigh.

We are a wasteland, all poetic breath died with us.

I long for the scent of earth infused with deep roots,

the soothing sounds of swaying wind chimes clinging

to the limb of a live oak,

soothing sounds for the twilight hours.

wheat fields rolling

give me your story
minute as a wish on a star
Did you run through blowing
wheat fields your yellow hair flying
those secrets of the heart
give them to me
I am swallowed up longing
When you fall I form a scar
read to me  of  love and life
those petals closing in the dark
stay lest I fade away.
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