Tonight was staged a great decoy,
The festive focus of our joy.

Men set aside the hostile ax,
And all obeyed the solstice pact.

I sought warmth from that common hearth.
To briefly stir my sorrow still heart.

I drank, I feasted, and I carried on.
Am I still here with Christmas gone?


I am contained on a white blank page;
With all things finished, no thing obtained.

Clouds surround and weather worsens,
Love, for warding, draws the curtains.

Coldness deadens my silent shout.
There's warmth within, but I'm without.

The Great Game is played; I a pawn.
Am I still here with Christmas gone?


I knew I'd have to pay my debt,
In bleeding either clear or red.

I chose to weigh with crystal tears,
An empty penance, they appeared.

But selfish flesh cannot continue.
Life's a stage; Death's a change in venue.

I flee from fate, myself withdrawn.
Am I still here with Christmas gone?


As if by some celestial force,
My choice seems bound to run its course.

I'll let my form be dashed and skewed,
Ere' ever I yield my love untrue.

From first breath I knew my part.
Child with a candle in the stormy dark.

Now Ravens crow the silver dawn.
Am I still here with Christmas gone?

Often I am silent, but only so I can hear whats missing,
I defer to silence only to catch the rhythm of the beat within my heart,
born blessed with smarts but yet, in the same token, cursed, with no motivation to embark,
so while my procrastination commissions the dark,
my potential resembles a motor assembled, with no ignition to start,
audibly, my inspirations petition for light,
yet fears that my voice will be imprisoned for life surface as my mind serves as platform for this fight.

The spider, dropping down from twig,
Unfolds a plan of her devising,
A thin premeditated rig
To use in rising.

And all that journey down through space,
In cool descent and loyal hearted,
She spins a ladder to the place
From where she started.

Thus I, gone forth as spiders do
In spider's web a truth discerning,
Attach one silken thread to you
For my returning.

someday i'll meet a guy,
who not too confident,
and not too shy,
he'll treat me like his little princess,
my crown is his heart...

he'll kiss me on the forehead
make me smile when i'm sad,
he'll always respect me,
and treat me like a baby...

he'll accept my imperfections,
and love me without question,.

we'll both make mistakes,
but will know that love is give and take
he'll make me laugh all day,
no more loneliness,
no more skies of gray..

he'll sit beside me till i fall asleep on his shoulder,
and he'll pamper me forever,
and promise me,
a happy ever after... :)

Cold now.
Close to the edge. Almost
unbearable. Clouds
bunch up and boil down
from the north of the white bear.
This tree-splitting morning
I dream of his fat tracks,
the lifesaving suet.

I think of summer with its luminous fruit,
blossoms rounding to berries, leaves,
handfuls of grain.

Maybe what cold is, is the time
we measure the love we have always had, secretly,
for our own bones, the hard knife-edged love
for the warm river of the I, beyond all else; maybe

that is what it means the beauty
of the blue shark cruising toward the tumbling seals.

In the season of snow,
in the immeasurable cold,
we grow cruel but honest; we keep
ourselves alive,
if we can, taking one after another
the necessary bodies of others, the many
crushed red flowers.

Death held me in his arms last night.
Cold fingers stroking my lively and soft flesh as he whispered all the world’s secrets into my ear.
Wolves howled on the hills while doves cooed in the dancing silver gold moonlight.
His sweet breath covered my body as he murmured kisses down my spine,
chilling me to my bones, goose bumps rising on my skin.
He asked me to be his Queen and rule over the dead with him,
wear a crown of gems and stone, my throne made of the ******.
My heart shuddered and grew cold at the thought
and I turned from him, avoiding his endless gaze.
I rose from my bed and ran,
far and away into the fields of another day.
I can never run far enough from him, he hunts me down,
dragging me down to his forbidden depths, his Kingdom.
There I stay, staring into the River Styx eating pomegranate seeds,
dreaming of Life, of warmth,
of tomorrow when I am freed from this cold dead prison.

Ennui fills me as I scratch white with black
It is not passionate emotions but words that I lack
A feeling drastically encompasses my pathos
MY scream drowned subdued and hoarse
Your black curls like the ripples in the ocean
In the endless sky and the azure horizon
Made me shift my focus from elsewhere
In the sky
Your countenance at which I stare
My last smoke is doused and has got cold
I fear that these passions will one day grow old
In the billowing smoke I see your lovely face
Yet I was never in the admirer’s race
What made me change I do not know
I do not judge you a friend or foe
If the sky does not lie with every sigh
A union which till yesterday was well nigh
Engulf Adore passionately devour
You ll find my love has no dearth of fervour.

it begins
slowly at first
a light mist
it comes down harder and faster
i am skipping and leaping
twirling
my feet light as air
skimming over the ground
air whooshing by me
small flecks of coolness
sliding downward
creating trails of tears
soaking in all the joy of
dancing in the rain.

Away, ye muses, all away!

Away with songs of finch and fay.

Away the jaundiced sight

That magnifies the firefly’s light

To bonfire bright;

That sets ablaze at once

My musing’s dimly burning lamps;

That ornaments with rhymes

The penury-stricken looks betimes;

That over-clothes the logic – lord

With fancy –swollen words.

Away, the partial love

That ‘boldens Nature to sit above

Her Maker!



This day I fasten eyelid doors,

With absence wax my ears,

With languorous peace congeal

My tongue, my touch, my tears *

That I within may pore

Upon the things behind, ahead,

In the darkness round me spread.

I lock Dame Nature out

With all her fickle rout.



Somewhere here,

In the darkness drear,

I myself with cheer

My course will steer

In the path

E’er sought by all:

Its magnet call

I hear.



Not hear, not here,

Apollo would his burning chariot steer;

Nor Diana dare to peep

Into the sacred silence deep.



Not here, not here,

Not far or near

Can mounts or rebel waves

E’er make me full of fear;

Nor evermore

Their dreadful grandeur to adore.



Not here, not here

The soft capricious wiles of flowers;

Nor swarming storm clouds’ sweeping terror,

Dishevelling the trees

And light-haired skies;

Nor doomsday’s thunderous roar,

Dismantling earth and stars-

The cosmic beauties all to mar –

Not Nature’s murderous mutiny,

Nor man’s exploding destiny

Can touch me here.



Not here, not here:

Through mind’s strong iron bars,

Not gods or goblins, men or nature,

Without my pass dare enter.



I look behind, ahead –

On naught but darkness tread.

In wrath I strike, and set the dark ablaze

With the immortal spark of thought,

By friction-process brought

Of concentration

And distraction.

The darkness burns

With a million tongues;

And now I spy

All past, all distant things, as nigh.



I smile serene

As I expose to gaze.

In wisdom’s brilliant blaze,

All charms of the Hidden Home Unseen:

The Home of Nature’s birth,

The planets’ moulding hearth,

The factory whence all forms or fairies start,

The bards, colossal minds, and hearts,

The gods and all,

And all, and all!



Away, away

With all the lightsome lays!

Oh, now will I portray

In humble way,

And try to lisp, if only in half truths,

Of wordless charms of Thee Unseen,

To whom Dame Nature owes her nature

   and her sheen.