the mouse started off like any ordinary mouse

annoying, small, and persistent.

the nymph tried to take good care of him, and he was treasured to her.

the mouse came limping back to her, after his daily battle with the world

she nursed him back to health

as the nymph cared more for the little mouse, she spurted out pellets of blood and flowers

the mouse tried to stop her

but it was too late.

The nymph steals glances from behind the glass
Bright blue, sharpened stare
Between bushes, amidst the grass

Fingers so nimble, they slipped through the cracks
Slid down the molding,
Dyed the carpet, stained the cat

Her smirk lived within speckles of paint
The hush of the floorboards
Breath that made the fruit a sickening sweet

But only in afterimages do I see her face
A late night mirage
In the bathroom, in the closet, in the eggs

In the sticky, wiry ink in which she'd signed her name
Her ghostly whispers calling out
From behind trickles of rain

A permanent spot in the recess of the window frame
Did she lay, nuzzled close
Silently, to wonder, watch and wait

A forever presence even the wind cannot displace
Only one day had she entered
But a thousand she'll stay

Graceful as a bird on the wing
Opening its beak to sing;
Slender hands dancing to and fro,
Weaving gossamer threads of snow;
Eyes piercing as shards of ice,
Quick to name fate’s price;
Lips as dainty as a flower bud,
Red as the color of fresh blood;
Ears with slightly pointed tips,
Soft as velvet, yet sharp as whips;
A tiny little button nose,
Slender as the petals of a rose;
Hair as golden as a ray of sun,
Shining when the day is done;
I saw her amongst the golden trees,
But deaf ears fell upon my pleas,
And on fleeting feet she fled,
Back to her mossy forest bed.

There is something so calming
About the spiders spinning web.
Something so comforting,
A song sung by the dead.
Hear it wallow in the distance
Like an unforgiven tune.
Sung by the rivers daughter,
The beauteous sunset muse.

Bask in the moonlit waters
Barely but blessed by shining sun.
Hold to your heavn'ly quarters,
The likes of which shall come undone.
For if you catch the spider spindle
You are likely to be safe.
In other wares, their finer fares
In absence, stay awake.

I speak not for the Titan,
Or God nor Goddess alike.
I speak not for the tongue
Of the mumbling friars might.
For Alas my hearers hear this plea,
Beware the nymph of sophistry

Kick me for feeling too smug over this pretty number which happened to write itself.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXVII)



O! how I yearn to wander through the tale
Of naked woods likeas a nymph from hence!
As if I am the sister of, fr'intents,
The trees whose boughs like arms reach up, t'avail
Me of the light is't? or that sense of pale
Keen longing to just breathe, non listning thence
Unto the softest whispers passing whence
We canna say twixt all the leaves, t'exhale.
I want to search for violets, like they'd stir
Now that rain's melted half the snow anew,
Whiles lo, winds toss the firs whose voice as twere
Sounds hoarsely in this fragile warmth's debut.
Yes, I can feel it in my bones--that pure
Note of sweet life which calls buds as it'd woo.

13Mar19a

ideas
thoughts
imagining
perception of beauty
fluttering wings abound
nymphs in the sky
reflection
nymphs in the abyss
goddess training grounds
dancing photons
brilliance unfolding
imagination
critical ingredient
without
what would you see
smeared paint
splattered
palette knife magic
flowing and dripping
imperfections