Twitter bits – make what you will

stalactites creep
towards stalagmites
of columns

a universal sigh
you get
the picture

drawn by desire
pips fall to the earth

was I gone too long
now forgotten …

I hurled myself
into an abyss
the universe
caught me
by the feet

have I lost my reach
can I still touch your senses?

she lost herself
his eyes
smooth pebbles

I catch my breath
hold it close a moment
and hurl it forth
watching seagulls fly
into the blue beyond

the promise of new love
she hurled herself
into making art


Shadow Play

Can a shadow offend,
perhaps a shade
when mottled streams and
shady glades you wade,
or drive along
a windy road strobing
through an old growth
forest greenly glowing?

Cameras struggle with
the dark and light,
exposure levels
seek to overwrite;
lo, the quest beckons
for the hallowed grail –
perfect white balance,
visual delight.

And yet these shadows
that may offend some
mean no harm to
precious dispositions
with their dolly carts
and tripods,
and phallic lens
for definition.

I say, they are nought
but motes and dapples;
celebrate instead,
the artful play of shadows.


The Poetics of Groundhog Day – Bright Shadow



A lake of souls, unfathomed,
uncertain, gentle, without impatience.

I walk the shore, through rushes and mud,
a startled ibis rises, wingbeats deafen me.

Now, when ghostly waters press,
the swamp weeds choke me.

I left a skin there composed
of lost memories, mine and others.

Yet nothing composed is ever lost,
I have just forgotten in my impatience

and discord, ever after, obsolete
when nothing is all that’s left behind.

Sources of inspiration for this collage include Theodore Roethke, Raine Maria Rilke, Mary Oliver, Louise Glück, Adrienne Rich, and Jessamyn Johnson Smyth who developed this technique of poaching lines that ignite the imagination and playing with them to make a new poem. This is my offering for dVerse’s first birthday celebration of poetry.

Ars Poetica – Poems about Poetry

Pond Idyll

Dragonflies break
the skin of stillness
disrupting inertia.

Tadpoles drop tails,
clamber on rocks
lungs screaming
for the place
where the sky
meets water.

A moving miasma,
mosquitos and midges
flee diaphanous wings.

Green lotus leaves
ride rippled shadows,
frogs whistle to the sun,
a water rat sparkles
feasting on pollywogs
and tales left behind.

OpenLinkNight ~ Week 41

Gypsy Flames

This poem is a homage to love and Leonard Cohen – the muse brushed me as I was listening to “Dance Me To The End of Love” – Craig posted a link to the song, I listened transported. The link is here

Violins burn
with a flame of pure love,
a true wedding
he gazes at her;
an exquisite longing
quilts all who partake
into a love that swirls
from the edges of time,
rising from ashes
of imploded worlds
in flames green, orange , violet,
naked hands stroking,
touch palm to palm
with quivering smiles
and tender eyes
blinking back tears,
longing, wanting to drown
in wild gypsy flames
dancing on steppes
swallowed by sky
spiralling starlight
crowning the moon,
and the singer sings
lala lala la lala lala la
and the chorus joins in
cradling our souls…

Tangerine Maze

Tangerine spiders
trapped in amber
walls of the maze,
passages slide
slick under
my fingers.
I tread barefoot
on soft anthracite
wending my way
stepping out
a mother’s prayers
to the heart
where a waterfall
tinkles with
the dreams
of  a young bride
seeking a true love
in her groom
that remains
long after the last
rose petal falls;
that reveres
fecund hips
with ripening seeds
and sees beauty
in  bare branches
and thorns.


Rosamunda unfurls her wings,
sniffs the summer moonlight
dancing with the ocean waves
pulling on earth’s even breath,
she stretches her spine,
sensuously, opening each pore,
breathing the wind in pink
transparent flames.

She soars above the geese
migrating, smiling down
at human habitations,
starry constellations below
then senses a girl child
sketching a rose glitter dragon.

Rosamunda gathers
the beads of the signal
as she swoops through
silver marshmallow clouds,
catching the little girl’s feelings
holding them close,
moonwalks and leaping
from star to star;
magic carpet rides together
to enchanting places like Venice.

The rose dragon frowns in dismay,
tears gently roll down
the little girl’s cheeks
splashing the colours she draws.

Rosamunda makes haste,
hones in on the tears, sees
a scene in the playground,
and unkind words
on a smart phone screen;
she will give the bullies
something to fear,
with flames from her nostrils
that can turn bullies to ashes.

This poem has been entered into the Annual M.R. Mathias Dragon Poetry Competition


Fire fox merrily skips beneath the night
seeking emeralds in a pool of blue,
bowing deeply to streaming water sprites,
paying gods the reverence they are due.

Green water dragons dance with river prawns
flickering neon in magnetic seams,
Northern lights inspire blushing Southern dawns,
polar nets fishing in the solar streams.

From the heart of sun plasma rises, stares
into the emptiness, electrons dance
with protons, swirling wantonly on flares,
humans watch on, in a mystical trance.

Glowing cosmic beads slip along a string,
magnetic leelines, mythic angel wings.