Flamingos

these pink flamingos
with half clipped wings
envy even wrens,
and spitting swallows
from their hollows
taunt them once again,
but in their dreams
they soar it seems
into rose enameled skies.
a thousand petals
all supposing
they can up and fly

First Edition

the aroma
of words
smoke-filled
musty,
leather clad
sensuality
beloved
remnants
of licked
stained
fingertips
found only
between
the willing
bindings
of an old
poetry book

Towards The Windmill

he watched her skip
towards the windmill
and her dancing hair
told him
its sails were chained
and simply for display

Older Poems #6 : In Whispers

In whispers find we revelations
perplexing those who fail to hear
between the quiet evocations
hide sighs which land on lov’ed ears.

And of those secrets left unspoken
in breaths which gently stroke the skin
are vows that will not yet be broken
by silent souls who dwell within.

LA FORÊT DES AMOUREUX

The forest listens
to the secrets of lovers
whispered softly under
their branches,
and the leaves applaud
their approval
on the breeze
of springtime’s beginnings
and hold them safe
from winter’s end.

ONEIRIC

black laced reveries
long dreamed passions framed in red
visions unrepressed

The Dark Angel

a white angel ascended
on wings of eastern winds
her breath cold
with centuries of suffering
brought not life
but death eternal
for white is the dark angel
and hell burns with ice.

the elusives

within this darkness
this velvet blanket of the night
live only dreams
which float in and out of sight
akin to elusive fireflies
their finery hung on moonlight
a dance of wanton mind
doomed to burn full and bright
then die deaths unseen
when the rays of dawn ignite.

SEPTEMBER

September woos October’s rains
with teasing sunshine through its mist
to join him in a solstice dancing
an orgy of late autumn bliss
and lusty clouds wrap full around them
and the inexorable kiss
nature awaits the consumation
the winter’s birth, fruit of their tryst

The Girl That Was Not

she walked not as a spirit
for she could not be a ghost
as life for her had been not life
just thoughts and dreams, at most
an imagined child of imagined love
progeny unrequited, say
who in half light was but shadow’s breath
should the world have turned that way.