The Garden

I enter the gardens of heaven
where sin and virtue are blossoms
of the same trees,
though painted in different hues
their bouquets are quite indistinguishable
from each other, and a piety of heart
offers no protection from their perfumes.

The Woods

In these dark woods
she burns like fire
eyes of earth
that promise life
yet tell of death
she is the priestess
who guards my desires
through winter’s night
while growing them
anew like the spring,
wrapped in painted vines
her tendrils
seek out my madness
and wrap it in the sanity
of her embrace

To Sorrow

If there be a sound to sorrow
it will not cry in shedded tears
but joyful birdsong on the ’morrows
when I am gone and shall not hear

Mortem Artis

now set aside the golden lyre
forgot the pointed quill
the canvas stretched remains unspoiled
the wheel it sits quite still
no strings to sing a lover’s song
no ink a heart to spill
colours crack upon the wood
as art requires life’s skill
dust has gathered on the dreams
that fuelled his ballad’s fill
the muse has left the vacant form
no more to drive his will.

Shoots

some days,
as young shoots
of hopeful green
come my lines into the light,
on others,
such as today
must they battle
through frosted earth
searching, straining
for cracks and ways
to emerge from the frozen darkness.

Lest We Forget

upon his hands
in blood
he’d writ
the words
“lest we forget”
but being man
and consumed
by minor travails
he could not
for the life of him
remember why.

Light

the moon
sings not sweet songs
to shame the music
of the stars
she strives not
to prove them wrong
nor does she
in whim
vain pride impart
with lyric fair
their sparkle dim
for her light
enough is art

The Elm in The West Wind

The tall elm writhes
and sighs
at your touch
a gasp
from spreading boughs
as your unseen fingers
find places never known
by the lesser elements
she scatters her leaves
which turn and trip
a terpsichorean flight
of wayward grace
upon your breath.

Naked, she shivers,
though not with fears,
save the fear
you will not grace her
with another kiss.

Lilith

Night bird
untamed
by the hand of man
she holds no court
for his unnatural laws
and commandments
Night bird
primal woman
first sister
obey but yourself
that man may find
his truth
now you have flown.
Night Bird
Eden’s undoing
was not of your art
for you are not artifice
nor folly
that part was played
by part of man.

Determinist Verse

I write
in voices other
than my own
this cadence comes
from ghosts within
whose turn
of word and way
is other to me
no long, strong
hanging consonants
no slipped
or drooping syllables
I try so very hard
to hide
and yet …
… if they were
to inhabit my lines,
I would not sound
like me, the me
who writes
in voices other
than my own