page of swords |
hastily scribbled song lyrics from sometime in the past year or so. not one of my favorites and hasn't been set to music yet, but here it isthe page of swords, i aman image on paperheld in my handthat...
Posted by on Sun, 10 May 2009 07:25:00 GMT |
eidolon |
going through my music folder, i found some song fodder i wrote a while ago. i'll post a few here and there as stand-alone poems.here's one.Eidolon-----------------heretherescattered to the darknessan...
Posted by on Sat, 18 Apr 2009 08:03:00 GMT |
trust: a poem |
trust -- is a precarious thingwith spiderweb feathersand sugar-spun wingsquick into flightand mantled in lightbefore powdered into keen-edged dusta penitent saintwith eyes spun of glassand palms free ...
Posted by on Sun, 29 Mar 2009 07:28:00 GMT |
rose-colored glasses |
oh, love!you paint the world deep red -- not the red of spilled blood, but the jewel tone of sweet wine, the rose on the bush. a burgundy with gold piping, royal and velvet, a pillow for the aristocra...
Posted by on Mon, 29 Sep 2008 18:34:00 GMT |
in praise: a lemon |
there is something beautifulin a basket of lemons.nubby suns, the pockedskin of joylolling againstthe antiqued wirea flock of courtesansa skein of kittens
cup it -- the breastof a loverweighted in the...
Posted by on Mon, 08 Sep 2008 16:34:00 GMT |
Rest in peace, Woven Wheat |
I found out today from a Facebook friend that Woven Wheat Whispers has indeed gone under.
This is tragic -- not only for independent (i.e., wacky and non-genre-constrained) artists such as myself, but...
Posted by on Tue, 24 Jun 2008 16:27:00 GMT |
invocation at the southern gate |
Beest thou beautiful.the song of the Southern Gate sings -- the light gilding the river, necklacing the Mother therein with flame. grass heads, heavy and full -- the grain of the wild, dotted with its...
Posted by on Sun, 15 Jun 2008 18:14:00 GMT |
love, a leaf |
my love, i set itgentle on the muddy shoreon the flowing breastof chance and day, a halofrom a hidden sunbehind a cloud, a shroud oflife or death. fate twistsher rope, snaps her scissors --but my love...
Posted by on Mon, 28 Apr 2008 12:24:00 GMT |
Leabharcham lies to Conchobhar |
(**from my Deirdre cycle. interestingly, the name Leabharcham means "twisted book" or "dishonest book," which plays into the meaning of the poem. i went with the Irish spelling here, although a previo...
Posted by on Tue, 04 Mar 2008 17:19:00 GMT |
hothouse hyacinths |
pink mouths clamber up the stalk, an ancient griefetched on tongues -- ai ai ai --by a god's fanciful finger.a gift the color of wan dawnon February's fainting couch.petals pass through finger padstel...
Posted by on Wed, 20 Feb 2008 16:55:00 GMT |
