They’re Staring Back – A Hir a Thoddaid Poem

we can sit here together all night, until the first rays of morning light. staring up at stars and satellites, we imagine strange celestial sights: alien, vast, overwhelming and eldritch. understand, they’re staring back in spite.

Painted Lady – An Awdl Gywydd

so long, strange painted lady. your stately manor, now ash, looms etern’lly proud and sure. solid as you were, frail glass.

View From a Parking Lot at 6 am – A Sonnet

chalky sky, rorschach trees, songbirds stirring. cruel breeze rustling through slated overgrowth, subdued ‘neath viscous weight. raindrops spurring sediment’ry displacement, bound by oath. a lone squirrel bounds from limb to limb, bending weathered branches silhouetted against the blue hour. sullen, overcast, fending off the heat of blooming hours, incensed. puddles like rippling continents flowing into…

A Stolen Kiss

does the snow remember the leaf it so briefly kissed as it died melting or the somber grey of winter on her burning gold promises of spring rays of bergamot claim the tender lot sending june to her cheeks blushing seasons alight – flushed red with august – rushed auspicious lush roses dripping frozen ground…

Ashen Bed of the Lake of Fire – A Cywydd Llosgyrnog

heaven explodes with champagne fire matchstick treetops conduct fierce choirs snapping limbs tire cracking sharp timbered titans tumble beneath aqueous cinder flowing seethes drowned earth still breathes ashen bark

Cloud Formations – A Lethrannaegecht Mor

grey clouds like pillars found over the marsh stood at attention with tension and starch marched in formation for soundless they go glissading on ice nice ebb and swift flow

Nature’s Kiss – A Sonnet

the taste of persimmon after the frost its sugar clinging to my yearning lips born of a precious seed once be’lieved lost concealed within a field of rosen hips a musky perfume hangs upon the air arisen from a garden doused in dew the tender tended fruit does swell and flare as the silken petals…

A Stone’s Throw – A Ballade

still i struggle to find my place and to accept my lot in life and to sustain a breakneck pace be’set on all cor’ners by strife pushed to the edge by blade of knife i press myself against its edge exhale a cry as shrill as fife and turn my head to face the ledge…