Dance of the Water Striders – A Monotetra

we roamed aside the tow’ring hill nearby a lake, whereby we’d fill our canteens up and to their fill. drink in the chill; drink in the chill. we’d sit along the riverside and watch the water striders glide, entranced, intrigued and mystified. minds wand’ring wide; minds wand’ring wide.

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…

Do You Feel a Bit Peckish?

within a derelict detachment of thought a morbid curiosity expands shrinking the image of concubine earth eliminating hunger of satisfaction thirsting lust in this dripping heat