Our small story; is just a small line or chapter in everyones story.

We are each busy; listening, narrating, taking notes, leafing through the pages; losing, following the plot, whilst searching for the happy ending.

It turns out this immortal story ends where it begins, with most of us spinning round and round, simply chasing our tails aboard the carousel of love.

Wear a black satin gown with lace and let it drape over your slender waist.

Stretch out your neck, and show off the stones that I've drenched from the blood of your foes that wish for your death.

Let it shimmer in the light of the crescent moon where all can see your devotion for me.

place your cold hand in mine and see through our pond once so divine, know a reminder of a love I pay no mind.

  Let your crow  hair flow to your sides, and close your lifeless eyes so that I may close mine

And at the brink of dawn, it all shall end, and at the next moonrise, we shall start again.

Wear a black satin gown with lace and let it drape over your slender waist.

bless the parents

who grow their worry lines,
a slow etching upon their face,
every night, a fractional addition,
what will the future hold for the children,
wandering tween wondering and wonderful

I am among the parental plenitude, who
struck a deal with the authorities of life,
pleading, demanding, coercing, begging,
take my years excess, give it to the children,
and spare them famine, thirst, war, sickness...

give them children, and spare them too the worry,
ban those crinkled lines, provision only smooth faces,
never let them never wonder, the accursed how,
will they be alright, & let them read this poem,
and laughing ask the surrounding atmosphere

whatever made the old man write such nonsense?


April 10th 2021 @5:38 AM

The pink strands in her black hair turned into dark violet
and her leather suite changed into a shirt of white linen..

the last chapter had begun
The veil between the world became translucent
being lifted far to early:
Beyond the veil - the long cold road to eternerty
                      that nobody wants to walk
  Right into the void
                        where nothing can remain                    
      no white light at the end of the tunnel....
      no welcome from anybody....

Just a fading whisper about her....
....pink into dark violet - leather to linen...

                Echoing - dying  -
                                         SILENCE
                                                         ­       Infinite Void

                              as if she had never existed

                                            nothing but
                                         DARK OBLIVION

Years ago
A pen was found
Its grip was blue
Slightly chipped

It wrote
Everyday on sheets, white
Flawlessly on the lines
Words did glide

It had a special place
Where it rested
After a long day
At the desk

Its home was warm
A wooden drawer
Strategically placed
Easy to fetch

Now it has been years
It longs to see the desk
At dawn
A practice now clearly gone

It lay still
In the wooden drawer
Cold and blue
Ink-less dry