Author and artist, I'm finding my spirit again late in life. Old passions for poetry borne of love, loss, hope and pain, things with which everyone is familiar.
Moored to crumbling dock, besieged isle ablaze A backdrop dim of ember and ash on thoroughly ransacked village Knuckles cracked to bone, fingers wrapped like cord
Something caught my eye A subtle glint in passing Or wishful thinking ... Stretching out the days Lengthening long, lonely nights
Thus Trudge the Berwac
The Berwac slumps, its breath heaves the dawn A bellowed call wobe through bone and sinew Outstretched, its maw agape to silent scream
Cry of the Abyss
Heard a cry from the abyss Down, down I sought to save Farther on than rising mist Heard a wail that came in waves I carry on to that descent
The minutes stole away from me, I pressed to slow it down I wanna thank my lucky stars but don't recognize this town I tore away at the midnight sky just to see a new sunrise
Make me over a stone on the roll, trample and shake off old moss The waste and detritus, it flies away, a most agreeable loss
When will this mountain move that presses out my breath, the heavy weight of just too much? Depleted air, once sweet, turned rancid.
The Pauper's Pride
What bittersweet escapade is this? Raucous laughter buried in tears For days and weeks and months and years Seeking solace in morning's kiss