A Longing Fulfilled

And God so spoke a miracle that answered every prayer, to show me of His mercy molding tender loving care. For over sixteen seasons, I waited for a sign that came in but a gesture mild, but ever so divine. And God so spoke a miracle that healed a broken heart which gave the mind…

Johnsy

Based off J.E.H. MacDonald’s ‘The Tangled Garden’. Johnsy When paths aren’t all that tangled, and dreams are spun and cast, and bushels aren’t as fragrant as the gardens we have passed, will you still sing of Behrman, when you rise to note what’s last? When some boats aren’t that sturdy and beaches boast as grand…

Sole

February 7th: Based on Van Gogh’s ‘A Pair of Wooden Shoes’. Sole I asked of the cobbler, “Is it possible to craft a soleless shoe?”   to which he replied, “You’re a thing of possibility as tied to a body that carries. Who bleeds what is not red and sleeps on that which is not…

How Grand This Vision

How grand this vision of the mind that pesters for a place and lands in blind men’s buckets as the stems that form his base. How grand the height of humble hues- the youth of blazing sun, the portrait grazing purples, and the beryl beads that run. How grand the reach of failure as the…

Proserpine

Proserpine An empty incense burns beside anemones upturned and beckons for the beauty in the alms that were adjourned. Bequeathed to Death, as if to Life, the curse of Myrrha holds the remnants of remembrance by the seed that stains her folds. An alabaster artifice is all that’s left of love- A portrait of the…

Ophelia

Leaf oh leaf, of fleeting grief, where will you fall tomorrow? When once your vein laps up the rain so soon will flit your sorrow.   Bee oh bee, of majesty where will you rest your crown? When once the springs supplant your wings, so soon will wilt your gown.   Gannet, oh dear gannet…

The War of Rhyme and Prose

The Montagues and Capulets is a tale of tragic throes, yet nothing half as hapless as the war of Rhyme and Prose. Its fragments seem to tell the tale of rhythms crossing stars, that happened by their fervor to foment familial bars. Good Rhyme when met by pretense, in the riddle that was Prose skipped…

The Flutist

Ambrosial seeds that sprouted song entice the plum-pursed lips gripping for the galaxies confined to sullen sips.   A cup-eared chorus hollers back to smooth the clods of clay molded by the penchant of the potters who will play.   A honey-suckle sound escapes, to which the bees reply, “Had only we a gentry cup…

Cat Burglar

There one lived a cat that could bark, its owner would perch in the park, as to lap up the looks on the faces of crooks, confused, as they tripped through the dark. -Amy Struthers

A Hill to Dye On

I’ve a hill to dye on, child. What have you to say? I’ve a hill to pray on, child. Where have you to sleigh? I’ve a hill to lie on, child. What have you as fair? I’ve a hill to beat on, child. Where have you a snare? -Amy Struthers