heavy with the scent of jasmine,
the tepid air of seclusion
in my private garden,
a presence, pure life,


a fog rolls in from the sea
blind unrest, fear
a silhouette
the weight of uncertainty


lightning slays the night,
Thor blasts his anvil,
violence breached, tamed,
peace, solitude


a star blinks between mottled clouds,
a beacon from the distance,
an alternate universe,
another time




just out of reach,
I’ve run the race,
passed the post.

My heart’s desire,
but not good for it.


My lungs burn,
but not for air.

Borne on wings,
come to me.
Shatter me to
make me whole.



Photo by Bruno Thethe from Pexels

Hold it!

I can’t.

No! Hold it!
They are coming for you.

I can’t.

You must.

Who is coming for me?
Maybe I should let them.
Nobody has come for me in a long time.

Not that kind. The drone. See it?

No. A worker bee?
I’d settle for anyone
who might come for me.

Not that kind!
You are in danger.

I’m ready.

You are on the precipice.
It’s a long fall,
and your rope won’t reach the bottom.

I don’t plan on making it there.

Then where?

A special place,
a place where only I belong,
and those I love.

How do you keep others out?

It is a place that no one else can find.
You can, but don’t look for it.
The door is open for you.
You will come for me.


After the drone has gone.

After the love has gone?
Isn’t that the right title?

After the drone has gone.
It’s a different song,
one that will lead you to that place.
I’ll give you some slack,
then you should follow.

But the danger!

Not in my place.
There is no danger there.
You must take the step as I do.
Let go, and I will catch you.

I’m afraid.

Have confidence, trust me.
Follow my lead.
I’m going now.
Come for me.

Wait! When?

I’ll be ready.
Beware the drone.
I will wait for you.

How long?



Black light

therefore I write
reading my tea
leaves my soul
your possession
my obsession

take me to heights sublime
with nights inspired
talking to myself
pleasing melodies
sung in passing

wandering the moonlit lane
faeries for company
consoling my dreads
fearing my ease
of penning nonsense

no sense in quibbling
my dreams in the sky
or deep within
velvet darkness illuminated
by black light



Rhyming, I’m certain, is a thing,
Let me take you under my wing.
Sometimes I think it is a blast,
Before I knew I thought too fast.

Rhythm is the thing for me, it’s
More than just one, two, and three.
The swing and sway so makes me dance,
And my poems it doth enhance.

A rhyme can kill the seed that’s sown,
But meter gives me chills deep down,
Bars of two, three, five, and seven,
Takes my soul up to high heaven.

If sublime is what you mean to be,
It’s free verse that gives me ecstasy.
It gives me wings on which to fly,
Onto the wind and up to the stars.