Poetry ~ Eye of the Storm

Remember how frightened you were when the storm formed in my eyes?
You were visibly shaken but safely tethered to the earth with your lies.

When the lightening flashed you cowered in the corner like a child.
Then the thunder boomed, the skies grew dark and the winds blew wild!

We were in the throes of it when I looked up at you and cried
and a teardrop fell from my cheek and mixed with the rising tide.

Then the waves crashed savagely on the windswept shore of my heart
and what was once our love was flooded and torn apart.

Why didn’t you heed my warning to be faithful and true?
Instead, you pierced my heart with deception and withdrew!

Now, as the storm subsides my heart is transformed.
Oh, darling beware, for I am the eye of the storm!

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Poetry ~ The Cellar Door

He stares up through my window
from the moonlit glen below.
He knows I’m here, watching there
as the dark sky fills with snow.

He stands adrift, in despair
but he knows I’m hiding here.
Hiding behind the crimson drapes
impatient, longing, knowing he is near.

Of his motives, make no mistake
he knows he’ll find me wide awake
as he slips in through the cellar door
ensuring there is no escape.

I will not fight him, as before
but let him sweep me off the floor.
Let him love me, all the more. 
Let him love me, all the more. 

Poetic form inspired by Robert Frost’s Poem
~ Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Poetry ~ Mysteries 

Do you dismiss the mysteries because you don’t believe? 
belief is not required for mysteries to be perceived 

the theories are chaotic, not much is really known 
but study chaos theory and let your mind be blown

old gods aren’t required for mysteries to exists 
and science is woefully lacking if you require evidence 

so step aside disbelievers – skeptics form a line
the mysteries are dynamic and shifting over time

and life’s too short to go on fussin’
and I’d much rather be discussin’

the moon and the stars
and my maiden trip to Mars!

Poetry ~ The Dead Poet


I’ve met a dead poet.
I’m sure you’ve read a few, but this one haunts me.
Do they haunt you too?

I call her “Lizzie” and the name suits her well,
a Victorian Poet with a story to tell.

Her voice is distinctive, lusty, and low.
The voice of a crone who died years ago.

We collided one night as the stars realigned,
two aspiring poets, immersed in our rhymes.

She’d started a poem some eons ago,
but her ‘nary and tarry’ made the going quite slow.

So, we bickered and tinkered with rhyme and verse.
We bellowed and brawled and then we rehearsed.

The poem came forth as I took center stage,
reading aloud as the audience engaged.

As the curtain closes, let me bring this back around
and acknowledge all dead poets for their rhythm, rhyme, and sound.

As for you dear reader, beware the hauntings of the night,
when the stars realign and dead poets reunite!

Post Script:  A link to our poem here, enjoy “The Path”.

Poetry ~ Half Thoughts

I have surrendered 

to my half-thoughts

incomplete sentences

vacant spaces of my mind

I no longer wander

I am simply lost

where is the still mind?

Like the rapids of the river

my mind rushes forward

as I struggle for air,

for full thoughts,

for the light,

for the truth,

found in silence. 

How does one quiet the raging river?

And the answer comes –

one doesn’t quiet a raging river

one surrenders to it. 

Ah, a complete thought!

Poetry ~ Stillness Speaks

Today I will take the first step
to slow down and catch my breath. 

And find, as the season’s pass,
a gentler world where my soul can laugh. 

Where I alone create my future
and choose the life I wish to nurture. 

A place where – stillness speaks
when you’re ready to listen.
And laughter echoes in recognition 

of what you thought was surely true
and now you see you never knew. 

Poetry ~ Whispers

Do you listen to the whispers of your heart
or do you wait for the screaming to start?

Don’t let people tell you those whispers are lies!
Let the doubters see the truth through your eyes.

Trust your foresight, your third-eye, your intuition.
Listen to your heart’s inner recognition. 

And if the mind tells you the heart doesn’t matter,
quiet the mind and follow the latter. 

Trust when your heart whispers – it’s real and true.
Act on your instincts; and you’ll know what to do.

Poetry ~ Mermaids

Last night I had a dream that mermaids came to play

and they splashed in the stars of the bright Milky Way. 

They wore salt water sparkles that glistened in the moon,

their hair beaded in gold like the sun in late June. 

They gathered on the shore of the universe to sing

a haunting refrain for the ancient sea queen. 

Then slowly the stars rippled and spilled from my head

off the edge of the universe as the mermaids fled. 

I watched as they swam beyond the great milky reef

and I awakened at sunrise with a deep belief.

That mermaids are real! Even if only in my mind.

And that I, in my own way, am one of their kind!

Poetry ~ Fruit of the Vine


Yesterday, she was the sweet fruit, ripe and flourishing on the vine
Scorched by summer’s sun, her wisdom fermenting like fine wine

Today, she welcomes the harvest and gives freely of her heart
Sharing her love and wisdom as her life becomes her art

Tomorrow, she’ll find comfort in the warmth of her hearth’s glow
Preparing for her journey through the long nights of winter’s snow

Forever and a day, her words will ripple through space and time
For all who journey through the seasons, taste the fruit of the vine