upon the hearth of mice and men
a lonely prophet stirs his stew
adds brittle love and uncooked hope
a pinch of woe, enough for two

and in his dreams he stirs the world
lives hundred lives, yet touches few
for when he stirs, he stirs alone
his hearth his guilt, regret his stew.

… written for Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub. Grab your poem and come join the fun! Happy Anniversary, dVerse!

Touch of the Past (rewritten)

autumn’s gentle touch
mournful paths (i walk),
tears’ burdensome sting

rows upon rows ~
towering high, majestic
some small,
cracked and bruised
frail and broken

old, they whisper,
earthen beds
monuments in time

names, embedded,
moss-accentuated ~
i greet their faces,
the Long Gone
with beating heart
and open mind

oaks’ heavy boughs
pick my thoughts,
lift with ease, to join
trees’ misty heads ~
as if they weigh nothing

and in their company
i feel comforted,
for they know all ~
smile warmly,
never judge

and in their company
i find
my heart,
my voice,
my sweet solitude.

… much gratitude to the Iron Poets. You know who you are.

Textures of Winter

One Snowy Night Wallpaper__yvt2

street corners, fast asleep
huddle beneath
street lamp’s mellow light.
glisten like jewels,
crown the silent watchers’ brows,
while shredded wings
drift from the sky
to cloak and bury
the hustle and bustle,
the musts and have to’s
of the waking hours.

not a sigh;
not a single anthem lingers
in the reticent air;
white touches
steaming breath,
final bow, to melt on rosy cheeks
and i stride alone ~
the only sounds…




beneath my boots.
I wrote this poem for Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub. Come join us at the bar and share your poetry… doors open at 3pm EST…

photo credits: scenicreflections.com