The fruit of your luring
Rhythmic pulse
Pendulous in passion’s heaving
Consummate potion
beyond mortal grasp
Blood tinged gauntlet
tossed keenly
atop fiery furnace
Left to smolder
for foe most worthy




fruit cherries

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“Where have you been?” she whispered
“Hiking the Salter path, said I,
in search of fragrant bloom,
nectarous fruit,
and buoyant breeze”

“Why have you returned?”
“Thirst”, said I
Through furtive eyes
and measured voice,
the gentle Muse replied.

“You drank of my font
……in blackness
From shadow, I sutured your pain.
Come dawning my lips gave you bidding
And warrant of verdure again”

“What solace do you come seeking?
What counsel left unendowed?
Before me you stand
……nary wisp of the man
whose soul once flaunted its shroud”

“Thirst, said I”
Woeful lust of phrase!
Lyric born of wretched wounding
Seething atop leavened spoil
Bursting with the bile of bitterness”

“Beauty be the muse you seek”,
The feathery sprite replied
Not the black art I dispense
Pain need not be the spring
from which your words commence”

With stern resolve, again she spoke
“Give scorn the past and move ahead
Step clear of miry ooze…
Abundant are the words you seek
If beauty be your muse.”

calm blue sea during golden hour

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Our future unfurls as a flower

Majestic in the winds of change

Proudly we vaunt our brilliance

With thin regard to genesis

High atop the lowly branch

We wave our fruited feather


In frantic quest

For path to never more

Defiant to the bitter end

We curse the journey

No consequence the mountain scaled


Was seed too small for tribute?

Was soil too vile to laud?

Was the land bereft of worth?

Yes!, we shout with fists of rage


We wave in fields as one

Beauty of a single order

Untouched by prickling thorn

Free of fettered roots

Framed in frozen image

On page of yesterday


Promise forgotten

Our petals wilt and fall


Softly uniting in umber mass

Crackling under deaf ears

Invisible to blind eye

Beneath a single sizzling sun.



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Actun Tunichil Muknal (Cave of the Crystal Sepulchre)


Sins of the Maya

strewn as seed on nether floor

Crystal tomb of shadow’s failing

Sacred rite of gods’ creation

sprung from wooden womb

Suckled by thankless beast

Bathed in hearty maker’s marrow


Gods of the Maya

dance to torches’ flicker

Amid the ancient pillars

Quick on coral canvas

made thick by limestone tears

Drunk with maiden’s blood

Boiled in clay of mother’s fashion


Bones of the Maya

crushed as corn neath hungry hand

Blown by stealthy wind

outward to impertinent soil

Torn from page of ancient text

Unearthed by errant plowshare

Left to fade in rude light of latter-day


Blood of the Maya

flows as rain through fertile forest

Proud roots hold fast the earth

against the wind and tide of lesser gods

Heart-of-Sky, sacred trinity

sculptor of earth’s devoted keeper

Ever smiling on the fruit of her creation






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Lie peaceful on my wing

safe in sanguine flight

Breathe deep the jasmine wind

sifting care from troubled soul

Fly with me to fertile shore

Soar on love’s warm current

high above the madding fray

Rest guiltless in feathered sleep

swathed snug by love’s promise

Dream boldly of hopes repressed

in color rich as spectrum’s core

Awaken to a spotless sunrise

free of soil from yonder harvest

Rise with song of one accord

together, in progressive harmony






Daily Prompt:Harmonize 



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The Gate

There you are

minding the gate

Shrouded in gossamer veil

Creped skin pulled tight

against crumbled feature

Lips thin as your soul

Mouthing a single word…


Myopic leer in search

of  shekel

tarnished by filth of grubbing claw

Molting grackle

perched on pinched shoulder


maimed by greed’s keen snare

Keeper of the gate

Key in death clutch

cold against barren breast

Heaving a single gasp…



There you are

Dying proctor at your feet

Cowed ‘neath threat of whip

Defiled by selfish bidding

Liquescent in your gnawing glare


Careful my dear

Mind your mount with gentle hand

Gather your scraps of wool

tight against withered bone

Winter nears

Icy wind whispers single word…






Daily Prompt: Gate

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One hundred seven days

Space between lifetimes

Sliced thinly

Savored as season’s fruit

Ceaseless craving

Forever fresh

on eager lips

Hungry for tomorrow




Daily Prompt:Savor

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