Halloween – Mac Hammond

The butcher knife goes in, first, at the top
And carves out the round stemmed lid,

The hole of which allows the hand to go 

In to pull the gooey mess inside, out –

The walls scooped clean with a spoon.

A grim design decided on, that afternoon,

The eyes are the first to go,

Isosceles or trapezoid, the square nose,

The down-turned mouth with three

Hideous teeth and, sometimes,

Round ears. At dusk it’s

Lighted, the room behind it dark.

Outside, looking in, it looks like a 

Pumpkin, it looks like ripeness

Is all. Kids come, beckoned by

Fingers of shadows on leaf-strewn lawns

To trick or treat. Standing at the open

Door, the sculptor, a warlock, drops

Penny candies into their bags, knowing

The message of winter: only the children,

Pretending to be ghosts, are real. 

Thanksgiving – Mac Hammond 

The man who stands above the bird, his knife
Sharp as a Turkish scimitar, first removes

A thigh and leg, half the support

On which the turkey used to stand. This

Leg and thigh he sets on an extra

Plate. All his weight now on 

One leg, he lunges for the wing, the wing

On the same side of the bird from which

He has just removed the leg and thigh.

He frees the wing enough to expose

The breast, the wing not severed but

Collapsed down to the platter. One hand

Holding the fork, piercing the turkey

Anywhere, he now beings to slice the breast,

Afflicted by small pains in his chest,

A kind of heartburn for which there is no 

Cure. He serves the hostess breast, her 

Own breast rising and falling. And so on,

Till all the guests are served, the turkey

Now a wreck, the carver exhausted, a

Mere carcass of his former self. Everyone

Says thanks to the turkey carver and begins

To eat, thankful for the cold turkey

And the Republic for which it stands. 

Poem – When Love Fails

when love fails, and 
utter silence prevails, 

so a swollen fear shrouds my nerves frail.

Why dreams of mine

on this Valentine eloped 

like morning dews.

Is my love really waned? 

will I not be blessed again

with that beguiled boon.
Ah! like the northern gale

that cherishes the southern springs; 

such are feelings been pushed 

into an unending frustration.

Ah! In her last embrace, i left 

my whole being: 

my sinking heart and fancies fair.
when love fails, 

it creates a world around

where rainbow drowns and darkness dawns, 

and the tears it brings are 

sweeter than smiles

and surely the music wiles…

  • – 

Poem – What is a Poem 

A euphony 
rhythmically composed; 

through fresh Similes, metaphors, and analogies, 

help readers to conjure hi- flown imageries, 

but stick to cadence 

like flowers to fragrance, 

and it emphasises 

the aesthetic nature of fellow pals

with some wild weird 

conceits, that would elate

our so-so speech, 

if it crafts in care; will surely

heal our untrue fears, 

like a gentle breeze of the westward wind, or

a Beethoven’s symphony; that enliven


Poem – Virgina Woolf: Her Last Words

I begin to hear the voices again, 
and I feel certain 

this darkness of times

and minds turns me insane.
I can’t fight any longer and

I am doing (what seemsthe best) –

the last Act of this life in vain, 

I am falling into a lasting sleep.
I owned all the happiness and joys

and can’t go on spoiling yours

anymore. Adieu my love, 

you could do better without me. 

Poem – Vere Homo

Be human, rather than divine 
living such life is truly a surprise. 
the world is for you, and

seek your worth and prize
what intoxicates our minds, are

the stories of doom and demise, 
so with these false theologies 

let’s unbind our trade and ties.
In search of god(s) 

don’t stare at the skies
just intuit (for awhile) and

feels others’ agonies and cries. 

Poem – Mariana in the South 

With one black shadow at its feet,
The house thro’ all the level shines,

Close-latticed to the brooding heat,

And silent in its dusty vines:

A faint-blue ridge upon the right,

An empty river-bed before,

And shallows on a distant shore,

In glaring sand and inlets bright.

But “Aye Mary,” made she moan,

And “Aye Mary,” night and morn,

And “Ah,” she sang, “to be all alone,

To live forgotten, and love forlorn.” 
She, as her carol sadder grew,

From brow and bosom slowly down

Thro’ rosy taper fingers drew

Her streaming curls of deepest brown

To left and right, and made appear,

Still-lighted in a secret shrine,

Her melancholy eyes divine,

The home of woe without a tear.

And “Aye Mary,” was her moan,

“Madonna, sad is night and morn;”

And “Ah,” she sang, “to be all alone,

To live forgotten, and love forlorn.” 
Till all the crimson changed, and past

Into deep orange o’er the sea,

Low on her knees herself she cast,

Before Our Lady murmur’d she:

Complaining, “Mother, give me grace

To help me of my weary load.”

And on the liquid mirror glow’d

The clear perfection of her face.

“Is this the form,” she made her moan,

“That won his praises night and morn?”

And “Ah,” she said, “but I wake alone,

I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn.” 
Nor bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat,

Nor any cloud would cross the vault,

But day increased from heat to heat,

On stony drought and steaming salt;

Till now at noon she slept again,

And seem’d knee-deep in mountain grass,

And heard her native breezes pass,

And runlets babbling down the glen.

She breathed in sleep a lower moan,

And murmuring, as at night and morn

She thought, “My spirit is here alone,

Walks forgotten, and is forlorn.” 
Dreaming, she knew it was a dream:

She felt he was and was not there.

She woke: the babble of the stream

Fell, and, without, the steady glare

Shrank one sick willow sere and small.

The river-bed was dusty-white;

And all the furnace of the light

Struck up against the blinding wall.

She whisper’d, with a stifled moan

More inward than at night or morn,

“Sweet Mother, let me not here alone

Live forgotten and die forlorn.” 
And, rising, from her bosom drew

Old letters, breathing of her worth,

For “Love”, they said, “must needs be true,

To what is loveliest upon earth.”

An image seem’d to pass the door,

To look at her with slight, and say,

“But now thy beauty flows away,

So be alone for evermore.”

“O cruel heart,” she changed her tone,

“And cruel love, whose end is scorn,

Is this the end to be left alone,

To live forgotten, and die forlorn?” 
But sometimes in the falling day

An image seem’d to pass the door,

To look into her eyes and say,

“But thou shalt be alone no more.”

And flaming downward over all

From heat to heat the day decreased,

And slowly rounded to the east

The one black shadow from the wall.

“The day to night,” she made her moan,

“The day to night, the night to morn,

And day and night I am left alone

To live forgotten, and love forlorn.” 
At eve a dry cicala sung,

There came a sound as of the sea;

Backward the lattice-blind she flung,

And lean’d upon the balcony.

There all in spaces rosy-bright

Large Hesper glitter’d on her tears,

And deepening thro’ the silent spheres

Heaven over Heaven rose the night.

And weeping then she made her moan,

“The night comes on that knows not morn,

When I shall cease to be all alone,

To live forgotten, and love forlorn.” 

Poem – Sound & Sense 

True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, 
As those move easiest who have learned to dance. 

‘Tis not enough no harshness gives offense, 

The sound must seem an echo to the sense: 

Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, 

And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; 

But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, 

The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar; 

When Ajax strives some rock’s vast weight to throw, 

The line too labors, and the words move slow; 

Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain, 

Flies o’er the unbending corn, and skims along the main. 

Hear how Timotheus’ varied lays surprise, 

And bid alternate passions fall and rise! 

Poem  – Ode on Solitude

Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,

Content to breathe his native air,

In his own ground.
Whose heards with milk, whose fields with bread,

Whose flocks supply him with attire,

Whose trees in summer yield him shade,

In winter fire.
Blest! who can unconcern’dly find

Hours, days, and years slide soft away,

In health of body, peace of mind,

Quiet by day,
Sound sleep by night; study and ease

Together mix’d; sweet recreation,

And innocence, which most does please,

With meditation.
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;

Thus unlamented let me dye;

Steal from the world, and not a stone

Tell where I lye. 

Poem – Chorus of Youths and Virgins


Oh Tyrant Love! hast thou possest

The prudent, learn’d, and virtuous breast?

Wisdom and wit in vain reclaim,

And Arts but soften us to feel thy flame.

Love, soft intruder, enters here,

But ent’ring learns to be sincere.

Marcus with blushes owns he loves, 

And Brutus tenderly reproves.

Why, Virtue, dost thou blame desire,

Which Nature has imprest?

Why, Nature, dost thou soonest fire

The mild and gen’rous breast?

Love’s purer flames the Gods approve;

The Gods and Brutus bent to love:

Brutus for absent Portia sighs,

And sterner Cassius melts at Junia’s eyes.

What is loose love? a transient gust,

Spent in a sudden storm of lust,

A vapour fed from wild desire,

A wand’ring, self-consuming fire,

But Hymen’s kinder flames unite;

And burn for ever one;

Chaste as cold Cynthia’s virgin light,

Productive as the Sun.

Oh source of ev’ry social tie,

United wish, and mutual joy!

What various joys on one attend,

As son, as father, brother husband, friend?

Whether his hoary sire he spies,

While thousand grateful thoughts arise;

Or meets his spouse’s fonder eye;

Or views his smiling progeny;

What tender passions take their turns,

What home-felt raptures move?

His heart now melts, now leaps, now burns,

With rev’rence, hope, and love.

Hence guilty joys, distastes, surmises,

Hence false tears, deceits, disguises,

Dangers, doubts, delays, surprises;

Fires that scorch, yet dare not shine

Purest love’s unwasting treasure,

Constant faith, fair hope, long leisure,

Days of ease, and nights of pleasure;

Sacred Hymen! these are thine. 

Poem – Chorus Of Athenians

Strophe I.
Ye shades, where sacred truth is sought;

Groves, where immortal Sages taught;

Where heav’nly visions of Plato fir’d,

And Epicurus lay inspir’d!

In vain your guiltless laurels stood

Unspotted long with human blood.

War, horrid war, your thoughtful walks invades,

And steel now glitters in the Muses’ shades.
Antistrophe I. 

Oh heav’n-born sisters! source of art!

Who charm the sense, or mend the heart;

Who lead fair Virtue’s train along,

Moral Truth, and mystic Song!

To what new clime, what distant sky,

Forsaken, friendless, shall ye fly?

Say, will you bless the bleak Atlantic shore?

Or bid the furious Gaul be rude no more?
Strophe II.

When Athens sinks by fates unjust,

When wild Barbarians spurn her dust;

Perhaps ev’n Britain’s utmost shore,

Shall cease to blush with strager’s gore.

See Arts her savage sons control,

And Athens rising near the pole!

‘Till some new Tyrant lifts his purple hand,

And civil madness tears them from this land.
Antistrophe II.

Ye Gods! what justice rules the ball?

Freedom and Arts together fall; 

Fools grant whate’er Ambition craves,

And men, once ignorant, are slaves.

Oh curs’d effects of civil hate,

In ev’ry age, in ev’ry state!

Still, when the lust of tyrant power succeeds,

Some Athens perishes, some Tully bleeds. 

Poem – Verses Left My Mr.Pope

With no poetic ardour fir’d
I press the bed where Wilmot lay;

That here he lov’d, or here expir’d,

Begets no numbers grave or gay.
Beneath thy roof, Argyle, are bred

Such thoughts as prompt the brave to lie

Stretch’d out in honour’s nobler bed,

Beneath a nobler roof – the sky.
Such flames as high in patriots burn,

Yet stoop to bless a child or wife;

And such as wicked kings may mourn,

When freedom is more dear than life. 

Poem – Macer: A Character 

When simple Macer, now of high renown,
First fought a Poet’s Fortune in the Town,

‘Twas all th’ Ambition his high soul could feel,

To wear red stockings, and to dine with Steele.

Some Ends of verse his Betters might afford, 

And gave the harmless fellow a good word.

Set up with these he ventur’d on the Town,

And with a borrow’d Play, out-did poor Crown.

There he stopp’d short, nor since has write a tittle,

But has the wit to make the most of little;

Like stunted hide-bound Trees, that just have got

Sufficient sap at once to bear and rot.

Now he begs Verse, and what he gets commends,

Not of the Wits his foes, but Fools his friends.
So some coarse Country Wench, almost decay’d,

Trudges to town, and first turns Chambermaid;

Awkward and supple, each devoir to pay;

She flatters her good Lady twice a day;

Thought wond’rous honest, tho’ of mean degree,

And strangely lik’d for her Simplicity:

In a translated Suit, then tries the Town, 

With borrow’d Pins, and Patches not her own:

But just endur’d the winter she began,

And in four months a batter’d Harridan. 

Now nothing left, but wither’d, pale, and shrunk,

To bawd for others, and go shares with Punk. 

Poem – The Fickle One

My eyes went away from me

Following a dark girl who went by.
She was made of black motherofpearl

Made of darkpurple grapes,

And she lashed my blood

With her tail of fire.
After them all I go.
A pale blonde went by

Like a golden plant

Swaying her gifts.

And my mouth went

Like a wave

Discharging on her breast

Lightningbolts of blood.
After them all I go.
But to you, without my moving,

Without seeing you, distant you,

Go my blood and my kisses,

My dark one and my fair one,

My broad one and my slender one,

My ugly one, my beauty,

Made of all the gold

And of all the silver,

Made of all the wheat

And of all the earth,

Made of all the water

Of sea waves,

Made for my arms

Made for my kisses,

Made for my soul. 

Poem – Here I Love You

Here I love you. 
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.

The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters.

Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.
The snow unfurls in dancing figures.

A silver gull slips down from the west.

Sometimes a sail. High, high stars. 

Oh the black cross of a ship.


Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.

Far away the sea sounds and resounds.

This is a port.
Here I love you.

Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.

I love you still among these cold things.

Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels

that cross the sea towards no arrival.

I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.
The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.

My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.

I love what I do not have. You are so far.

My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.

But night comes and starts to sing to me.
The moon turns its clockwork dream.

The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.

And as I love you, the pines in the wind

want to sing your name with their leaves of wire. 

Poem – Sonata

Neither the heart cut by a piece of glass
in a wasteland of thorns 

nor the atrocious waters seen in the corners

of certain houses, waters like eyelids and eyes

can capture your waist in my hands

when my heart lifts its oaks

towards your unbreakable thread of snow.
Nocturnal sugar, spirit 

of the crowns,


human blood, your kisses

send into exile

and a stroke of water, with remnants of the sea,

neats on the silences that wait for you

surrounding the worn chairs, wearing out doors.
Nights with bright spindles,

divided, material, nothing

but voice, nothing but

naked every day.
Over your breasts of motionless current,

over your legs of firmness and water,

over the permanence and the pride

of your naked hair

I want to be, my love, now that the tears are


into the raucous baskets where they accumulate,

I want to be, my love, alone with a syllable

of mangled silver, alone with a tip 

of your breast of snow. 

Poem – Clenched Soul

We have lost even this twilight.
No one saw us this evening hand in hand

while the blue night dropped on the world.
I have seen from my window

the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.
Sometimes a piece of sun

burned like a coin in my hand.
I remembered you with my soul clenched

in that sadness of mine that you know.
Where were you then?

Who else was there?

Saying what?

Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly

when I am sad and feel you are far away?
The book fell that always closed at twilight

and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.
Always, always you recede through the evenings

toward the twilight erasing statues. 

Poem – And Because Love Battles

And because love battles
not only in its burning agricultures

but also in the mouth of men and women,

I will finish off by taking the path away

to those who between my chest and your fragrance

want to interpose their obscure plant.
About me, nothing worse

they will tell you, my love,

than what I told you.
I lived in the prairies

before I got to know you

and I did not wait love but I was

laying in wait for and I jumped on the rose.
What more can they tell you?

I am neither good nor bad but a man,

and they will then associate the danger

of my life, which you know

and which with your passion you shared.
And good, this danger

is danger of love, of complete love

for all life,

for all lives,

and if this love brings us

the death and the prisons,

I am sure that your big eyes,

as when I kiss them,

will then close with pride,

into double pride, love,

with your pride and my pride.
But to my ears they will come before

to wear down the tour

of the sweet and hard love which binds us,

and they will say: “The one

you love,

is not a woman for you,

Why do you love her? I think

you could find one more beautiful,

more serious, more deep,

more other, you understand me, look how she’s light,

and what a head she has,

and look at how she dresses,

and etcetera and etcetera”.
And I in these lines say:

Like this I want you, love,

love, Like this I love you,

as you dress

and how your hair lifts up

and how your mouth smiles,

light as the water

of the spring upon the pure stones,

Like this I love you, beloved.
To bread I do not ask to teach me

but only not to lack during every day of life.

I don’t know anything about light, from where

it comes nor where it goes,

I only want the light to light up,

I do not ask to the night


I wait for it and it envelops me,

And so you, bread and light

And shadow are.
You came to my life

with what you were bringing,


of light and bread and shadow I expected you,

and Like this I need you,

Like this I love you,

and to those who want to hear tomorrow

that which I will not tell them, let them read it here,

and let them back off today because it is early

for these arguments.
Tomorrow we will only give them

a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf

which will fall on the earth

like if it had been made by our lips

like a kiss which falls

from our invincible heights

to show the fire and the tenderness

of a true love. 

Poem – When Great Trees Fall

When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,

lions hunker down

in tall grasses,

and even elephants

lumber after safety.
When great trees fall

in forests,

small things recoil into silence,

their senses

eroded beyond fear.
When great souls die,

the air around us becomes

light, rare, sterile.

We breathe, briefly.

Our eyes, briefly,

see with

a hurtful clarity.

Our memory, suddenly sharpened,


gnaws on kind words


promised walks

never taken.
Great souls die and

our reality, bound to

them, takes leave of us.

Our souls,

dependent upon their


now shrink, wizened.

Our minds, formed

and informed by their


fall away.

We are not so much maddened

as reduced to the unutterable ignorance

of dark, cold

And when great souls die,

after a period peace blooms,

slowly and always

irregularly. Spaces fill

with a kind of

soothing electric vibration.

Our senses, restored, never

to be the same, whisper to us.

They existed. They existed.

We can be. Be and be

better. For they existed. 

Poem – Old Folks Laugh

They have spent their
content of simpering,

holding their lips this

and that way, winding

the lines between

their brows. Old folks

allow their bellies to jiggle like slow


The hollers

rise up and spill

over any way they want.

When old folks laugh, they free the world.

They turn slowly, slyly knowing

the best and the worst

of remembering.

Saliva glistens in

the corners of their mouths,

their heads wobble

on brittle necks, but

their laps

are filled with memories.

When old folks laugh, they consider the promise

of dear painless death, and generously

forgive life for happening

to them. 

Poem – Glory Fall 

Glory falls around us 
as we sob 

a dirge of 
desolation on the Cross 

and hatred is the ballast of 

the rock 

which his upon our necks 

and underfoot. 

We have woven 

robes of silk 

and clothed our nakedness 

with tapestry. 

From crawling on this 

murky planet’s floor 

we soar beyond the 

birds and 

through the clouds 

and edge our waays from hate 

and blind despair and 

bring horror 

to our brothers, and to our sisters cheer. 

We grow despite the 

horror that we feed 

upon our own 


We grow. 

Poem – Kin 

We were entwined in red rings 

Of blood and loneliness before 

The first snows fell

Before muddy rivers seeded clouds 

Above a virgin forest, and 

Men ran naked, blue and black 

Skinned into the warm embraces 

Of Sheba, Eve and Lilith.

I was your sister.
You left me to force strangers 

Into brother molds, exacting 

Taxations they never

Owed or could ever pay.
You fought to die, thinking 

In destruction lies the seed 

Of birth. You may be right.
I will remember silent walks in 

Southern woods and long talks 

In low voices

Shielding meaning from the big ears 

Of overcurious adults.
You may be right. 

Your slow return from

Regions of terror and bloody

Screams, races my heart.

I hear again the laughter 

Of children and see fireflies 

Bursting tiny explosions in 

An Arkansas twilight. 

Poem – Human Family

I note the obvious differences
in the human family.

Some of us are serious,

some thrive on comedy.
Some declare their lives are lived

as true profundity,

and others claim they really live

the real reality.
The variety of our skin tones

can confuse, bemuse, delight,

brown and pink and beige and purple,

tan and blue and white.
I’ve sailed upon the seven seas

and stopped in every land,

I’ve seen the wonders of the world

not yet one common man.
I know ten thousand women

called Jane and Mary Jane,

but I’ve not seen any two

who really were the same.
Mirror twins are different

although their features jibe,

and lovers think quite different thoughts

while lying side by side.
We love and lose in China,

we weep on England’s moors,

and laugh and moan in Guinea,

and thrive on Spanish shores.
We seek success in Finland,

are born and die in Maine.

In minor ways we differ,

in major we’re the same.
I note the obvious differences

between each sort and type,

but we are more alike, my friends,

than we are unalike.
We are more alike, my friends,

than we are unalike.
We are more alike, my friends,

than we are unalike. 

Poem – In Praise of Henna 

A KOKILA called from a henna-spray: 

Lira! liree! Lira! liree! 

Hasten, maidens, hasten away 

To gather the leaves of the henna-tree. 

Send your pitchers afloat on the tide, 

Gather the leaves ere the dawn be old, 

Grind them in mortars of amber and gold, 

The fresh green leaves of the henna-tree.

A kokila called from a henna-spray: 

Lira! liree! Lira! liree! 

Hasten maidens, hasten away 

To gather the leaves of the henna-tree. 

The tilka’s red for the brow of a bride, 

And betel-nut’s red for lips that are sweet; 

But, for lily-like fingers and feet, 

The red, the red of the henna-tree. 

Poem – In The Bazaars of Hyderabad 

What do you sell O ye merchants ?

Richly your wares are displayed.

Turbans of crimson and silver,

Tunics of purple brocade,

Mirrors with panels of amber,

Daggers with handles of jade.
What do you weigh, O ye vendors?

Saffron and lentil and rice.

What do you grind, O ye maidens?

Sandalwood, henna, and spice.

What do you call , O ye pedlars?

Chessmen and ivory dice.
What do you make,O ye goldsmiths?

Wristlet and anklet and ring,

Bells for the feet of blue pigeons

Frail as a dragon-fly’s wing,

Girdles of gold for dancers,

Scabbards of gold for the king.
What do you cry,O ye fruitmen?

Citron, pomegranate, and plum.

What do you play ,O musicians?

Cithar, sarangi and drum.

what do you chant, O magicians?

Spells for aeons to come.
What do you weave, O ye flower-girls

With tassels of azure and red?

Crowns for the brow of a bridegroom,

Chaplets to garland his bed.

Sheets of white blossoms new-garnered

To perfume the sleep of the dead. 

Poem – Coromandel Fishers

Rise, brothers, rise; the wakening skies pray to the morning light, 
The wind lies asleep in the arms of the dawn like a child that has cried all night. 

Come, let us gather our nets from the shore and set our catamarans free, 

To capture the leaping wealth of the tide, for we are the kings of the sea! 
No longer delay, let us hasten away in the track of the sea gull’s call, 

The sea is our mother, the cloud is our brother, the waves are our comrades all. 

What though we toss at the fall of the sun where the hand of the sea-god drives? 

He who holds the storm by the hair, will hide in his breast our lives. 
Sweet is the shade of the cocoanut glade, and the scent of the mango grove, 

And sweet are the sands at the full o’ the moon with the sound of the voices we love; 

But sweeter, O brothers, the kiss of the spray and the dance of the wild foam’s glee; 

Row, brothers, row to the edge of the verge, where the low sky mates with the sea. 

Poem – Krishna Complains About His Older Brother 

O mother mine, Dau (Balram)forever teases me.
you never gave birth to me,

and I was bought in the market.

this is what he tells me

o mother mihne, Dau forever teases me.

fed up of his teasing ways,

I don’t go out to play.

who is your mother?

and who is your father?

again and again he says.

Yasoda’s fair, so also Nanda,

how come you’re so dark?

Dau provokes, the gopas laugh,

and all have such a lark.

me, mother, you want to beat,

but Dau you never even scold,

seeing the anger on Mohan’s face

Yasoda’s joy was untold,

listen Kanha, Balbhadra is naughty,

wicked from his birth,

you’re my son, and I your mother,

I swear by mother cows worth! 

Poem – Krishna Denying He Stole The Butter

O mother mine, I did not eat the butter

come dawn, with the herds,

you send me to the jungle,

o, mother mine, I did not eat the butter.

all day long with my flute in the jungles

at dusk do I return home.

but a child, younger than my friends

how could I reach up to the butter?

all the gopas are against me

on my face they wipe the butter,

you mother, are much too innocent,

you believe all their chatter.

there is a flaw in your behaviour,

you consider me not yours,

take you herd-stick and the blanket

I’ll dance to your tune no longer.

Surdas, Yasoda then laughed,

and took the boy in her arms,

mother mine I did not eat the butter. 

Poem – Do I Believe in Ghosts

I believe in what I have not seen
The power of persuasion can shape, 

What you think you can see, 

As your mind conjures up a, 

Plethora of how can that be.
The brain is just so complex, 

A control unit for our bodies

Translating every movement, word, emotion, 

And holding a library of memories.
Whose to say that as our, 

Imaginations store and play any movie, 

From which we can call upon, 

At any given time to see.
That the shadows lurking in the dark, 

The tale of ghost, demon and jinn, 

Tis not the spirit that is without, 

But that of the spirit we have within. 

Poem – De Ja Vu 

Have you ever thought that before, 

I have been to this place, 

Or I really know your face.
Somebody has already told me that, 

Or you say I already know, 

But nobody has told you so.
A friend of a friend you see, 

For the first time but yet, 

You think you have already met.
What about I must give them, 

A call find how she’s doing, 

Caller display and she is ringing.
To driving somewhere you have, 

Never been before in your car, 

Yet you know where you are.
Talking to someone and they finish, 

Your sentence or you both say, 

Together the very same word, 

Which just seems so absurd.
A cycle of coincidences so, 

Random and out of the blue, 

A sixth sense or deja vu.
Wouldn’t it be lovely as I, 

Thought of you and you thought, 

Of me what a wonderful, 

Coincidence that would be…. 

Poem – Charity Shop Shopping Bug 

I love a bargain
I joke with friends by saying, 

Guess how much this cost, 

They know me all too well, 

A charitable donation up sell.
A designer handbag a fiver, 

Little black dress with a label, 

Harder to find a nice jacket, 

In a size that will just fit.
Don’t get me started on shoes, 

I’ve had a box full of pairs, 

Sandles, boots and a little heal, 

For any occasion they do appeal.
Some things I have just bought, 

For the sake at a good price, 

And simply are an impulse buy, 

Waste of money as I sigh.
One time bought a duffle coat, 

About two sizes too big and, 

Which was a bright jade green, 

Had to be there to be seen.
As I walked into work wearing, 

The said offensive baggy duffle, 

Full belly laughs looking at me, 

With embarrassment I could see.
I’ve bought shoes too small, 

Squashing my feet into them, 

They’ll stretch bargain 3 pounds, 

I know how ridiculous it sounds.
I used to think it was only, 

Old people and down and outs, 

Who frequented shops of charity, 

And that they smelt of wee.
Now I have what they call, 

The charity shop shopping bug, 

Without fail I’m there every Saturday, 

You just cannot keep me away.
It’s the smell of things old, 

Worn, used and even older, 

Jostling for position out the way, 

This bargain is mine I say.
It’s the thrill of the chase, 

To get something so cheap, 

Rummaging through the charity bin, 

Ooh I love, I do love a bargain. 

Poem – You Say Potato I Say Potarto

You say sweet I say brilliant
I say brilliant, 

When I think its great, 

You say sweet, 

Just a different way we relate.
What a wonderful person, 

My best friend is, 

You think your mate is cool, 

She really is the biz.
Looking amazing in that dress, 

I say to my friend, 

Looking awesome you say, 

That dress is bang on trend.
The results are fantastic, 

She got straight A’s, 

What an epic result your, 

Response to A level grades.
I’m having a fab time, 

That’s what I would say, 

Today has been sick, 

How you’ve enjoyed your day.
What a great concert, 

Watching Beyonce on the tv, 

You think she is class, 

And her dancing is crazy.
From mothers to daughters, 

To fathers and sons, 

Not just a generation apart are we, 

Also speak a different vocabulary. 

Poem – Bad Teacher

As a kid was never the trimmest, 
You could call it puppy fat, 

As I was plump all over, 

Never did anything to change that.
Whilst at middle school I, 

Participated in all sporting activities, 

And was in the sports teams, 

After running was brought to my knees.
All she should have asked was, 

For me to try my best, 

I really did hate cross country, 

As I always came in last.
I really disliked my PE teacher, 

And she wasn’t keen on me, 

After what she said that day, 

Even now think how could she.
Was running down the cinder path, 

As my teacher called to me, 

Nearly last trying my best, 

She did shout come on FATTY! 
After that horrible word she said, 

I came 5th the following week, 

She just looked with surprise, 

Week after went back to 25th. 

Poem – Why do I Feel Sad

As we call time on summer, 

With Winters dark nights so cold, 

My body clock loses its tick, 

And resets itself to hibernation mode.
Even with the buzz of Xmas, 

Which I really look forward too, 

My get up and goes gone, 

Leaving me feeling moody and blue.
I recognise the signs too well, 

When November time is drawing near, 

This mood disorder is ridiculing me, 

By visiting the same time each year.
Like a visit from the unwelcome, 

You cannot help opening the door, 

To the symptoms of the season, 

Whose greetings you simply abhor.
Seasonal Affective Disorder I now know, 

Why I have felt so SAD, 

Learned to live with you and, 

Now I don’t feel so bad. 

Poem – From Lemons to Melons

As my hormones had arrived, 

So did wobbly bits on my chest, 

Like they’d been pumped up over night, 

I had what they call a breast.
I tried to keep them under wraps, 

As my body changed as a teen, 

Was embarrassed I had them, 

And didn’t want them to be seen.
My mum said you need a bra, 

I may have a pair that’ll fit, 

Was a lacy blue A cup, 

Which just covered my little bits.
As I started to get older, 

They just continued to grow, 

Was happy at a C cup, 

In their place not hanging low.
Have had fluctuations in my shape, 

As up and down with my weight, 

From D to C back to DD, 

As they did deflate and inflate.
Struggled to get in a D size, 

Was mortified I’d graduated to an E, 

Mum and sis just fit an A, 

Genetically how can mine be.
Gravity pulls us down to earth, 

Its a fact not word of mouth, 

So to do your body parts, 

As my boobs decided to head south.
From wearing a little black lacey number, 

Holding boobs more shaped like lemons, 

To a nude practical comfortable bra, 

For middle aged droopy water melons. 

Poem – Lady Luck

We have all met her in, 

Our lives some not so many, 

She is the bearer of good, 

Tidings or an extra penny.
From winning on a scratch card, 

A maximum bid on ebay, 

Your lottery numbers come up, 

To pay for your wedding day.
Like the roll of the dice, 

To the shuffle of the deck, 

Putting your money were your mouth, 

Is by sticking out your neck.
We can make our own so, 

I’ve heard but can’t just pluck, 

Her out of the air she has, 

To come calling our friend Lady Luck. 

Poem – An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog

Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song; 

And if you find it wondrous short,

It cannot hold you long.
In Islington there was a man

Of whom the world might say,

That still a godly race he ran— 

Whene’er he went to pray.
A kind and gentle heart he had,

To comfort friends and foes; 

The naked every day he clad— 

When he put on his clothes.
And in that town a dog was found,

As many dogs there be,

Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,

And curs of low degree.
This dog and man at first were friends; 

But when a pique began,

The dog, to gain some private ends,

Went mad, and bit the man.
Around from all the neighbouring streets

The wond’ring neighbours ran,

And swore the dog had lost its wits

To bite so good a man.
The wound it seemed both sore and sad

To every Christian eye; 

And while they swore the dog was mad,

They swore the man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light

That showed the rogues they lied,— 

The man recovered of the bite,

The dog it was that died! 

Poem – An Epigram 

Worried with debts and past all hopes of bail,

His pen he prostitutes t’ avoid a gaol.


LET not the ‘hungry’ Bavius’ angry stroke

Awake resentment, or your rage provoke;

But pitying his distress, let virtue shine,

And giving each your bounty, ‘let him dine’;

For thus retain’d, as learned counsel can, 

Each case, however bad, he’ll new japan;

And by a quick transition, plainly show

‘Twas no defect of yours, but ‘pocket low’,

That caused his ‘putrid kennel’ to o’erflow. 

Poem – A New Simile 

LONG had I sought in vain to find

A likeness for the scribbling kind;

The modern scribbling kind, who write

In wit, and sense, and nature’s spite:

Till reading, I forget what day on, 

A chapter out of Tooke’s Pantheon,

I think I met with something there,

To suit my purpose to a hair;

But let us not proceed too furious,

First please to turn to god Mercurius; 

You’ll find him pictur’d at full length

In book the second, page the tenth:

The stress of all my proofs on him I lay,

And now proceed we to our simile.
Imprimis, pray observe his hat, 

Wings upon either side–mark that.

Well! what is it from thence we gather?

Why these denote a brain of feather.

A brain of feather! very right,

With wit that’s flighty, learning light; 

Such as to modern bard’s decreed:

A just comparison,–proceed.
In the next place, his feet peruse,

Wings grow again from both his shoes;

Design’d, no doubt, their part to bear, 

And waft his godship through the air;

And here my simile unites,

For in a modern poet’s flights,

I’m sure it may be justly said,

His feet are useful as his head. 
Lastly, vouchsafe t’observe his hand,

Filled with a snake-encircl’d wand;

By classic authors term’d caduceus,

And highly fam’d for several uses.

To wit–most wond’rously endu’d, 

No poppy water half so good;

For let folks only get a touch,

Its soporific virtue’s such,

Though ne’er so much awake before,

That quickly they begin to snore. 

Add too, what certain writers tell,

With this he drives men’s souls to hell.
Now to apply, begin we then;

His wand’s a modern author’s pen;

The serpents round about it twin’d 

Denote him of the reptile kind;

Denote the rage with which he writes,

His frothy slaver, venom’d bites;

An equal semblance still to keep,

Alike too both conduce to sleep. 

This diff’rence only, as the god

Drove souls to Tart’rus with his rod,

With his goosequill the scribbling elf,

Instead of others, damns himself.
And here my simile almost tript, 

Yet grant a word by way of postscript.

Moreover, Merc’ry had a failing:

Well! what of that? out with it–stealing;

In which all modern bards agree,

Being each as great a thief as he: 

But ev’n this deity’s existence

Shall lend my simile assistance.

Our modern bards! why what a pox

Are they but senseless stones and blocks? 

Poem – Memory 

O MEMORY, thou fond deceiver,

Still importunate and vain,

To former joys recurring ever,

And turning all the past to pain:
Thou, like the world, th’ oppress’d oppressing,

Thy smiles increase the wretch’s woe:

And he who wants each other blessing

In thee must ever find a foe. 

Poem – Translation 

CHASTE are their instincts, faithful is their fire,
No foreign beauty tempts to false desire;

The snow-white vesture, and the glittering crown,

The simple plumage, or the glossy down

Prompt not their loves:– the patriot bird pursues 

His well acquainted tints, and kindred hues.

Hence through their tribes no mix’d polluted flame,

No monster-breed to mark the groves with shame;

But the chaste blackbird, to its partner true,

Thinks black alone is beauty’s favourite hue. 

The nightingale, with mutual passion blest,

Sings to its mate, and nightly charms the nest;

While the dark owl to court its partner flies,

And owns its offspring in their yellow eyes. 

Poem – Latoya The Name of the Queen

So goes a lady, 
She goes by Latoya, 

A name fitting queen right? 

She glams, she shines, 

I know she thinks of herself fine, 

She shows what she knows, 

She watches, 

She waits until the time is right, 

Then only will she understand, 

She is dignified, 

She is a mood maker, 

Once riled PLEASE back away, 

She is bright, 

You will not forget her, 

She is a memory that can’t go away, 

That righteous spirit you can’t dowse, 

Where does she get it I do not know, 

For she is someone I love so, 

She places hope in millions, 

She would ignite nations passion if she could, 

How do I know so much about her? 


She’s my sister 

Poem – Curious

Mom what is this? 
Can I play with that? 

Should I touch this? 

May I eat that? 

Will you kiss this? 

Am I asking too much? 

Do I bother you so? 

When I make a mistake will you fault me? 

When I lie will you preach me the truth? 

When I fall will you be there to pick me up? 

When I was born were you proud? 

Was I held close and tender? 

Or was it more like coarse and bark? 

Am I someone you see the image of you? 

Am I silly? 

Am I wrong? 

Am I a being that is small? 

Do I cause you pain? 

Are there thoughts of you not wanting me? 

That can’t be true, can it? 

When I grow up will I be this curious when I am so tall? 

Poem – The Beauty That You Don’t See

I know what you see, 
You see the person that is not me, 

I know what you think, 

I am not belittled by your words, 

Or cry of what you think of me, 

Ha, don’t think of yourself so fine, 

You are just like me, 


Beauty is the color within, 

My soul is one, 

The attention of a million do not matter if the negativity is place so deep, 

Why should I heed your soulful cries? 

When you don’t even care, 

Why should I show you a face no one sees? 

My struggles, 

My life. 

Poem – The Actress Beyond The Eyes

The actress you don’t see, 
It’s the actress inside of me, 

Whenever you see it now or later, 

SHE’s been inside all of this time, 

This book is about me, 

Yes this actress beyond you, 

She enchants with her words, 

Her eyes smile, 

She sparkles as she acts, 

A persona of her choosing, 

Open your eyes, 

Listen as you read, 

From Prologue to Epilogue, 

This is me, 

Well the beginning at least, 

The actress beyond the eyes 

Poem – Sorrowful Dancer

There was a woman deprived, 
She lived her book in lies, 

Beautiful her moves were deadly, 

Temptress she acted sinfully, 

It was told that she trance every man, 

Her heart had a ban, 

Steaming from herself worth, 

Thinking of her birth, 

It was quite sad to see, 

“I want someone to think of me! ”

Oh she was a dancer, 

Only Lord knows she’s a chancellor, 

Go woman go, 

She knew she could put on a show, 

In her eyes I could tell she was hurt, 

I didn’t have to ask why she felt like dirt, 

All she needed was someone’s hand, 

To comprise a wedding man. 

Poem – Reply From a Pleasant Lady 

I accept your offer to wine, 
But you can act like a swine, 

Even a piece of work like you, 

Should I really show you? 
Or should I break you where you stand? 

Don’t worry I’ll give you a hand, 

Are you trying to stroke the embers of my heart? 

In your chest can I throw a dart? 
If you are so confident then why don’t you come? 

Believing that you are so dumb, 

Calling you out on your bluff, 

Do you think you are so tough? 
Glazing into your eyes, 

Your look I despise, 

A cave full of your lies, 

The lost truth that dies, 
My heart you snake? 

Don’t make me faint! 

You talk big, 

Wanna hole to dig? 
I am a dignify lady, 

You miss my baby? 

Well just maybe, 

I’ll take you up on your challenge! 

Poem – Lonely Old Road

I went down a lonely old road, 
They said was keeping me home, 

One day I will know about, 

Down that lonely old road I was to be told, 

How come no one told me to go down this lonely old road? 

I felt that I didn’t know anything beyond this lonely old road, 

Come to think of it, 

I don’t because this lonely old road, 

Is all I know, 

No one told me about this darn lonely old road, 

I tried to keep my head held high, 

Gravity pressed my head down, 

I was walking around, 

Saying I’m walking down this lonely old road, 

If you should ever see me, 

All you have to do is wave that hand of yours, 

Telling me to go down this lonely old road, 

I might smirk at first, 

Because you told me to go down this lonely old road, 

But you also heard me out, 

Before I went on this journey, 

On this lonely old road, 

Just know that one day, 

I’ll get off this lonely old road, 

I’ll have something to show, 

About this lonely old road. 

Poem – My Mom’s Epic

My mom is so epic, 
My kin doesn’t know what to do, 

She handles things her own way, 

She is a tree, mighty and strong, 

Like an eagle, mess with her babies, 

Let’s say you will go down heavy, 

She fights her own mêlées, 

She cares for others, 

By no way is she introverted, 

She’s elation to my life, 

Cautious and valiant is just the tip of the ice berg to portray her, 

She’s interminable, 

She’s been with me ever since I could remember, 

I will always love her, 

For she is MY EPIC MOM! 

Poem – Rose Bud

I dare tell you of I so small, 
Yes even before I began to crawl, 

It was not yet in full bloom, 

It didn’t have petals, 

The inside had not yet shown itself, 

Just like a secret not waiting, 

Time cultivating it, 

The rose bud is a symbol of my younger self, 

The bloom of spring after winter, 

Love, tender care, it’s finally here! 

Some people use the petals to procreate magic, 

It is used as a cure for loneliness, 

Brings everyone together, 

When some get it they say spring has come my way, 

I am a blood colored rose. 

Poem – Celtic Islands

i am naïve 
to this part of the world

but my fancies often here 

roam and love her mysteries sore.

Like a blue vase of white roses

dripped in the morning mist

i see an Irish ghost

dancing in the breeze.

Here the darkness steals

the light’s charm and icy winds 

hum the Celtic tunes, and bring

the golden fairies down, to play

hide and seek in the misty woods 

and kiss the snowy lakes and

laugh and sing.

Such is the charm, that’s loosed

upon this enchanting land

and surely lulls my frantic fears 

stiffened by nightmares, 

and fill my days 

full of praise… 

Poem – Castaway 

Can’t you see my strong pulsation? 
Beating in persuasion

And longing for for lost




Thy pride

A sweet loving bride, 

My swollen breast and rosy cheeks

Coral lips and hazel eyes

And a fairy’s charm

Ah! Sank and


By a stroke of fate 

Lost my faith, in love, in care, 

And now I host a never ending fear.

Don’t know how and why

Like a fallen angel

Cast off the sky.


Thou art gone 

And I have nothing 

But few solemn tears 

and leading steps to doom

for my love and for my groom. 

Poem – Candle in the Wind

In a dark gloomy night
And the around was blessed with fear and fright

Rain, lightning and thunder storm

snatched away the sweet night`s charm
A child of ten and two

Was dressed in red and blue

Lapped by a mother tight and close

A last hug of her dear son, she knows.’

In her tender but shivering arms, 

Try to make him calm.
Her love Faith and tears

All were melting in despair

Helpless to ease her child`s pain

She prayed but all in vain.

The mother was sure

That her son`s curse will never be cured

And he will never see and hear

The next rising sun and the morning cheers.
In his meek broken voice

The boy stated last his choice

‘But why heaven cursed me so? 

Like storm engulfs an exhausted dove

Did I do any wrong that much? ‘

That spared my soul for devil`s touch? ‘
‘I just followed the butterflies

And echoed the singing birds cries

Wandered around the daffodils and lilies

And was friendly with every living species

Loved the colors of rainbow

And always versed in a gentle lingo, ‘

Then why my cursed not ceased? 

Deprived from all fun and feast’
Ah! His poor broken heart mother

Kissed him hard and Burst into tears

‘O heaven send thy mercy

Spare my child from such harsh tendency

He is just two and ten

And never did any sin.

My heart is bleeding

And you’re even not heeding

Bless his soul and ease his dying breaths

Be kind O lord! In these hours of death. 

Poem – Bright Star 

Ye unblessed being; 
Born in despair, 

Afore blooming fully 

Was eclipsed by death cruelly.
Though had a little past in poesy Art 

Yet Great and Grand, ceased to be lost 

Ah! Grief came to you as luxury 

Indeed ‘beauty dwells with melancholy’
You’re wrong when you stated 

‘My name was write in water’ 

Behold! Like a Polar Star at night 

That Make sensations dark, illuminated.
A Dime-god of a sensuous claimed; 

Bereaved, bereft and lost. 

Words those you sweetly glossed 

Mistook by many and harshly exclaimed.
Your sweetly tuned phrases 

Are symbol of high Romance 

That brings every soul in trance 

And halt thousand gazes.
An ardent lover and a true Romantic 

You are termed 

As Sappho of modern times 

How enchanting and enthralling are yours rhymes. 

Poem – Bride of the Sky 

Go away and veil in clouds

lovely bride of the sky, 

thy wakening light hovering high

and sweetly rhyme a carol that

wings my fancies and passions ignite.
Oh thy lofty look is needed no more

as my love phrased me bye; 

Ah once she had me closed and ceased

all my wit and wild temper, 

and when I sealed my face on her bosom, 

ah squeezed her charm 

and fragrant blossom.
O bride of the sky! 

Don’t you see my woes and cries? 

where is she, my love, my Helen of Troy? 

O! Heavenly symbol of love and purity 

lead my broken lines to maturity, and

bless me in love and serenity. 

Poem – Born to Die

In a white night
After a dark day, 

I was jogging around the busy streets. 

When got a glance. Of stale

and weary creature: 

Bare footed and dressed

in tattered threads.

Dirt shrouded his white stinky skin

That hosted dust and flies’ wings, 

Had chapped lips and sore eyes.

For an onlooker he was: 

A walking dead.

(Was ripped off by mercy of an angry god) 
For him life is nothing but

wound uncured.Like a bird 

engulfed by storm or a butterfly: 

for a child’s charm.

So was he: fettered and bound.

A roving vagabonds. 

(pity that mocks our handicapped world) 

In response to my childish quarries.

He smiled and voiced: 

Our life story ends in words two: 

‘Born to die’

(An irony of the cultured being) 

Poem – Knocked Out

Blame me not, as 
i’m knocked out by 

my fancies false, 
those utter incessantly 

from abyss, 

and tune a noisy chant, 
and poisoning this broad 

earth. I dream of a morrow 

to see a new world.
I, in this endless journey, 

am suffering but

not yet done. 
So don’t piss me off, 

let me trade my anguish

first, then will rest awhile. 

Poem – Late Night Vision

In a half-moon night, 
a noiseless, chilling wind horribly tuned: the hymn of Nyx.

The tiny, little, bright spheres, some static and 

some were floating in the air; hyped and

played hide and seek with the roaming clouds, 

the view was in the lap of mystery, 

causing lot of misery; so, 

sleepless, I lay on my couch and 

was counting the tickling sounds of the silent hours.

And like a disillusioned romantic, tried to seek-a loved one- 

in my conceits, to share my loneliness and growing boredom.

but, the pending horrors (of night) hail 

my fears, and cease my pen to paint my dreams 

upon the twinkling sky; 

and dimly i heard a voice, saying: 

‘you’r strong but wrong, 

Don’t revere your stinky thoughts, worthless they as old wives tale.

behold! those clouds that may not shower any rain, but (at least) 

will color your sunset sky, so, 

sing your dreams, you are not done yet. 

Poem – Peace Be Upon 

peace, an unbaptised hope; 
made off in furtive manner

‘the Father’s land’.

And left behind curse and chaos 

that leads to 

havoc and harm.
‘i was waiting to see

thy journey end, 

and welcome you back, 

but found you as…

a mirage 

that feeds 

on the masses’ ignorance. And

an ‘irreducible complexity’

these petty prejudices are.’
such is my land: 

bruised by filthy ‘norms’

like a tender skin 

when touch by winter’s wind, 

and sweep away 

her fairness and charm.

Poem – Sunset

Meeting you 
was pure destiny, 

You and I 

were ment to be.
Maybe not now

but someday soon, 

We’ll meet not under the sun

but beneath the moon.
We’ll watch the stars

’till they fade away, 

but we won’t fade

together we’ll always stay.
This is the day 

I’m waiting for, 

from that day

I’ll love you more and more.
I can’t wait to watch

the sun set with you, 

every sunset from that day

’till the rest of 

our lives are through. 

Poem – Goddess Grace

I am the Goddess of a thousand names and infinite capacity.
All Her gifts are mine. 

All Her powers reside in me.
I am Athena of Greece.

Like my totem the owl, I am wise for I see and hear everything around and within me.

Like the oak, I am strong, for the olive of peace is sacred to me.
I am Bast, cat goddess of Egypt.

I am graceful, flexible, playful, and affectionate.

I radiate the warmth and light of the glorious sun.
I am Cerridwen of Wales.

My magic cauldron contains food for the soul; an inexhaustible source of wisdom and inspiration.

The more I give, the more I receive.
I am Diana, Roman goddess of the ever-changing moon.

I am a protectress of women and children; a guardian of the wild.

I focus my aim on my heart’s desire and draw it to me.
I am Ereshkigal, Assyro-Babylonian goddess of the underworld, Queen of the Great Below. 

I shed dead skin to grow. 

Deep powers of renewal are mine.
I am Freya, Well-beloved Nordic Lady.

I survey the beauty of my world in joyous flight.

I celebrate and honor the bonds between friends and lovers.
I am Gaia, Greek Earth Mother.

Grounded and centered in the rhythms and patterns of chaos. 

I emerge to create my universe.
I am Hecate of Greece, Triple Goddess of the crossroads of choice.

I balance my powers of thought and my emotion.

I choose the path I walk. 

The torch of my reason is illumined by my brilliant intuition.
I am Isis, Egyptian Queen of the World.

I offer healing and transformation to all in need.

I hold the power to shape my world.
I am Jagad-Yoni, Hindu universal Yoni, womb of the world. 

I am the gatekeeper of the next generation. 

I choose the life that emerges through me.

I use my powers wisely.
I am Kwan-Yin of Buddhist China, goddess of compassion.

I hear and comfort the wounds of the world.

I welcome children and teach the magic of change.
I am Liban, Irish mermaid goddess.

I revel in the healing power of pleasure.

Quench your thirst at my sacred well.
I am Maat of Egypt.

Truth justice and law are the natural order of my universe.

Harmony arises as I attune to my divine will.
I am Nu-Kua, Chinese dragon-tailed creatures. 

I restore the cosmic equilibrium.

I form community among women and men connecting in equality of love and respect.
I am Old Spider goddess of Micronesia.

I created the moon, the sea, the sky, the sun, and the earth from a single clamshell.

All the vast and varied universe is present in the smallest forms of life.

As above, so below. 

As within, so without.
I am Pele, Hawaiian goddess of volcanoes.

My fiery energy erupts from my core to create new worlds. 

I flow easily over obstacles in my path.
I am Qedeshet of Syria. 

I balance lightly on the lion I ride.

Laughter lifts me from the pull of gravity.

The lotus blossoms I hold and the serpents I carry symbolize the life and health I bring.
I am Rhiannon, horsewoman, Divine Queen of Wales.

My steady pace is swift and smooth.

I travel freely through the world, safe, serene and secure.

My winged friends can wake the dead, and lull the living to sleep.
I am Sedena of the Eskimos.

Know and honor me through my animals.

Bears, whales, and seals, all creatures of the land and sea are part of me.

We share the right to be.
I am Tiamat of Babylon, primordial sea-serpent.

I am the great mother womb who brought forth the earth and the heavens. 

I dive deep into the watery unconscious to find the treasures buried there.
I am Uttu, Chaldean-Sumerian goddess of weaving and vegetation. 

I offer shelter and nourishment to all who know me.

We weed and clothe each other through our work.
I am Vasudhara, Hindu goddess of abundance.

My six arms hold everything you need and offer it to you.

Earth Water Fire Air Center Spirit Purpose Love Passion Wisdom Here Now.
I am White Woman of Honduras.

I descend from heaven to build my temple on earth and return as a glorious bird.

I honor and express my true spirit, my beauty is beyond compare.
I am Xochiquetzal, Aztec goddess of flowers, love spinning, weaving, singing and dancing. 

I am an Original Woman.

I delight in sharing my many gifts.
I am Yemaya, Nigerian Fish Mother, Brazilian Voodoo mermaid.

Lakes, rivers, and oceans are my home.

The waters of life belong to me.

We cleanse and substain each other.
I am Zoc, Gnostic Acorn of Life.

Mother of all Living.

I am the embodiment of growth and vitality.

I am unique life energy.
I am the Goddess of a thousand names and infinite capacity.

All Her gifts are mine.

All Her powers reside in me.
We are the Goddess of a thousand names and infinite capacity.

All Her gifts are ours. All Her powers reside in us.
You are the Goddess of a thousand names and infinite capacity.

All Her gifts are yours.

All Her powers reside in you. 

Poem – Velvet Wings

Ignorant to passing time
Reality strikes its deafening chime

Unspoken words pass between

I and you, my darling queen
Lay your weary head to rest

With your arms across your chest

Now it’s time to close your eyes

Whisper your final goodbyes
Let me go, we’ll both be free

Cross the wasteland, past the sea

Find the path to heaven’s light

Break away from endless night
Embracing tears of bitter pain

Falling lightly with the rain

Out of reach, I hear your song

Alone again, I sing along
Let me go, we’ll both be free

Cross the wasteland, past the sea

Find the path to heaven’s light

Break away from endless night
From the night…

I watched your velvet wings take flight

I never saw you so alive

So alive

I watched your velvet wings take flight

I’ll never ever say goodbye

Never say goodbye
Life has ended, you have won

Death befriended, pain is gone

Fly away into the light

Crystal clear and shining bright

Close your eyes for final rest

Meeting among the blessed
Let me go, we’ll both be free

Cross the wasteland, past the sea

Find the path to heaven’s light

Break away from endless night
From the night…

I watched your velvet wings take flight

I never saw you so alive

So alive

I watched your velvet wings take flight

I’ll never ever say goodbye

Never say goodbye
I let you go so you’ll be free

Cross the path of darkened sea

I watched your velvet wings take flight

I can never say goodbye

Never say goodbye 

Poem – Regret

Regret flows from the depths of my soul
With the strength of a flood

I have held these gates shut for too long

And though tormenting, they should not be stopped.
The thought of your anguish

Even as I write to you now

Stops my heart cold

As well it should
What I see in front of me

Is a painting of our love

Its most thoughtful brushstrokes

Mottled by hurried abstraction and inattention
A person who had not seen this masterpiece created

Might think it to be refuse and pass it by unknowingly

Letting be obscured the deep beauty of its many scenes

By layers of the tarnish of mistreatment
But as the painter

I see beyond the dark smears

To recall the hours that I attended to the details

And wonder how I could let it become so discolored
The painting that took me my life to create

Has lost its divinity in my careless treatment

And even if I were to refine it

I fear you would always see it as it is today
So today I paint a new masterpiece

One inspired by the muse of respect

A work that you can love through our old age

One that you will look to each day for inspiration
This one will take some time

As I want my brushstrokes to be carefully placed

I need to move steadily to ensure that this time, 

My art represents my dream
This is my opus

Don’t judge me on my past works

As I have never before had so much skill and inspiration

And never before have I wanted to please you as I do today
With you as my muse

I will paint for you a lifetime

A portrait of devotion and friendship

A panorama of passion and admiration
All I ask is that you gaze upon it with an open heart

And you shall unquestionably love me again 

Poem – Suicide

Sweat drop
On top

Trigger pop

Written note

All I got

Hang knot

Body rot

Suicide cop
I hope not

Cry out loud

I think not

Body’s hot

I am too proud

I am loved a lot

Roof top.

Suicide bride
Heavy vain

Your game 

the same

Trapped shame

Gone insane

Who’s to blame

Red stain

Suicide rain
Addictive dope

Needle hope

Poison taste

Drowning beer

Gun shot

Painless fear

Powder nose

Suicide dose
Razor blades

Flame stare

Pain fades

Sadden tear

Candle wax

Smoke dare

Burn down

Suicide flare
No bluff

No name

War zone

Innocent prey

Soul blown

Cry all day

Set mind

Suicide bomb

traffic jam

Plane jack

Head strong

Help protect

Customs wrong

Dead plot

Suicide stop
– – – 

stop the suicide 

Poem – My Sweetheart The Artist

Painter of pain, she covers 

my kiss-prepped canvas, 

expressing love 

in sensual hues of blue and black, 

intimate greens, 

wrathful reds, and purples 

left by lust-driven lips. 
She’s my ‘Monet of Misery’, 

prodigy of pleasurable agony.

Performance artist behind closed curtains, 

she turns my body into her oeuvre; 

no audience to behold

each stunning stroke.

Claw mark collages adorn my back.

A pink, six-stitch blemish 

hides snakelike in my left eybrow-

brushed on one night with a gifted left elbow 

in a passionate frenzy of her craft.

The heart-shaped, 

singed spot of skin on my abdomen

an artistic aftermath of candle wax sketches. 
Once in a while 

I wouldn’t mind her being 

a little more like Bob Ross: 

gently stroking, dabbing the canvas, 

creating ‘happy little clouds’. 

Poem – My Prince

My love, my heart, my soul is my gift to you

Your smile, your love is the only reward I would want
Precious, like a gem made by angels to shine forever

Releasing the passion inside me that burns for you

Intertwining our destinies, so that we two soul mates

Now and forever, can live out our hopes and dreams

Creating our own bond of life, to overcome the challenges

Explore the mysteries, and to enjoy life as it should be 

Poem – Thank You

The sun sets

Upon the golden sand

We sit together

Hand in hand
We gently embrace

And look into each other’s eyes

I wonder if you are

An angel in disguise
You hold me

Like there’s no tomorrow

I suddenly forget

The past sorrow
I kiss your soft lips

And you kiss mine

I never knew

Loving someone could be this fine
You pick me up

And carry me to our room

Oh how a love can blossom

And a heart can bloom.
Your touch is so gentle

But your hands so strong

How could a love like this

Ever go wrong? 
My heart is beating

200 times a minute

Because my love

You are in it
The sound of your heartbeat

All through the night

We fall asleep in each other’s arms

And wake to the morning light.
I look into your eyes

And this is when

I say ‘Thank You’

For teaching me to love again 

Poem – Jagermeister Memories

Some empty Jägermeister bottles sit 

atop my fridge, their labels autographed 

and dated cursively in purple pen. 

She always signed her liquor bottles when 

she finished them, a habit I admit 

was slightly strange at first; I even laughed 
a bit until I heard her reason why: 

they’d last as glass mementos of our wild 

and drunken moments. Now, each label serves 

as glass-sharp slices straight across my nerves, 

reminders of the girl I told goodbye 

when trust and loyalty were both defiled. 
I know I need to throw them all away, 

remove the souvenirs that cause such stress, 

but just can’t bring myself to take them down; 

no, instead I’d rather sit and drown 

in misery, pretend she didn’t play 

a game with me the way she did the rest. 
The truth, at times, is such a sour drink, 

a tough to swallow dose of agony: 

my feelings, like the booze that once had filled 

those empty bottles staring down, were killed 

with each deceitful deed she did. To think 

she ever would’ve gave her heart to me 
was merely pure imprudence on my part. 

Yet even though I’ve realized she’s not 

The One for me, I simply wouldn’t mind 

another night with her and label signed: 

she’s liquor to my alcoholic heart – 

I can’t but help but crave another shot.