Posted in Poetry


The journey into the night is long

And the heart of a traveler’s beating

When the sound of pen flute fills

The wide-open field with thrills

Of the entranced temptation

That nymphs and shepherds fall

And lose their hours in pleasure

Posted in Poetry


She speaks the language of wind

only the children of sibyls can hear

in the susurrus of her rich sylvan hair

fluttering in the sweet soft twilight

with the scarlet hues of sunset

lingering in the west of the sun.

Posted in Poetry


She believes none, belongs to none –
God, Satan, gods, goddesses, angels
Fairies, spirits, witches, ghouls, demons –
Those high powers, the principalities
Showing the pareidolia of her life, dolorous
Intricately woven by multiple strands
of twisted fate for the curse cast in spite
whisper to her soul for an eternal constituency
in Heaven and Hell, the Beyond and Nether.
Yet she scorns all of them, spurns them all
For she knows her gift for disaster is real
With a Fate Note, she writes she is a Firestarter.