Poetry is ordinary language raised to the Nth power. Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all held together by the delicate, tough skin of words.

Paul Engle

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Piccadilly Circus

A little flicker on the edge A darting dog’s last day A dagger from a dancing eye A thought of buried clay Love that’s unseen may be unfelt, and may as well be blind as he who loves, as he who’s loved Although it fills, it hides. It’s always been, within, without it nourishes the

Eve Speaks

adam and eve

Although just one snake is well known in that so-called paradise, actually there were tons of them. When we ran away, I was never so happy. My feet no longer touching swarms of mushy poison. Fruit smelled to high heaven in Eden but berries tasted yum yum good as we filled our faces hurrying happily



Life happens. Traipsing on, a path to eternity… The paths unknown, the sands not seen Yet the hearts, tuned to the thought, Love is our lives, lives are for love. The music settles, on our souls.. Gripped in the depths, forever known. The chorals, and swings of the cosmos, Tuned fatuous, for our sublime regards..

Share Unfair

Poker table

Regardless of contentions being branded reprobate Carried on just believing a share of my dished fate Others with own schema never once looked behind Kept waiting in expectancy but bliss was hard to find Harsh while in beginning then slowly got immune With solitude as company and demons my commune No rue though is nurtured


man looking into through a mesh

As much try shaking off odd feeling can’t avoid On face seems normalcy deep within I’m paranoid All evident brave fronts and donned blasé guise Reflect chinks in armor of societal compromise Frayed old compulsions often daunt and afflict Daubed in hues darker sane rationality restrict Old emotional stockpile intrinsically stays stuck Robs active dynamism