Wingbeat of an eagle 
Moves the 
Azure of sky...

Lonely day
Living the silence
Blue hour

My window opens
To the stars

Twilight breeze--
The shape of wind
In the evening primrose

Cicada songs
Climb the 
Moonlit sky

My wild dreams:
Now there is a 
Stillness inside me.

I spike my coffee
With golden acoustics..


My compass--
The nib of my pen
Pointing north

On my paper
The hues of silence;
I hear my own

Cereus scents the night air:
I sleep

One breath 
At a time....
The synapse of heartstrings

In the echo of
The Milky Way-
Dreams become

A March Night

when ink dries on paper

Like physical scars

violence becomes fire

The nib becomes a needle

Digging into your flesh

Tearing into vulnerability

Hopelessness of inevitability

The frailty of feminine strength

Abuse is ink that draws into your soul

Ink that shapes

unspoken words .. ellipses

Leaving you soulfully dead.

In The Eye Of The Corona

It's like living in a submarine
Torpedoed in quarantine.

Bacillus becomes a biometric
A wake-up call going ballistic.

Defying mother nature's laws
Showcasing our human flaws.

Binge buying panicky stockpiling
All in all, my appetite is dying.

Eating right,  fighting fit
Our system needs a health permit.

Looks like an apocalyptic virus
Giving man the price of being lifeless.

A pandemic becoming a tragedy
Epiphany for man's fragility.

dolce far niente


a breath of love
wraps me in its embrace...
as i lie dreaming 
under scarlet and violet hues
of subtle odors
lingering in the satiny air..
i lie dreaming in
the embrace of my reveries
 i dream
as moonbeams fall
on midnight dew
brushing somnolent blooms
glazing sleeping wings
moonbeams glitter 
on a breath of love
as it wraps me in its embrace
like nuptials of a new day
day and night twine
at the witching hour..
a surreal bequeathing..

i feel a pain 
in my heart
like an open wound
i feel it bleeding
before i drift off...
and yet
I live..

#vers libre



A Poem For Me

I write so that my heart can survive
I know that only poetry can revive.

There are things I can't tell anyone
They think I'm silly or just having fun.

Writing keeps my sanity, helps me stay right
Helping me not to give up without a fight.

Like, a sorry is more than an emotion
When hello becomes a goodbye, a teary solution.

Maybe my heart is made up of glass
Too fragile to face life's tough class.

Grief is a bruise that pain cannot control
I'll try to wear a band-aide on my soul.

This poem looks for the right lines, words
To convey all of the emotions stirred.

I still feel short on what I have to say
I think, I still found a way to, anyway.

Maybe, this is not a poem at all
Just my keyboard going for a spin , to sprawl.

My Itsy-Bitsy Breath

My itsy-bitsy breath wakes
To ignite the marrow of my soul
Washing the pain of a pleading mind.
I drift into a dreaming sky
Where the moon slips past kliegs of stars:
In the flickering scent of a blue silence
Dew hangs on mòonbeams
Caught in a Borealis song;
Heartbeat of a copper night
Cicadas chant a lore--a vintage beat
Rhythm inked azuline
Sequined, pencilled, on
Lattice of Moonflowers
Slipping into the quietude of anguish
I tuck my dreams
Under my pillow.....

Single Lovers Explain Why They Are Single..Part 2. A Collaborative Poem With The Fragrance Writer.

She dated her hare
They lay their hearts a-bare
He writes, in rush
With Michelangelo brush
On easel with no inch to spare.

But, shrieking with a shatter,
Her cup goes splitter-splatter.
The clumsy cursed
That lovely versed
Now latte's on the latter.

To Venice on carrot stick,
A charmed Gondola trick.
On Grande-Canal
Sing lover's chorale
And guitars played double quick.

But the night was getting late,
His lyre induced headache.
His heart-cloying
His voice-annoying
Arrivaderci, date.

Single Lovers Explain Why They Are Single.. Part 1. A Collaborative Effort With Joey…The Fragrance Writer.

I once met a sweetheart from "Perris"
Who said, of which, she was the fairest.
I gave love a chance
And I sailed off to France.
I ate pates alone now in "Paris".

Once upon a time, there lived a bunny
Who was charming, grey and funny.
She chanced upon him in an email
Where he turned into her fairytale
But Warner never let their love prevail.

Warner went to Paris in a Ferris.
All he had were the 'pates' to cherish
Together we ate
Two bachelors commiserate.
Of a bunny that hopped down to "Perris".

The title credit goes to Jonathan Swift.