image courtesy of Dreamtime

Emptied vault opens,

casts leavings of shriveled seeds

beyond redemption.


Between the edges

nothing could penetrate here,

wind, rain, tears—nothing.


Sound had no life here,

dying in small deaths of emptiness,

eternal silence.


A life damaged beyond

repair, encased by cold stone,

a life of shriveled seeds,

lived in a stone vault—

lightless, soundless


A Witch Among the Willows

Image courtesy of

Sit among the willows,

drifting in ghostly silence,

each wrapped comforted

by misery’s blanket.

Except I am no longer,

listening to words


carefully scripted,

tumbling into deceit’s

delicious dishes


easily prepared

by your thin lips mouthing words

filled with ghost meaning.


Regurgitated regrets

bitter in the soul and heart–

I can tell you that.


A thing you would not

ever know, catalyst of misery,

your starring role.




tell-tale signs of age

now crackle through songs of your

sweet, deceitful voice,


makes harder to catch

victims snared in misery

of life trials made.


Stop floating among

the willows, thinking yourself

Calypso casting


spells of delicious

deceit, when you’ve aged into

Macbeth’s witch drifting

in the ghostly fog of ego.

Autumn Dawn

Image is my own

Ignoring the ripples doesn’t work,

Beautiful though they may be

In the early light of an autumn dawn.


The ripples return.

Their warmth long gone,

Drained of blood.


Injected with colors of autumn’s dawn,

They look full, alive with mysterious meaning.


But cold these ripples remain

In their return to me.


Time shifts,

Tilting beneath my feet.


I shutter and stare, a moment only—

I cannot weave these cold things

Into a useful thing, resembling you.

Chains of Fears

Image courtesy of Tumbler

Lucidity picks at the chains wrapped round a soul

Anchored to the ground of fears bought whole

In the marketplace while traipsing through dreams

Resplendent with beauty and flights of fanciful imaginings

That harsh noisy words and bruising blows etched,

Tattooed lucid fears.


Image courtesy of Daily Hive


In the fading light,

My hindsight schools, lectures, drills

My foresight

In how to take steps,

In how to look away,

In how to live hopeless,

In how to heal with saltwater dreams

Overflowing with hope.

Yet still with foresight

In how to guard,

My scars, my wounds,

My picked at scabs

In this

fading light of days




Flowering with dreams,


Of life remaining.

For The Boy Who Would Not Stay – Annette Kalandros

I am honored to have my poem, “The Boy Who Would Not Stay,” featured on Free Verse Revolution.


I hold your reflection close,

But it slides, evaporating from my grasp,

While dripping condensation.

My heart stutters with if only’s.

My soul begs, pleads, bargains

With you to stay.

My mind whispers your name,

Calling after you,

Asking why you are leaving,

If you are angry I had told no one

Of your blessed presence here

Since I was afraid I’d jinx it?

Somehow I knew-

Knew you wouldn’t stay-

I felt it from the start.

A few weeks-

And you’d go away.

My lips whisper

My soul begs

My heart stutters

My body cramps,

Clamping down once again.

My brain knows it is time.

Time to wash the blood and gore away-

Time to let your reflection fade

You can read and follow Annette Kalandros’ work at Hearing The Mermaids Sing:

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The Second Commandment

image courtesy of daily verses

I take the truth

for it is mine,

rolling myself in it until

protected from the acid of the asinine

that drips from the pens, the tongues

of many and power,

of those we call elite,

of those we once called—



I grieve the words spoken

by asinine tongues

and actions taken

by hate filled hearts

that do not comprehend the words

we were taught—

“love your neighbor as yourself”—

The second commandment.


Mystical Fields

Image courtesy of

Meet me in the field

Where heather sways with the wind

Through time we will live.


Life, never a friend,

Kept us from knowing true joy,

Meet me in the field,


Where loss is gaining

And grief blossoms into joy

Meet me where gold grows.

The Last Supper

Image courtesy of Wikipedia: Leonardo Da Vinci, The Last Supper

Lives ruined in place–

ego upon a pedestal

basks in sunshine

yet never feels

unless destroying green things

in the softness of evening

when moon and sun fill

the evening skies

of shorter days–

time no longer

a forgotten toy

thrown by the wayside

but an ornament of luxury

I wish I could hold close

within my hands without

it leaks between my fingers

marking any signs of reverence

as if with blood irony–

all the while the rest cough

green phlegm of ill regard.


On the walls fling the words of meaning,

clichés all—of love and family,

of time so very treasured,

the welcome of strangers

without the pillar of salt,

the love of neighbors in a city quest,

and asking, pleading how have we hid

the monsters we do hide within our homes,

within our churches,

within our souls and hearts–

the monsters, the demons we cannot exorcise

since we cannot stand to see our own

face within our reflections upon time,

creation, connections to the past—

when we cannot acknowledge

the face of God hidden away

from the reflection of our own faces,

in the faces of others, the face of God

hidden away, void of the divine,

as are we consumed with consuming

vitriol for anything, for everything

remotely resembling the other.




Musings on the Cracked Crystal Ball

Image courtesy of Aliexpress

When you found the things you could,

A mist of breath showed in the rain,

Twin clouded rain shimmered colors

Of gray stone before you on a path you would go.

If only, if only, you should know the bones of us,

Move knotted stiff with the griefs you’ve piled upon your soul,

We’d glow of phosphorus and neon in velvet darkness.

Walking the dark, shadowed canyon of dreams

Wilted by disappointments and deflated sunshine

Waking to dimmest daylight at noon

Where you cannot bear to look

Upon your own reflection,

A sight of horror in your own eyes now

In that cracked crystal ball where you stand,

In your own self-consecrated field

Of plastic flowers bowing their majestic heads to you,

Your straw haired head is bowed,

Smiling at the ground.