Poetry
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REAPER’S GREENHOUSE
Here, I fosterthese loose leaves of this complete herbariumranging from common weeds to fabled reeds. Still, I wanderfrom private gardens to hidden forestsin search of undiscovered vegetation. On an overcast afternoonbetween accommodations,I come across a greenhouse,clean and unseen here before. Inside are brown dilapidations:wilters grounded and walled and hungwitness the urban ashen smogwithin the bourbon…
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WIND FLOWER
The Sylphs Lament I’ve buried you beneath the yarrowWarding off the fever of my griefDown the manzanita path,My tears mix into redwood mudFlowing past lady ferns andSpanish Lotus Blue witch nightshadesimmers stillIn the porcelain teapotsitting under the moonlightOn my dandelion lawn.Waiting for our shared life But this battle was lostBefore my contract was signedI bartered…
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AMBUSH SERVES THEM WELL
The ogre excreted rivulets of sweat,his leather halter stained octal white.Officially, the torture was to begin at nine, sharpbut paperwork had mercilessly delayed him.It should have been a very simple job,had not the faerie such ungodly small limbs.As the ogre rested on the castle’s rockcut from hell with fire and death,he felt a breeze like…
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A SECRET WORLD
The canopy is thick, impenetrable, no sky no light breaks through the green gloom. A black bird perched still, unmoving on the shadowy pine may be carved into the frozen branch. Creepers twist and writhe, green serpents in a green wilderness. The sudden breeze sets the forest whispering, Signalling a secret, unbreakable arboreal code. In…
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A DREAM OF AN ICE GODDESS
I. The cold sting of winter had fall’n upon Verdant meadows then turned to white snowfields, As streams were stilled by the freezing of ice And the woodlands became still and silent. A lost pinewood, with icicle needles, A lost pinewood painted with white and green Was the heart of the snow-covered woodland, Within which…
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SECRET LANGUAGE: A GOLDEN SHOVEL
The mushroom is the elf of plants Emily Dickinson, The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants O, how I want to be them, wearing the frost like a fascinator, two mushroom dainties sparkling in a mass of green swords. Is this when they rise, in the storms of war, after the the drones have blown…
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GOLDEN AND GLEAMING WITH GILLS
there was the opposite of a drought last autumn— unlike this season when there was no rain for weeks— and on one of my walks one day through squishy, squelchy soil, a magnificent mushroom revealed itself to me golden and gleaming with gills like pages of a fairytale book. what stories, what secrets, hide inside …
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SUMMON
Look for her mark in the forest. Inverted triangle.Circle.DownwardProngs in centre,With the second being the longest. Fused together,They become a markCarved deep intoOne of manyTrees in the forest. Thick mistsOf historyDoesn’t containHer name, face or back-story.But yes, she does exist Appearing whenever a short rush of wind & leaves blow,Standing wherever trees stand,On beck and…
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MOONS AGO IN ELFRICHE
A silent, self-contained wee fay she wasUntil he trespassed, and surveyed the green,Deciding where to pitch his patched up tent. Was he aware of being tailed, surveilled? She hid among the trees undecidedAs he worked tirelessly, uprooting weedsWith naked hands, his skin moist, shimmer slicked,While wrestling with thick underbrush, thorns, rocks,Creating his domain: campsite, fire…