The Artist

When little is within her frame But flatness, blankness, placid scape, No livid hue surrounds her name, So she, the sculptress, must give shape To hate and drama, crashing wide From slashing brushstrokes, mocking trust Of people; pawns she will … Continue reading

The Darkening of Roses

Kneeling in a rustling shade, Her fingers interlace around this clutch Of beauty; white and red, Dripping quiet life in beads which run Down blackened lengths. Their features gasp. She holds their devil hearts Beneath her face to taste a … Continue reading

The Siren

Once again she is barefoot On the sand. She hears them roar; sees them thrash Like men who believe their own truths And ride on white horses. They crash in cannon; swathes of strength That swept her to a greying … Continue reading

Alanah

I sit and she is handed to me Out of nowhere. A gift. Formed and carried, now presented. Her weight is warm; black down Upon her head not a day old. The walls mean nothing to me, Nor the light … Continue reading

The Heart and the Mirror

The woman returns to herself; Sitting to disarm with stroke and sweep. Her likeness is ghoulish in a glassy pool. Stained lips part in the half light: “This is all I am”. Terrible portal. She pours herself inside But her … Continue reading