This eerie night is evocative, my dear,
as darkness engulfs our every sight,
the frosty wind – how desolate and drear,
so free your mind from all your sighs.

Let a lullaby sing you to sleep,
let the feathers brush your hair,
so that you may freely leap,
into reveries through your dreamy lair.

Published in: on 21/12/2018 at 11:36 PM  Leave a Comment  

The Sinner

Down! Down to the burning grounds,
wallow in filth as your regrets scream;
the barks and growls of the dungeon hounds,
shivering flames atop a rusted beam.

Has the ostrich so many wrongs,
to bury her head as the sinner would;
though lamp black vapours shall hold his tongue,
the clarity of guilt under a witch’s hood.

Dissonant crows on this quest embark,
away from the self all truths are cast,
a tragic tale of an innocent boy,
who sacrificed all for a tainted heart.

Nimble steps for a scripted hunt,
though mirage is all in a silvery pond,
with each deceit her feathers darker still,
such is the birth of an abyssal swan.

Published in: on 21/12/2018 at 1:15 AM  Leave a Comment  

Homage to Darkness

What mastery carved these celestial shapes,
as they fall from the wintry sky,
dancing and weaving a beguiling cape,
painting over all colours with white.

When skeletons adorn this unholy land,
a false cadence blinds our sight,
from the birth of a returning spring,
from the passing flares of the darkest light.

From his window the airs are still,
though festive plays their spirits entice;
in this season of fluttering quills,
his papers are untainted by hopeless sighs.

With whom shall he correspond,
with a heart lost in earthly chores,
the pathos of an undying song,
is the inflation of her dying chords.


With each dawn more clearly he sees,
the joys of the decaying –
wherefore they wander the familiar streets,
undaunted by encounters most fleeting.

Is not life our masterpiece?
Do we not remember in awe?
Yet from penned sentiments we flee,
profess to time of a refining plot.

In dreams we face our eternal trial,
though we jester at the princely ball;
no remorseful songs of his ghostly isle,
yet youthful vigour his mournings call.

More elegant is each glorious veil,
burying the fires of a diamond orb;
though consciousness our existence ail,
life – the greatest enchantment of all.

Published in: on 19/12/2018 at 4:22 AM  Leave a Comment  

Dream Note No. 10 – Barcarolle and Ballade

If dreams are music penned by the mind,
then surely to no phrase shall I be blind;
yet a haze embraced my theatre at dawn,
for a ballade from Chopin when the curtains are drawn.

Both strangers and friends this house shall shade,
from the harsh torrents of a gushing land;
 as the fleeting quavers pour forth, and fade,
my boat arrives at daylight’s strand.

I miss you, Fryderyk; and the Parisian streets,
the passing years of our nonexistent youth;
your songs again my passions freed,
though true is winter to our unspoken ruth.

There is none to whom I cry,
for solitude is our celestial fate;
let the seasons mark my artful demise,
for love alone through life I wade.

Published in: on 08/12/2018 at 12:04 PM  Leave a Comment