Category Archives: Self compositions

They strain at the leash,

their chains seem but as fine threads,

faces of despair.

the eye of Horus,

beholden to protect you

if you would have faith

Being beautiful

can be a deadly curse for 

Birds of Paradise

Arnold was ready. At sixteen, this was the last time he would feel this shame. His father raised the switch. Arnold turned, snatched it from his hand, struck his father on the cheek. A thin line of blood showed. His father’s eyes opened wide, as did his mouth in a loud Oh!

Age of innocence,

the burden of his childhood,

a monochrome life

Once golden tresses

reddened by a single blow

fluttered in the breeze

Dashing daffodils

replace retiring snowdrops

pastel season shades

“A twist of lemon,”

I shout to the bartender,

“your gin is too dry.”

So where is the King,

on the day I lose my head

he will forgive me