Verses of Winter

Coriander breath sighed by a huddled kitchen warming itself in gasps of frostbitten stove, blends in citrus honeydew realms of a gossamer winter morn. somewhere pea-pods pop out syllables of a sumptuous delight, to flavor insipid moments of bleached twilights. empty vases yearn for daffodil daydreams prematurely spawned afore March, eggs Benedicts congeal on frozen …

Poetry…

Awakened by scratching scribble of pen dancing calligraphy in ink, its nascent futilities are left enceinte with the muse's ramblings...

Winter Moon

She sits forlorn, wrinkled and wizened on frostbitten grayish clouds under the veil of mist, determined to keep vigil in December chill warmed by distant embers of shining galaxies. She drinks from that half- filled cup of coffee left lukewarm on the window sill, breathing in the lingering scent of roasted peanuts and the luscious …

Poetry is Born…

as a sighed bubble of prismatic syllables, floating in firefly strewn sunshine, bursting within the grasp of moments to splatter dewdrops of transience on the face of noon~ poetry is born to momentarily adorn straits of the commonplace. when a jaundiced thought, wizened by reverie speckled in variegated shades of sentiments, withers from boughs of …

The Cafe

Aroma of cappuccino freshly brewed, tiptoes out with garbled verbiage of conversation scented in stale scones and cigarette smoke~ decadent platter of dark chocolate pastries, lures sugar-lorn eyes of gluttony...

Interpretations…

interpreting the dialect of butterflies, she searches for the meaning of dreams in fireflies' winks, while dewdrops glow in morning light as fragments of rainbows...

Bland Are The Moods of Winter

Benign and blameless~ the mist clad, bland morn of December, like a lingering gasp of cerise, yearns for polychromatic epistles scribbled on canvas of March, Robbed of lush verdure after transient lure of burnished golds, denuded boughs shiver beneath quilting heaps of winking snowflakes in the faint honeydew sunshine. Within frostbitten soil's depths the daffodil …

Lines of a Reborn Dream…

Along flamingo circumference of a blossoming morn, lingers like silver remnant moon a withered dream~ reminiscent of fallen flowers of saffron-sublime hursinghars or a fish stranded ashore ~dead and forgotten, She picks it up in her caress salving its sores with honeyed syllables of hope, singing nurturing rhapsodies sequined in photons, as a fledgling with …

Dusk to Dawn…

amethyst skies at crepuscular hour are reflected on sapphire waters, as epistles of poetic calligraphy resonating with versatile hues, when the topaz sun is gobbled as mandarin morsel and periwinkle heights pantomime a giant chrysoberyl, of oxymoron shades soon blending into an obsidian night. the opal moon ailing with insomnia pours over ivory, printed volumes, …

Winter is An Old Woman…

Winter is an old woman, her face mapped in wrinkles like frostbitten verbs, She sits on her haunches at dawn, gathering citrus-scented dewdrops from grass blades, while painting her dreams as azaleas in watercolors on hydrangea skies. Snowflakes are christmas baubles simpering treacle smiles in the lukewarm sunshine, hung on verdant limbs of frozen pines, …