What fate torments you, spirit of twilight,
Forever cursed to chase the setting sun
And be pursued by spectres of the night
Borne on that cobalt shroud from which you run!
Your wake cuts like a knife through coalescence
Of colours bleeding out from sunset’s prism,
To drip in pools bereft of luminescence
That fill the chasm cleft by your incision;
Yet even as that fiery orb descends
Horizon’s crimson line, on eastern quarter,
Her speeding chariot’s argent light portends
The visage of Hyperion’s eldest daughter.
    By destiny decreed to never know,
    The dark of night, nor daylight’s warming glow.

Twilight On The Farm Image: Charles Rollo Peters Click image to visit.

Twilight On The Farm
Image: Charles Rollo Peters
Click image to visit.


Gaia’s Memoirs No.26

Gaia’s Memoirs No.26

Consciousness recedes
In winter’s embrace. Trees dream
Dreams of new green leaves.

Spring Leaves Image: Les Chatfield

Spring Leaves
Image: Les Chatfield



The greatest irony in man is this:
That primal fears abound imagination.
Yet, that which he contrives them to dismiss
Is often wrought from like fancification.
For willingly does he embrace delusion
When acumen and reason can’t aspire
To produce some commensurate illusion
Of purpose that is meet with his desire;
And comprehension gleans but a few drops
Of knowledge from the sea of mystery,
Then noesis ends where understanding stops,
Unleashing boundless creativity.
    When ignorance gives rise to fear’s commotions,
    Imagination conjures up nice notions!

The Thinker

The Thinker

Distractions in Infinity

Distractions in Infinity — A Sonnet

I do not dwell on time; but time on me
Imposes thought that distracts meditation,
With chiding memories of what can not be,
A man derided by his own creation.
While high above infinity’s endless ocean
Where, from temporal realms, no echo rings,
The angel of existence orders motion
And time is but the beating of her wings.
She flies along the shoreline of mortality
Where waves of life break ever on the beaches,
Her touch imbues the living with vitality,
Her shadow is the threshold of death’s reaches.
    Her flight is clearly audible in the clock:
    Those silent booms between the tick and tock.

Walkowitz at Home -- David Burliuk Click Image

Walkowitz at Home — David Burliuk
Click Image

Willow Me (A Sonnet)

Willow Me

Interred within the soil of youthful prime
A willow seed lies sown in dormancy,
That with the daily watering of time
Grows old and dies, a withered, weeping tree.
And years are petals on the bud of life
That when she blossoms unfold to display
A sapless flower; her petals, passed and rife,
Hang virtueless, bereft of sweet bouquet.
Yet what possesses virtue, worth or reason
Save framed within this frail mortality?
Or whence derives one’s passion for the season
If not from this temporal symmetry?
And if in life I find a love to cherish,
Then I shall gladly live and love, and perish.

Weeping Willow by Claude Monet Click Image to visit

Weeping Willow by Claude Monet
Click Image to visit

Autumn Loaf

Autumn Loaf


A plastic bottle and a well-licked
tuna fish can, both flashing topless
in shadows that strobe the gutter
on the street below my balcony.
Between them, misplaced,
A leaf.
My shirt sticks to my back like cling-film
on well-kneaded, well-risen dough;
a languid simile,
but it’s far too humid for cool metaphor
in the suburbs of Santo Domingo
this mid-September.
Even the simile doesn’t cut
hear that hollow sound?
Means I’m done.



From behind the face,
Instances impact between
Eternity’s drips.



Volcanic titans
Flain by Gaia’s elements,
Land of sheep and bards.



One white and one black,
Against a grey, cloudy sky:
Monochrome moment.


Don’t be Silly

For a billion years
This earth has recycled life;
It belongs to us.


Golden Kill

Rabbit watches hawk
Swooping down to catch a mouse…
Alas! poor rabbit.


More coming soon…