Poem: The Falconer


Invisible women stride through sunshine,
Dappled marionettes of ulterior intent,
Only outlined by where they are not,
The abjection of the feminine,
The passage of the Gods

Feeling everything in the pinpoint of a paintbrush,
The luscious electrode of needled reality,
Everything a molecule of infinite power,
There is a silent explosion,
In the heart of every flower

Always holding back,
A hawk between two worlds,
The surface of dimensions perched on my beak,
The grip of the cosmos in the tines of my talons

Then I’ll return to my falconer,
The answer in the questioner,
With my kill gleaming luscious
On the threnody of my lips

If Atlas shrugs,
Then Gaia thrusts,
All pivoting on her hips



Sonnet On A Summer’s Eve


So steady the night on this soft summer’s eve,

As star seeds descend like manna from heaven,

The stillness of the scots pine fertilizes my ease,

And unmasks the demon by which my anxiety is driven,

Beneath all the chaos and dust of the world,

Is a light feather bed by tranquillity plumed,

The chaos is like two lovers wrestling on sheets,

The serenity is the mattress where their bliss is consumed,

And imbued with non-reference – the terminator of fear,

A tender consummation that nurses all wounds,

Cordelia is returned to the resanitized King Lear,

And on loving what’s lost, we no longer presume,

But cherish each beauty, the peace won by a friend,

Vowing to love them forever – faith without end