peach pit

I am not a mystery.
I will lay out my history for you to peruse,
should you ask me to.
Ask me anything.
I will tell of promises given and broken,
losses and gains,
those deserved, those earned,
and those otherwise.

hereby dragonflies

For the dVerse prompt “dungeons and derivatives“:

Nothing comes from nothing,
there is no spontaneous generation.
Poems grow from words in waiting,
that swim beneath the surface
like nymphs in a pond.

autumn child

Two poems for my daughter:

I
My autumn child,
with the sky
in her eyes –

winter spell

A riddle in rhyme, in response to Eugi’s weekly prompt, “magic”. What are the Orb, Staff and Crown? 

Take the Orb, the Staff, the Crown,
bury them, shallow, in the ground.

April witches

Like aspiring April witches,
but ones invited in –
seeing through another’s eyes,
feeling through their skin.
Second hand experience,
translated – therein blurred
a curious distant intimacy
grown from all these words.