Don’t overlook me
or underestimate my power –
I rock in the darkness of night
on a misty bower.
The clouds troll my words
and carry my message on air –
slashing the canvas of space with
a shadowy tear.
veiled in many disguises –
but some seek only the darkling
I glow beyond time
like an ancient wayward daughter
birthed of the moon – You can simply
call me an author.
This is my novel
Grown from the seeds of history
Nurtured to beauty
A wild woman born
has many flagons of magic
(and still other dungeons
remain in cobweb clasps)
She can drop her spells as stepping stones to glamor
turning each lock behind
in the black labyrinth.
The sky is crying rain drips
through the lashes of the tree
and in an instant splish-splash
and we feel It coming.
How much more do you want of me, Mistress Moon
blinking your chimera’s eye, stirring my cells
in time to the moody lull of your barbarous beat,
intent on my submission, more white
than shark’s teeth, colder than icebergs, and broody – endlessly throbbing?
Push sagacious eyes beyond
the tattooed patterned coating –
disregard the holy flesh
and seek within,
without . . .