Eve before the apple dreamt
in softened pastel shades
of limpid waters, shady nooks,
pale suns and gentle rains.
And Adam too, was placid, calm
and even in his ways.
But something in the apple burnt,
a poison at its core
that left her with a taste for fire -
unknown in Eden's bounds -
a thirst that Paradise itself
could never satisfy.
The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
A Birthday in April ~ Wordsworth Prompt from The Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (The first of three posts which will celebrate the l...
It all depends, you see, how you go about it. And that I cannot tell you, for that will be dictated by you and by you knowing your friends...
The final images below are from my now defunct website which I decided to revisit (cannibalise, if you will) a while back. They are a few ye...
Below is the third - and, so far as I can tell at present, the final - draft of a poem for which I have been quite unable to find a title to...