Song for my Rose

When we first met she was a bud,
growing on the wayside,
but that was long ago
in days so near forgotten.
I didn’t see her gleaming.
My mind was far away
and she grew out of season.
In trembling ice and snow
her heart was hidden.
I was dreaming.

Now she is a full blown rose
and she exudes a scent so strong
so passionate, so haunting,
no man could e’er resist her.

I’d brave every storm that blows
but, growing in this peaceful place,
this flower could bloom forever.
And yet I had to pluck her.

I took her, my eternal rose,
to make my own, possess her.
I will never crush her.
I look at her and I’m inflamed
My soul, in swoon, soars high above.
She is the heart of my desire.
She will always be to me
a rose that glows in glory.
She is my own sweet sighing love,
the bloom that I will treasure.


Love Poem

Her essence lingers on the breeze,
beside the lake, beneath the trees,
on every path i walk alone
she is my darling, and my own.
She haunts my dreams.
She is my home.
She cherishes the best of me.
She holds me close
and sets me free.
She is my glory and my joy.
She’s made a man of this lost boy.

I’d drag the stars from out the skies
to show her how much light she brings.
There’s heat and warmth to every day.
The love I feel I cannot say.
Words seem weak and faded things.
I give my heart. She gives me wings.
A fire inside me blazes, burns,
as I wait here for her return.
My heart is bursting with such love
it challenges the sun above.


Christmas Night

The bells were ringing
on silver frosted air.

I heard an angel singing
her voice was sweet and clear.

I was so entranced,
I walked into the night,
far out onto the ice,
where the moon shone bright.

My blades cut swirling patterns,
carving as I danced.
Spirals interweaving,
contained within a circle,
which, viewed from high above,
spread and spread and spread,
and I was filled with love.

I heard an angel singing
her voice was sweet and clear.
An ecstatic moment
That will long endure.
Many gifts I have been given
but none so strong and pure.


The Rose Outside the Church

The yellow rose,
like sunshine,
stands outside the door
of the founded, waiting church,
having more to give
than the sermon heard within

To see God, see the rose
From bud to bloom
it follows the sun.
It shines.
You saw it as a child,
this light,
and, though it decompose,
it is a prayer,
a perfume on the air,
a symbol of Gods love
in which we share.


In Utopia

In a perfect place,
In a perfect time,
In a perfect world,
Why would we not be perfect?
Why move away from the warmth
When the fires are burning so strong?
Why struggle to fend off the angels of love
When the air is full of their song?
Let heaven come down from above.
Let angels rest on the earth.

The gifts were long ago given
And each new day, rebirth.

Fraptious Day

Frabjous ~ amalgam of joyous and fabulous
Fraptious Day ~ a day after which nothing will ever be the same again


‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did all the things they usually did.
The Hatter hid, inside his hat,
To snare the dreaded Bandersnatch.

He’d had enough of tea and clocks
And fading smiles from Cheshire Cats.
He was with the belfry bats.

Alice was a windy girl,
Wandering about the land,
Blinded by her flying hair.
She didn’t always seem quite there.

Alice came and Alice went.
Alice went and Alice came.
It seemed a tiring, endless game,
And Hatter always felt the same.

Trapped inside an unsolved riddle.
He wished that they could dance and sing
And fly about and braid her hair
And she might learn to play the fiddle.
Chasing diamonds in the dark,
He might ignite a special spark.

The Hatter had a fervent wish
That Alice, one fine summer day,
Would come to Wonderland to stay,
And never ever go away,
If she would,
If she could.
(He always really thought she should).

But time and age and logic rules.
Alice was severely schooled
In all the things he thought were wrong
(His wish for magic being strong).

The Hatter, so completely mad,
Wanted Alice to be glad
And share her wishes all with him
But she came out when he went in,
And he was very rarely out.

She went she came,
She came she went,
Until the Fraptious Day arrived.
He knew she wouldn’t come again.
The frabjous time had blown away,
And then he knew he was insane.
It came to him as quite a shock.
It was that jolt that stopped the clock.

Love’s a story, very old,
If truth be told,
(and I won’t lie)
Love’s a thing that doesn’t die.

But when the chicks refuse to hatch
And Humpty Dumpty’s egg is cracked
And Alice lost, and won’t come back,
The March Hare screams and runs away.

It’s time to face that Fraptious Day!

The Hatter then removed his hat
And tears ran down his creasy cheeks.
He stood in sorrow in the dark
And faced the sadness in his heart.
He told the Red Queen
(so it’s said)
That she was welcome to his head.
With Alice gone,
Quite gone for good,
The Hatter sadly understood.

He turned the teapot upside down.
He groaned and frowned
And spun the table thrice around,
Which, at the time,
Seemed quite profound
(But only proves that he’s still mad).

He hoped that Alice was alright.
He knew her world could be quite bad.
He had left there long ago.
He knew the clocks there all ran slow.
The trouble was, she might not know.

Alice, through the mirror, looked.
Alice still was not impressed.

In the morning
Hatter dressed.
He brushed his hat
And put it on.
He knows that Wonderland is best.

As for the rest,
Hatter cannot really tell.
Perhaps if fortune casts a spell
All will settle very well.

He scratched his head,
A little vexed,
And thought out loud,
For none to hear…

”Surely wonder isn’t dead!
I’ll ask the Caterpillar next.
We’ll see,
For he’s a day ahead of me.”

(He wiped a tear)

“She was a dear,
A darling dear.”


see the butterflies
flying in a light formation
over sunlit, dew-wet meadows
where the cornflowers
bow and sway

love brings pleasures
with the glorious newborn day

the sun will reach its central zenith,
and it’s light will cast no shade

we may burn,
but day is short
and in turn,
by the evening’s well-stoked fires
sweet memories will grow, not fade

the light will deepen into night
when the moon and stars arise
and paint the fields in gentler shades

their magic light dispels the dark
’til sleep brings rest to closing eyes

and in the morning,
rise the lark,
rise up,
rise up,
day is dawning

see the butterflies
flying in a light formation
over sunlit, dew-wet meadows
where the cornflowers
bow and sway

beyond the weight of measure,
rises with the glorious,
glowing pleasures
of the shining newborn day


Some loves truly do last forever,
even when the pathways sever

In storybooks
and paintings by pre-raphaelites,
the lonely Knight,
so tired and pale,
forgets his questing for the Grail
and kneels in poignant supplication
gazing at the ivy growing
on the statue, carved in stone,
in honour of a gothic wish
treasured by his lady, lost.

but not all Knights can stay in books
and this Knight has mercurial pride ~
he doesn’t hide,
he mounts and rides,
and holds old love,
a living thing,
beating still inside his breast~
a love that lingers,
doesn’t dwindle,
doesn’t cling.

He doesn’t rest.
Some may think this Knight accursed
but it’s a blessing of his birth.
His feet have unrelenting wings.
He learns to fly.
He yearns to live
and not to die.


The autumn air is full of scents
as if to prove the truth and worth
of beauty in decay.
It lifts my flagging spirits up.
My sadness drains away.
Breathing deeply I inhale,
and exhale all my pain,
but then I journey on to home
and I am lost again.

I feel as though I cannot rise.
However much the sun may shine
it’s fractured through a screen of tears.

Like morning mists that softly fade
or shattered rainbows after rain,
love always disappears.

I seek it deep, inside my heart,
but doubt that I can prise it out
and feel the fault is mine.

I hope and pray, and scream and shout,
that all may pass in time
or sleep will come and I forget
that you were ever nearly mine
while I still wanted more.

Love’s a torment.
Love is cruel
Love rips me to my core
and proves that I’m as much a fool
as I was before.

I dare not look ahead or back
for there’s no more of love in life
than loneliness or dread permits

and so i go
along the road,
the road that lies ahead,
on and on, the road ahead,
until the light is dead

Poem for Devora

Can I bring him home? she said.
She pleaded with her Mamma,
Can I bring him home?
She pleaded, on her knees.
I found him by the woodland well
Where ivy cloaks the trees,
Where the Morning Glory twists and twines,
Where rose musk coats the breeze.
He is of the mortal race.

A naked man, his manhood cupped
In praying hands, stood by.
He stood as if disgraced.
The shadows hid his face.
The shadows hid his smile.

But what will you do with him?
Will you wrap him up in feathered robes
To keep him warm at night?
Where will you keep him?
Locked away?
Hidden in the dark?
All men need the light.
And did he seduce you
Or did Cupid strike the spark?
Will you bind his wrists with bindweed?
Or will you set him free?

We’ll have to live in secret.
I don’t need lock or key.
He won’t mind where we live.
He wants to live with me.
I stole him from the elf queen.
I had to break her spell.
Why it is I love him,
That I cannot tell.

But I will stitch a shirt for him
That reaches to the ground
All embroidered here and there
With birds and flowers and stars
And I will braid his hair at night
With berries I have found.
I’ll make a chorus of the birds
To sing a song of sixpence,
And keep the wolf away
On our wedding day.
He promises to stay with me
Until he fades and dies.
My love tells me no lies.

I will always love him,
My loving, lovely, gentle love,
The beautiful Tam Lin.