She, the formless sky, With wild-weather moods, Shape-shifts eternal. Palpable pressure, Brooding purple, A brief repose, She smiles sunshine And casts down her dark-down umbra. “Brief: 366/2020 project, prompt ‘Moody’
Listen. Lightly listen. At the pause of exhalation, For the feather-tongue sweet whisper, That draws in with inhalation. For the glass-belled incantation Of tiny charms that bind to air And spell their invocations. For the still-chiming enchantment Ringing out it’s fluid influence Which lures your fascination. Magic, barely seen, Always, Hear. "Brief: 366/2020 project, prompt …
Son of the Sea
You went darkly into the night before me,
I shadow, a daughter of the son-of-the-sea,
And slip on the tails of your spectres-glee.