On Tue, 6/9/15, 11:06 AM, She <> wrote:

Bodies taut and tumbled
Clothes mangled in the day
Oh what a sight we were, dear
For tourists on the bay

On Tue, 6/9/15, 11:09 AM, He <> wrote:

So drenched we were in water
Just fiery hot like toast
Now must you run along, dear
The boss might rump your roast

On Tue, 6/9/15, 11:11 AM, She <> wrote:

If only eyes could see us
If ears could hear as well
We’d rumple wrinkly socks off
Let’s write a kiss and tell

On Tue, 6/9/15, 11:42 AM, He <> wrote:

That’s all my time for now dear
My schedule’s got a bloat
Don’t call me back again here
I’ll toss you in the moat

If people heard you talking
Those red flags they would say
She might be lost without him?
Or fifty shades of cray!



Gift me Heaven (Fleurs de Sade)


I’m standing in a crater, boyo
Feel like reading it before
wine skins bookmark my Bible
like conversations with my soul

Our world must have been
spinning out of control
Inner ground shifts
evolving patches of earth

We become addicted to the stillness:
Thoughtful searching for John Lennon
makes me want to booze
I think Jesus was like that

His Lordship has been
kind of amazing to watch
We misunderstood your Master Map, boyo
Cover that heart of you, young boy
Master, lord, master, boyo, master

God morphs in our beautiful retail therapy caves
Dirt happens when you’re making plans
We shall need awe and a little of
that attitude with the grapes, Master Vintner

Sex in the bottle answered those same questions
so we don’t have to deal with them truthfully
Kindred spirits knocked at the wrong sunrise
Breathe fear
Submit reply
unless of course, there’s no audio

Image updated 2020/08/24: Angels by Luigi Boccardo via Unsplash

art poetry


Thrust in spells, fire irons were cast
Wild minds centre, great hands are clasped
Feathers fret round von Hoven’s draft
There’s much to fear where Rosen’s in craft

Plated in sheaths, impressions wrought steel
Thorn’s tender roses are flocking in teams
Verita’s lapels shall bind at the mast
What burdens we’ll bear if Rosen’s this craft

Swimming with roses by Stephen Day via Iconophile

Special thanks go to the spectacularly talented artist and photographer, Stephen Day. I found an inspiring story in his photograph, Swimming with Roses, and my poem practically wrote itself. Stephen blogs with the equally fabulous Jennifer Day at The Iconophile.


Guinness, Rich girl greatness

Photo credit: “Mick O’Connells pub, Utrecht, The Netherlands”
from Tiberiu Ana via Flickr/Wylio

I’m on a journey …
(In a taxi at the airport)
It started 3 months, two weeks, 5 days, 7 hours, and 1, 2, 3 minutes ago
I’m in this line
My friends say TMI’s annoying
But I’ve come too far
Too far to stop the hysterics
Too far to consider being discreet
Too far to flash less … than Kate
25, 26, 27, 28

The socks for my honey
Wrapped up by my scarves
You know where the store is…
(And now we’re boarding)
They’re both proof that I’m rich
Right now I’m starved
My flight’s in the air
My bags are on the floor
41, 42, 43, 44

I’m on a gurney
After I stubbed my toe ..
In the restroom
49, 50, 51

Airport Sheremetyevo."Aeroflot" Night.
Photo Credit: “Aeroflot” from Aleksander Markin via Flickr/Wylio

TMI version inspired by the Guinness, Reach for Greatness TV “Spoken Word” commercial for the Caribbean.


Guinness: Reach for Greatness (Original)

Tomorrow, I’ll publish a post based on this Guinness commercial. The original is fantastic and I thought you should see it first before reading my version of it. This content does not belong to me and this video is posted temporarily for context only. Thank you for viewing.

60 second ad for Guinness, for the Caribbean.
By Asterix 1759 via YouTube.


Maximum Dolōr

Maximum Dolor

and dark as dawn
there sleeps Narcissus
wrapped up in flor

In that greener garden
were Venus rests
Piaget found us
romping with Faun

cloaked in silky feathers
bound tightly did she
his powder dreams
in her life long tethers

We feel his screams
and harken
In silence we uproar
No, not again
Maximum dolōr


As icy ponds
where pelts the rain
how crushed we are
to hear his pain

May marvels end
no subtle cue
or she’ll come here
to look for you

Here Vera grins
in peace she reigns
on wine filled sacks
o’er toasted grain

she beams
but silver tears will flow
and while Narcissus sleeps
her music belts
the streams
as they go

fashion poetry


She is fighting the glamour wars
during office hours in cropped pants
of size… six?
You’d better take notes
and get in the mix

She is delighted to spread
in fashionless sense
with plumped up pride
what a skirt should hide

I think Mrs West is my icon and I’m, like, you know, following her on Instagram. I liked, you know, all of her posts yesterday. She wears see through tights with jackets. Now everyone is doing it. So I wanna be, like, the first person to, like, wear all capri pant suits. Just suits! I want that one and that one and that one…

OMG did you see the Queen of Spain
whose canary capris were a faux pas in vain
for Trendi bought them in bale and
that mane

Minutes after noon, she’ll toss
her meal in the trash
then dab some gloss
to soothe a lip rash
caused by (vitamin) deficiency
but not to worry
Facebook is telling me,
these capsules heal effectively

Haughtily she swipes past
sucking all your energy
pretending to have a blast
There goes Trendi
on a Pepsi Cola fast


Guinness, Why not you? (Original)

This is a temporary post for a poem I published on May 3. This video is posted for context purposes only. It is the Adam King commercial for Guinness, “Why not you?” for the Asian markets in 2005, via Chilupa2 on YouTube. The parodied version, Guinness, why not you is posted below this.


Before the war

Once so close and yet so far
Heads up you’ll see the door’s ajar
Where empty trough
The search for meaning
Again the proof
You’re backward leaning

Turned away by rays of light
Morbid distress
No will to fight
In anger admit defeat
First they fall
Then retreat

Angst, the rouge in Antebellum
Brought down, the despised


Two weeks

Two weeks

Midst night it breaks,
like a
potent fire;
does not put out.
harmony dissipates.
Love was,
“Betrayal,” meet “Desire.”
Plural eyes her life’s force renew.
Resurrection, hurry along,
woah, do me do.
Chaste the lark, unsung the blues,
warming lyric palettes, cooling lusty hues.
Two weeks, recall, I was so into you.
“Ah! Love, you know why it cannot be you.”



Regina et Ochs

At noon the prestige: supra lux
Her Trappistine promises conventions
This Methodist morning he’s pampered
in tux
Tonight, a king…
est mort?

Anchors away from that Grecian Trust
whilst bindings come loose
from stomachs and busts
Her pirates assail
on wings from above
Untie them in Love:
Regina et Ochs

.shcO te anigeR
:evol ni meht eitnU
;evoba morf sgniw no
liassa setarip reH
stsub dna shcamots morf
esool emoc sgnidnib tslihW
;tsurT naicerG taht morf yawa srohcnA

?trom tse
…gnik a ,thginoT
.xut ni derepmap gninrom tsidohteM
.xuder snoitnevnoC
,esimorp enitsipparT reH
.xul arpus :egitserp eht noon tA

::::: Regina et Ochs (The Heiress and her Stud) ::::

Mars poetry

Chase the Sun

And we run
Though flesh indeed
no kindred bore
your noblest steeds
rode spots on your
ground; we’re lured
to catch the light

Who’ll race the day?

And far away
from base we lay
When free
we’ll see
Sól’s radiant band
on ridge, on land

Nor dread
we work
we wait steadfast
that path you tread
then home at last

White brilliance seize

as the hours turn
Go now pets, run
and chase the sun

☼ ☀ ☼ ☀ ☼ ☀

Chase the Sun | SB

Based on my short story Sól Hundar (Solar Hounds), which was published on February 5, 2015.