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


Someone’s going to celebrity rehab, why not you (Satire)

Listen up, ’cause after this I bounce
Someone’s gonna be worth a billion
Gonna be a Glampire
When you sizzle
Make them hiss

(Grab that door, Mike!)
Shimmy on down
Uncross your legs
Grow some cleavage
Be a ‘ho

Someone’s gonna buy a fancy new title
Gonna be the next homewrecker
Gonna gain what they all lose
Reach the cover of Star
Gotta be fake
Drag that hose
Pat that cake
Tweak that nose

Paparazzi’s gonna get tasered
In front of your house
Someone’s gonna sell Huggies on TV
Gonna land in the pool
Make that splash
Get that endorsement
Count that cash

You’re no second best
Housewife of Beverly Hills
(Washed up on Jersey Shore)
It’s all you Dancing with the Stars
So swill that gin
Flush that pot…

Someone’s going to Celebrity Rehab…
Why not you?

paparazzi harasses Paris

Photo credit: “Paparazzi harasses Paris” by Internets Diary via Flickr/Wylio

Inspired by the Guinness “Why Not You” television commercial, “Adam King” advertising campaign for Asia 2003-2005. 


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) ::::

men women



Remember that feeling you had, when you first saw his face and
his presence told you he was the essence of Earth, Wind and Fire?
Soul music blasts in your ear and then when he smiles,
you hear Maurice White belting out the refrain to that song.
Just the chorus.
It’s 1985.
You’re at 3:37 and can’t focus for eleven more seconds.
Out of breath, you catch yourself as he’s talking, mid sentence.
You haven’t heard a word he’s said.
Have you ever had your circuits shorted out by someone?
It’s not a yearning or a need.
It’s a statement.
It’s sustainable, even if unrequited.
It’s not love.
It’s a soulful reprise.
Resonance of the highest order.
I hope you meet someone who feels that way about you someday.
I hope you’ll want them just the same. 

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.