My Brown Mouse
Three in the morning.

Thin curtains drawn across the night billow gracefully for the passing ghosts of memories.

Candles flicker, casting wisps of sweet vanilla breath into a swirling airborne waltz.   A slow motion dance that fades gracefully into the unending dark pool of time ( Read more... )

( Read more... )

The Wibbledoom period continues...


( Read more... )

Sea of Dust.
Just wandering through on my Ship of Time
way too late to be noticed,

...but never mind.
As I traverse this dusty space unseen,
I leave my thoughts...
...to vaporize like misty dreams
dispersed though hollows
crouching darkly in between
unsure silent smoked reflections....
Shall I speak of sailors
casting nets of ( Read more... )

Confession of a Wanting Knight
Perhaps some 'fleeting touches'
Are all I dare allow
For if I truly bared my soul
-For all the virtues I avow-
T'would reveal me to be less
Than thou deserves or thou desires.
But t'is my duty to confess
Thou has't won the affections
Of a far from perfect squire!

Alas sweet Maiden fair
As a knight I surely fail
( Read more... )

I Learned Today
I learned today
that once I tortured.

But it was only silence.
I did not know.

I raked a claw of silence
across a face I loved
and left a mark
on cheeks as pale
and gently curved
and pure as drifting snow.

But it was only silence.
I did not know
that time would drag
it's rasping nails
across the itch and scar
those cheeks as ( Read more... )

The Wibbledoom period ends.

Upon My Grave
My Memory must be marked upon
Not who I conquered,  what I won.
Nor if I gathered wealth or fame,
Exuded wit,  intrigued with charm,
But that my shadow drifted on,
And faded by the sweeping sun,
It left no trace and did no harm.
W.I.Byron.  2004


( Read more... )

The Wibbledoom period begins.

Love is so hard
A collar of satinwood,
A cast iron crocus,
A heart full of thickness,
A head full of mucus,
A gut twisting sickness,
Soft words to rebuke us
As Wrought-Iron Byron
Writes poems to choke us.
W.I.Byron.  1895


( Read more... )