For you are

Candice, the beauty of love on display ❤



In simmering evening glow

beheld in jewel

moon, its pearlescent oval

hushes barking day


For you are

held in my long hand

a heart engraved

rapture slavishly wound

about my making

as roses grow

thick in fragrance

nearer their petals


For you are

a sound etched in dark

slung over time, carried far

played years later

still we hear

the raw crocus

of your emergence

from stillness.

In unfolded stymen

this pollen we bequeath

each other

wordlessly with

oiled grace

are songs

unsung by

felted lovers.

For you are

my undoing

this life rented out

if you, indigo bird

solace in sweet brine

did not exist

nothing bearable

should survive.

In the marbled cave of our

entreaty, we

pour together till

stiff with purpose

a stalagmite to

behold the

ambering of

our union.

For you are

without comparison

touching that center

blazing and forgotten

sweeping landscape where


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Answering to the wind – Eric Syrdal

Thank you, Free Verse Revolution!


She swirled
and danced among the wildflowers
and the rolling green waves
of the meadow
while the summer sun
played in her auburn hair

the last notes of a bright and joyous song
spilled from her smiling lips
She paused and affixed her eyes
upon the distant horizon

the air at her back
caught her dress and her hair
sailing them out like banners
from the ramparts of a fortress

I watch her
there from under the spruce scented hem
of the forest’s arboreal gown
and cherish the ink we share

for it runs down every facet of my heart
in every language that she and I have known
and to speak it
is to breathe fire
in a realm of ice

and worry becomes a stranger once again

for there is nothing
so reassuring
as when I calm my mind
and can hear her speaking to me

nothing so…

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Thyme, Mint, Honey, and Clove
ribbons in her auburn waves
she wove
A daughter of sunlight
framed in brown
would place upon
my head
a flowered crown
And kisses upon
my cheeks
so sweet
My pretentious heart would miss
a beat
Her voice
a song of
Springtime Faire
would bend
my knee
an oath to swear
That I’ll forsake
both country and crown
to feel her touch
of thistle down
Perchance to know
her secrets
and thereby
pledge her love
to keep
Inside my Heart
til death recall
my spirit
or hers
beyond that wall
If she should go
before my light
I’ll dream of Her
every following Night
Thyme, Mint, Honey, and Clove
ribbons in her auburn waves
were wove
Her ghost, I’ll dream
but will never feel
her face
the morning light
shall steal
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A dear friend is retiring from the public eye for a while. Words cannot express how much this woman has meant to my life and my writing. My heart goes with her, wherever she travels. This she knows, and thus ever it will be. She will always have my sword and shield at her call.



In the New Year I am going to do something drastic. I’m going to close all my social media down, take the majority of my books/work offline/out of bookstores and not stay in touch with the majority of online acquaintances I have met during these years. The work that will remain is what I’m most proud of; SMITTEN This Is What Love Looks Like (an anthology, 2019), We Will Not Be Silenced (one of 4 editors/contributors, 2018) and Pinch the Lock (Finishing Line Press, 2016).

When I began, I really believed I could contribute something valuable to the world through the medium of writing. I saw many other people trying but I did not know how many and since 2015 I have seen that there is a glut of people all self-publishing, indie publishing, small press publishing, all with the same ‘dream’ of being a legit writer. Mostly wasting hours…

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Hypothermic – Eric Syrdal

Honored to be on Free Verse Revolution 💛


I met her
in April
when I took her hand
as together we stood, in a springtime storm
the rain ran down our faces and over our lips
and no words were needed

We danced
under the cerulean dome
of our summer palace
my eyes focused on her blushing cheeks
as the world beyond us smeared into hues of passion
in August she held my hand to her chest and asked for one more dance

In Autumn’s reverent halls, she struggled to speak
October’s dying breaths sent puffing steam to twilight heavens
the crackle of fallen leaves and the echo in quiet places
was the anthem and fanfare to our union
evenings came sooner, and longer were the hours before dawn
soon, the pyre wood was stacked awaiting fate’s flame

I knelt there in the circle of fading light
and through my knees, digging into the ashes, I could feel…

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Smitten: This is what love looks like. Poetry by Women for Women

I’m very excited to help promote this wonderful anthology of poetry from some of the most amazing female writers it has been my honor and pleasure to know! Currently out in Ebook format with print copies not too far behind.

“SMITTEN This Is What Love Looks Like is an anthology of love poetry by 120 lesbian and bisexual women ranging in age from 15 to 87 from around the globe.This is a book that should be gifted. In spite of its implied audience, Smitten is not just for women who adore women. It is for those whose hearts twist and skin prickles at romance, who know the flight of butterflies in their stomachs, who long for the feeling of home in another’s heart.”

Purchase “Smitten” in Ebook format

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I’ve Known This Season #WritePhoto

Sarah, making a beautiful photo even more beautiful

Lemon Shark Reef

I’ve known this season.

Danced with dying dreams.

Watched bits of myself float away.

Sometimes I tried to hold on. Other times I watched those pieces fly from me in the autumn breeze.

Both were painful.

Both left me bare and vulnerable.

Yet I’ve survived. Grown stronger.

I don’t always change in my own time.

It could be another’s clock that ticks and clicks at me.

In crisp air, I show my true colors. 

What are they? What will the world think of them?

I wait, worry, wonder…

But the oak, anticipating winter, knows she will become more beautiful as she lets go. 

Here is my attempt at #writephoto, a weekly writing prompt for poetry/flash/short stories hosted by Sue Vincent


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This place
Sacred ground
As if earth, god-touched
She resides
Kindred spirit
Sister, swordsworn
Wordsmith, the brand
Our hearts share
Blood scrivener
We drink, she and I
From inkwell chalices
And read the bones
In the light of our stained glass souls
Oracle, she is
And her prophecy is the same
As mine
We do not read stars
We birth distant suns into existence
With the breath of our muses
She and I Warriors bound to each
By crimson oaths
Of courage, understanding
My sword and shield is hers
And hers are at my call
Standing back to back
I feel her beautiful heartbeat
In the hollow of my own chest
And if its rhythm quickens
Through fear or pain
My own shall beat to bring
The cadence back to ground
And she shall rest her soul upon my pauldron
Her heart shall rest in my hands
On bended knee
To her fierce spirit, I swear
At her service
She shall ever find me

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The Weyward Sisters: Songs of Ophelia

Amazing work, Ladies!!! Brava!

Brave & Reckless

Originally published on Sudden Denouement

you must remember
rosemary, pansies, fennel,
columbine and rue,
You forgot tansy, didn’t you?
When the ground freezes over
And your flowers crumble and brown
Let the ice in Hamlet’s Heart
And the Red on his hands
Deliver him forever from you.
And when you return again
From your journey to the sea
Never forget
It is you.
It was never he.
Rana Kelly/2nd star to the Left, straight on ’til morning

I sat and watched the current roll by today
I think I’d like to float away to a place that I cannot say
You were always directing the rivers flow
I trusted you knew where it would go
But you let me go adrift
Dream chaser isn’t that what you always said?
You’re where the love has always been
Dream chaser dream chaser
don’t mock me now
Its not always the same

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My heart pounds…
Oh, how perfect things
had seemed just minutes ago
Before she flushed me
from my cover
I was safe and warm
inside of my
nebulous thunderstorm
listening to the sounds
of the gentle raindrops of
my indifference
softly pattering against
this verdant canopy
of polite conversation
nocturnal, idle prattle

all the while, unbeknownst to me
she tracked me
behind main courses, wine glasses
and fan-shaped folded napkins

It was the whiteness of her
canines against the deep
velvet of her painted lips
that stilled my heart
and set my ears up to listen

She, fearless, approached with
the wind at her back
Her scent encompassed
our venue
but I had not sensed
the predator within
those gentle pheromones

The touch of her hand
at the hair against her neck
The blush of her cheek
after a sip of honey wine

I was mid-sentence
when she reclined
both elbows on the table
folded her hands
and rested the scenery
of her face upon them

The pose of a reverent prayer
within this carefully
practiced religious rite
of which I was
fast becoming a believer
and its high priestess
A huntress, who would take
my heart
a trophy

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