Tag Archives: poetry deconstruction

Trees in rain.

a snake, a stone,
a silvery glow
a hawk, a thrush,
a thorn in your hand

the tale of the night
the bed of the well
three shadows of blue
a stroke of the sun

a loss, a find,
the dead of the night
a sliver of light
the promise of spring.

Ripples on Sea Surface.

Originally published on this website with color version of the same photos, taken in 2013 (ripples) and 2014 (tree) with a poem “Spring Song” on March 30, 2014. and was removed long since.

Removed due to feeling protective of the poem, which was “birthed” as if without my effort.
Shared part of it in my Digital Zine 1: Own Your Shadow however.

So not exactly a social media post this one was, but personal website kinda sorta is ( “social media” ) too!
You are more than welcome to leave a comment, we used to do that and it was really fun before things online got very centralized….

Text is my “deconstruct – re-structure other people’s poems” series, the victim this time is “Water of March” (again).

Last Edited: April 16, 2021.

True North


Red Spider Lily blossoms, sea shells and paint brushes.
Art studio with a spider lily bouquet.

I was a child

of the sounding sea

love, that was stronger by far

in a kingdom by the sea

wind, blew out of the night
envying of the angels
never dissever my soul from
a love that was more than love

the moon beams, the stars rise
all the night-tide, the sounding sea –
bringing me dreams
of love, that was stronger than they.

Red spider lilies in a ray of light.

Pictures: Red spider lilies – how my muse looked this autumn. “We returned to vivify you.”
Work in progress: “Spider Lily Red – Flare 2”. Referential links to: Flare 1, Making of the Flare 1 in one post, and all the posts documenting the process since 2012.
Text: Poe “Annabel Lee” deconstructed/restructured, and pardon me Mr., in essence, 180ed.

A Spring Tribute


A small Jasmine bouquet.

(It’s) the end of the tale
the sudden stroke of night,
it’s a thorn in your hand
the dismay in the face.

A float,
a flight,
it’s the promise of life
it’s the joy in your heart.

It’s the end of all strain
it’s the wind blowing free,
the promise of spring
it’s a little alone.

A bird reflection on sea surface.

Dedicated to a friend of mine who headed homeward recently; may your eyes be filled with golden slumber.
Words taken from Antonio Carlos Jobim “Water of March”, rearranged by yours truly.