I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
It is dangerous to speak your names The Overton window slams to silence them Crisis, solidarity, insanity Adorning an ancient necropolis
By D. J. Reddall8 months ago in Poets
The inky window watches our passion Move repressed Edwardians to clutch pearls This sleepy, arching domestic fusion The pale toes of anxious puritans curls
You don’t understand: anyone can fly My story is clear, but few read it well It’s true: I did burn, plummet and die
My father always said that he was nothing. "I'm nothing more than a hunter, lad. No other mortal feeds me. The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. Most do not read with care, do they, lad?"
By D. J. Reddall8 months ago in Fiction
Hades, god of the dead, himself alive Yearned for Persephone's tender embrace Her mother, Demeter, made green crops thrive
No seafoam clings to your hardwired form You seem forged from cold code, not briny waves To no ancient, sung rites do you conform
We treat doctors like Idiots and idiots As if they're doctors
Son of Peleus, valiant Argonaut And lovely Thetis, immortal nereid Achilles, for the Achaeans you fought Until Agamemnon would not concede
Tiresias, blind prophet, you could see: Narcissus, blessed with beauty, would flourish For so long as unknowing he could be;
Many think they are familiar with him: Zeus, lord and master of the many gods But before his wrath dispatched lightning grim
Without a muse, a poet cannot sing An empty jug contains no trace of oil Frustrated are those, nourishment seeking From vessels empty, despite farmers' toil
Shining Apollo gazed at you with lust Darling daughter of Priam's teeming Troy Bright Phoebus, with a gift, sought your warm trust
