Poetry | Stories | Photography
steps are taken by
leaving phosphorescent prints
on the forest floor.
soft whispers stir
taking the noise of the night
into still music.
the forest holds
her breath waiting for the shift
from the moon.
she steps towards
the path of starlight as the snow
begins to fall.
The door opens,
she steps outside.
The night is warm,
gardenia nearby.
The moonlight full,
a forest all around.
The sound of a friend,
a call from the forest.
The door closes,
she runs for the forest.
we dance,
move and
weave
in and out
of the trees
to the beat
of the forest
of light
I stand alone as
clouds move across the shy sky
thinking of the way
the forest is like your soul
when the snow falls on me slow
Winter holds you frozen within her frosty grasp,
for she’s waited so long for jealous Autumn to go.
Your heart beats slow in her cold wild arms,
yet she knows Autumn’s fate will be her own.
The snow falls on to your hair and face to warm you,
as Winter dances her wild cold dance around you.
You love the way the snow makes your body feel,
for your heart is ice and your veins beat glacial water.
Sleep takes you into Winter’s slender arms again,
yet when you wake the sun shines down on you.
In the ice, you lay as your heart starts to melt;
then as you look left and then right you see.
You slept within the pines last night to your dismay,
only to find you did sleep between the Snowdrops.
The Snowdrops remind your heart that love is well,
as the shoots rise up from the ice to find the sun.
There’s a melody dancing on the wind.
Tiptoeing and fluttering, the melody moves her to the sound.
Satie soft bows from a violin stirs her heart, as the flowers and trees sway along.
In the distance he sits playing along, only to vanish the moment they meet.
blood drips from the knife
such beauty winter graces
she stands in the sea of pines
a silent face within the snow
dripping red on to white
a merlot or is it a shiraz?
he will never know love’s taste
stabbed to death in the snow
Entwine the tree branches of your soul with mine and dance with me in this forest. swirling and twirling around and around we get closer and closer and closer. Soon your branches move within and ignite a lust so swift. the forest sings, your heart beats fast, and the world blurs.
She walks through the forest with purpose, for today she must compose a poem for a king. She stands in the forest listening and observing, so creativity flows through her. As a Skald, she must practice her craft well; Thor and Odin will be displeased if she does not.
