lost in the depths of your lilac blue, i curl round the stilled river of you unfurling my buttons from a winter wed beneath woodlace and hawthorne where my heart has fled across the meadow, beyond the thistle and dawn’s rise i am the narcissus in wait a paled for too long desire that growsContinue reading “wake”


take my hand follow the narcissus plea to run wild in unkept forests to stilled breath in gardens beneath the trees take my hand in the union of water and earth where lyrics that burn within speak to giants, and wander into your dreams


last bites of summer in a honeydew bed as drips of venus and autumn leaves wed It is the power of our senses that offer such inspiration to the creative within us and my taste buds often rise to treat me with such. Honeydew, to me, tastes and feels like summer. I’m easily transported onContinue reading “honeydew”

virtue: a haiku

silence, a virtue wading through canopies wild dresses me at dawn I captured this image within the gardens of Elizabethan Gardens on Roanoke Island in North Carolina. The statue, one created by artist Maria Louisa Lander, is that of Virginia Dare, the first English child born in the New World. Her rendition is that ofContinue reading “virtue: a haiku”


my plainness dreams in color from the burrows of its gray because my dullness reaches for the sun but becomes distracted by the raven’s wing because my quiet screams in novels yet refrains its syllables for the knowing oak’s embrace because my eau de nil grows thicker despite the worldly weeds that stay captured thisContinue reading “because”


the scent that bemoans me of a dying rose not of death inferring, but of life preserving through its folds it clutches senses charting courses through darkened, rusted fences or atop mountains shedding waterfalls as a love commences unyielding layers, partaking of endless shades anew unfurling through time, a slow peruse all in a smell,Continue reading “aionion”


the quiet lean of a lover’s need reveals itself in steps unseen for love is sure, a patience that rests between the twilight flecks of painted citrine to scarlet lights standing guard, flooding shade so as to offer the way beyond night’s odyssey, where it awakens, setting sail to a new day…. Daniela Spector–Life LongContinue reading “odyssey”

season in she

‪ the leaves were on fire drunk from a bokeh sun curving to the harvest moon longing to come undone   in quiet repose each did let down their hair and run with no want of looking back with fascination having won -image taken by me of freshly cut tiger lilies gifted to me. forContinue reading “season in she”

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