….. blink …..


Of this immeasurably insignificant duration…..

…..infinitely cocooned fantasies

juxtapose the eternal sigh…..

…..of deep Time…..


…. blink ……


A lifetime of possibilities…..

…..all proclaimed within every splintered second

far, far too brief to appreciate…..

…..pensive auguries of deep Magic…..


… blink …….


Maladroit opaline caresses…..

…..traversed her obsidian edged soul

bravado and impetuosity…..

…..heartlessly vanquished deep Patience…..

.. blink ……..

Random uncertainty now prevails…..

…..tattered and aimless particles

shattered futures conjoin nullified pasts…..

…..effortlessly conquering deep Love…..


. blink ………


Fated collisions ‘twixt love and hate…..

…..smothered by a veil of loss

carving out the debris of absent expectations…..

…..yet, surpassing all virtues, deep Gratitude…..


blink ……….


Wyvern of Wickaninnish

Chinese Say Dragon

An indulgent shiver of expectant curiosity
   ripples prismatically
effortlessly traversing Her rainbow hued integument

A Muse, She is
   …..silently so…..
Amused, She is
   ….discreetly so…..
Attendant, She is
   …..deceptively so…..

‘neath Her iridescent talons
a tableau of arboreal old growth backwoods
provides an infinite emerald buttress
nurturing Her canopied inquisitiveness

Wyvern ….. of Wickaninnish

Westwardly canted
   accepting of a beguiling mistral

She oscillates in bonded allotment with
   frothy pacific rim tides
She balances ever so subtly
   outstretched wings
      playing catch with breathy chinooks

Yon quixotic horizon, ∞Infinite∞
   Her feminine ken

…..Ever …… aware ….. peripherally…..

Throbbing subcutaneous arteries
   map Her passionate
      dragon blood
   diagram Her ardent
      basilisk potential
   reveal Her avid
      tarragon prophecy

Families of mythic cedars posture ‘neath her
   singularly privy to bygone Elders ciphers and rites
      sussurating ancient memes from primeval epochs

Nary a scintilla of doubt within Her
   As they are not privy
      to Her own formidable legacy……

Incessant high tide arrives…..

Aware of his presence
yet he, not of Hers

From Trust to Dust
covertly sharing his hardened sorrow

Opalescent nictating membranes guard not Her sight
      they provision Her INsight
         …..of his potential reverie

Below, he embraces the zenith tide
standing firm
   equalling Her direction and gaze
      sea froth swirling amongst ginger beach granules
      sinewy kelp championing sand dollar orphans
      gnarled driftwood debris lecturing late arriving jetsam
   bits of all
adhering to his apparel…..

Weathered mahogany fedora
   Lightning veined leather jacket
      Rural stained blue jeans

He stretches, his arms capriciously akimbo
   almost impatiently
      moreso sedulously
   and …. breathes…..IN
the ever renewing ocean zephyr

Her juncture is NOW!

Launching Herself into the gale
She rapidly rises, banks right, gaining altitude
   liquidly reversing Her arc
      instinctively gauging Her trajectory
She curls downward racing back towards the shoreline


cresting mazarine breakers
   headlong ….. towards ….. Him

His abundant soulful inhalation
Her immortal shouldering comet
…..in breathtaking impact…..

An attosecond of exchange!

Mortal and Immortal
Each bestowing more
than either hoping to receive

She, ever so briefly
caresses the mortality of one
savours the intimacy of two
deciphers his briefness of breaths

He, ever so unknowingly
absorbs an iota of the infinite
crafts a palette of luscious imagination
decides his own destiny

Each, glimpsing more than they should
Each, offering more than they could
Each, becoming more than they would

Theirs is an Integrity of Two

Honourably, She returns atop Her jade throne
   content to be His shy muse

Earnestly, He awaits an untroubled sunset
   feeling surprisingly content
      amongst His own peripheral thoughts

….. for upon this eve,
      …..will dream of Dragons…..

Scolded Heart


His cadenced, wistful, trusting heart
vowed amaranthine fidelity
pending only her quiescent antiphon


Our” coalescent trice…..
Our” coherent jiff…..
Our” conjoined breaths…..
Our” onliest destiny…..

Witnessed betwixt a duet of
amorphous, ensorcelled realms…..

The Azure Dragon
      Qinglong     Seiryū     Cheongnyong     Thanh Long
The White Tiger
      Baihu     Byakko     Baekho     Bạch Hổ

Cautioned afore, was I
Excessively emboldened, I became
Prior exhortations, I scorned
Supremely confident, I embarked

Only to have embraced…..

…..a Wraith


Blame not the Scolders…..

Gallery bystanders anchored in awe
silently bandaged their veracious perceptions
loathe to waste any shredded weave
original of mine own infatuated garments

Remnants of my scolded heart
whispering breathlessly
skipping only to a muted, abandoned rhythm


Her familiar entitlement merely punctuates
His Dragon’s share of horror and hallelujah

I willingly accept all unanticipated burdens
now my weight to bear

My Integrity….. intact

I zestfully gaze upon dawning sanguine horizons

Now, solo patience nurtures abundant clarity
Now, is so very near…..

Apprentice once more! HUZZAH!

Dare I shyly serenade afresh…..
…..hopeful of an unwritten concerto?

 Heart beats…..
   Hearts beat…..


     ….. tsktsk…..tsktsk…..  …..lubdub…..LUBDUB…..

Lesson learned…..
A silhouetted silence casts the darkest shadow

… and if I may, I chose to include the following background history of ‘scold‘, as I was delighted to learn of this, after I completed these recent scratchings! Unintentional irony – the best kind!

Word History: A scold is not usually a poet and a scolding rarely sounds like poetry to the one being scolded, but it seems that the word scold has a poetic background. It is probable that scold, first recorded in Middle English in a work probably composed around 1150, has a Scandinavian source related to the Old Icelandic word skld, “poet.” Middle English scolde may in fact mean “a minstrel,” but of that we are not sure. However, its Middle English meanings, “a ribald abusive person” and “a shrewish chiding woman,” may be related to skld, as shown by the senses of some of the Old Icelandic words derived from skld. Old Icelandic skldskapr, for example, meant “poetry” in a good sense but also “a libel in verse,” while skld-stöng meant “a pole with imprecations or charms scratched on it.” It would seem that libelous cursing verse was a noted part of at least some poets’ productions and that this association with poets passed firmly along with the Scandinavian borrowing into English.


Shoulders square, head imperceptibly tilted

eyes open and targeted asea

Traveller patiently endures the abstracted, infinite horizon

jocosely mirroring his angled, wry smile

Atop his burnished driftwood throne

Traveller is a single audience to

rhythmic tides dancing with dappled timber

to and fro

synchronizing with his casually swinging legs


more earnestly

his unyieldingly pounding heart

Hardly, a stubborn heartbeat

Moreso, a consistent heartbeat

Abruptly launching himself from stasis

Traveller capers youthfully

from stone to slippery stone…..

With each forward bound

he does not notice

fleeting prismatic anklets of expanding supernovae

anchoring him safely to this beach

Traveller senses

should he tarry

in excess

this would inevitably

court heartbreak ….. anon

Insistent sea spume momentarily outlines

each location where Traveller has strode

Which is more important to Traveller?

The direction of pace

or the solidity of place?

He needs travel so slow

He needs travel solo

for now…..

Antipodal heartbeats

each taking steps closer

battling incongruous unison

each taking steps further away

Whom awaits for ……


Her Wisp Hers

A disparate, empty, moonless night

couples with

an insensitive, smothering, emulous mist


subdue the weary, disconsolate, heartbroken



Leviathan driftwood, itself,

sea polished, fog drenched,

jestingly carved as a Dragon,

serves as his evanescent throne


Here reigns his broken heart


Eyelids clenched so tight

his tears permitted to emerge only as icy mist


Why must he always slip on the smoothest, roundest, most perfect stones on the beach?


Her breath

Her warmth

Her whispers

now but cruelly severed anamneses


Each, and more

shattered by the thrumming silence of the still tidal water


”Neath a moonless night

‘Neath a weighty fog

‘Neath clenched eyelids

On a smooth, slippery stoned beach

Littered with magnificent driftwood Dragon Thrones

Lies the broken heart of a Traveller


He needs breathe

but is unable to inhale




These digital scratches were inspired from an accidental post, crafted by a writer-poet EVERYONE should find, read and follow:

Coco J. Ginger at http://courtingmadness.wordpress.com/

Thank you for the inspiration and allowing me to feel the breeze while hitchhiking on your magic carpet of words!


You might be reminded of me when you’re travelling

You might be reminded of me when you’re near a fireplace

You might be reminded of me when you make cinnamon rolls

You might be reminded of me when you’re not gardening

You might be reminded of me when you need a shoulder

You might be reminded of me when you send a postcard

You might be reminded of me when you’re in a rush

You might be reminded of me when you’re cycling

You might be reminded of me when he awakens next to you

You might be reminded of me when he abandons you

You might be reminded of me when comforted from nightmares

You might be reminded of me when you read his poetry

You might be reminded of me when laughing and studying

You might be reminded of me when you’re glancing at other men

Or maybe you will avoid being reminded of me ever again.

I will always remember what went wrong

I have been scolded that I cared for too long

And memories answer to such a fickle temptress

But I am told that it will get better and I remind myself I no longer need to be with you.
Remembering is treacherous as is exchanging passions for the unknown,
the heartbeats for my senses only – invisible, yet familiar companions

Because reminders become placeholders for fleeting moments of healing

You might be reminded of me when you kiss him

When you gaze down and offer to him, that same answer, I once forever requested

You might be reminded of me when you sojourn to The Azure Dragon – and turn both your lives into one

The Transits of Random

She is a trickstress

camouflaged as…..


I dance NOT

with every boisterous coincidence

intent on interrupting

my seemingly random Waltz!

Adventitious ardor….

Cast not your appealing wink

as I transit your ballroom!

It is, true….

I will shock you with

my deepest. darkest secret…..


…..know not


…..to Waltz!



And somewhere amidst

this seemingly random

troupe of dancers

…..she must be there

my seemingly random…..


Will I summon the courage

to ask…..

May I have this dance?