Of a star so unimaginably distant
I know not how to behold her light

Of a heart so immeasurably near
I know not where to feel her rhythm

Of a star so infinitely crushed
I know not how to release her light

Of a heart so discretely braced
I know not how to salve her passion

Of a star so irresistibly ablaze
I know not how to shield myself

Of a heart so passionately aflame
I know not how to avert my gaze

Of a universe so seductively intended for……

Of a heart so exquisitely zoetic for…..

I know how to cede

I know…..

       (a ….. companion piece for ….. Stellaris)

Of Novae and Hearts


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.

Wyvern Memoirs…..

Of a deep, earthy, burgundy hue

his leather-bound, scarred, injured journal

veers majestically apace

lonely star-speckled beach pebbles

all inescapably dormant

each positioned adoringly

upon his star polished driftwood nightstand


He sleeps, aside…..

A weathered, comfortable, familiar

reflectively golden feathered Quill

mystically engineered of

silver edged vane

rainbow tinted rachis

emerald carved barb

thundercloud laced afterfeather

achingly hollow calamus…..

Quill mutely rests upon

the tattooed barrier blockading his scribbled memoirs


What Wyvern soars employing such resplendent armour?

Rests upon? Nay!


Quill passionately clasps and guards

the now dormant scratchings contained within

Quill patiently strokes his etched chronology

swaying in rhyme with the whispering breeze

which sensually enters through an adjacent oriel


All contestants, coolly urging him to


release your annals, encore


allow Nib and Papyrus to embrace


let loose your imaginings


abandon shyness


Let her know…..



He stirs…..

When provoked sufficiently,

His torrid script burns amidst concupiscent entwinings


Quill longs to swirl indecently

captured within an azure drenched inkwell

Nib and Papyrus adhere

contained within their mirrored strokes of passion

touching only to conceive a trailing wake of memories…..

madness        sensuous             tenuous         tender

   chaotic             pulsating           fearful          lustful


His past essence

His emotional legacy



Quill, sans zephyr

trembles with potent pleasure

Nib and Papyrus, in tense with direction

shiver with azure anticipation


He craves clarity from distant echoes

He desires closure from mirrored confusion

He seeks release from her stoic silence


He cradles Quill


A shout of wind accelerates his journal

parting the excited blank codex within

He immerses Quill in moist azure mercury…..




Traveller’s Aubade

Moonlight and starbeams

nod reluctantly

patiently enduring their early mourning retreat

reflecting torridly

upon their contempo journal entries……

Unique motes of cosmic brilliance

eternally grateful

even, satisfied

to have

engraved their passionate lyrics

upon the living texture of…..



Triumphant morning light

bursts spontaneously

from the parturition of morn

sprinting furiously headlong

craving their newly apportioned

instances of time and space

upon the living tapestry of…..



Their nightly impatience

offset by daily victory

conquering an infinity of translucent milky glow

now in abeyance and adrift of gravity


He covets succor from invisible debris

cast off from an eternally overhead

nocturnal stellar rainbow



Traveller, arms akimbo

positioned stolidly


stoically facing the birth of dawn


His now growing, expectant smile

radiates in tandem with the emerging sunrise


Effortlessly, patiently, lovingly…..

first his left arm

then his right

Traveller extends and offers

his naked palms and bare forearms

each, as a willing canvas

mirroring the eastern born Sol


Aeaeae artes


Fatidic scars….. surface

conceived by the newborn aurora

painlessly inscribe

radiant symbols

sublime diagrams

ancient words

whilst dancing randomly

upon his now pulsing forearms

and then ….. all scratchings levitate




with his own

ocean blue eyes


Traveller …. Reads!


Of Futures not yet

…..that rhyme with chromas of nebulae

Of Pasts that should have been

…..that purr with exploding novae

Of Presents that might yet occur

…..that pause with the hue of possibility


Traveller prescinds

…..each and every

one and all…..

…..quotidian souls…..

he has ever encountered


And is again engulfed

with gratitude and love


Traveller’s dawning words

sung solo

have always been….


“Thank you”


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

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