It starts with a flutter,

Gentle rain kisses my face from above,

Then moves to a surge,

Steady pouring, heart beat, tattoo on my skin,

Building to thunder,

A torrent caress soaking me through and through,

The shudder you bring to my soul.


Words errant satiety image courtesy of candela-di-vita on deviantART





A tale of two cities (OM’s FFFC)

This is my response to OM’s Flash Fiction Friday Challenge, I am late but I have a note so I am excused. Not sure if I have actually met the brief but this is my take:

I dreamt of her spires last night, the gleaming beauty masking the terror and oppression housed within. A city, now forgotten, swallowed by hungry jungle eager to devour the cruel Titan who had ruled with hateful heart. Spires dressed in gold ripped from the earths womb by fear filled citizens bent on completion lest the masters wroth be stirred. Where slave market once stood, jaguar pads softly scenting the air in search of mate. The earth rumbled her warnings shaking the mine to prohibit his incessant gluttony. But he took no heed, instead executing all survivors as guilty of the ruin. Life was cheap and the loss of his entertainment. The execution square, built of pain and fear, now houses a bower of strange dark orchids. Such a terrifying man, all cowered beneath his ruthlessness, but pestilence did not; disease struck him and all with evil hearts within the city. The survivors fled the cursed ground taking with them their blessed lives as they sought holier ground. The cities name lost in history as the minds of those that lived erased terrible memory of the beast that had ruled them; building a rotten empire from the blood of their sacrifice. Stars, once blackened by acrid smoke of burning dead flesh, now bright and clear for the ghosts of this place to gaze on and sigh softly as peace is restored to their hearts. His grand hall now home to families of cheerful monkeys, they frolic, impervious to the fading painted walls depicting his dark deeds, ignorant of the wealth in gems pouring from his rotting coffers. Spires of gold patterned with the lace of vines, gradually breaking apart this city of pain, coveted gold falling back to the earth whence it came.

Lost in Motion revisited

Some time ago I posted a clip of Canadian dancer Guillaume Côté dancing. The piece was a part of a series depicting the emotions performers feel when they expose their souls for all to see. This piece performed by Heather Ogden, choreographed by Guillaume Côté with a Leonard Cohen soundtrack, is the second in the series…




Reimagining Vivaldi

It is always intriguing to see a film adaptation of a book we have read and loved. I have learned to treat the film as different to the book, a screenplay must alter a book to fit a film narrative, and enjoy it as a re-imagining of the book. With an open mind I experience the directors take on the story, how they imagined the characters to be, and see what essence they keep and run with. I came across this astounding piece of music tonight from composer Max Richter. It is his re-imagining of the legendary Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. It is a wonderful combination of Max Richter’s particular sound and the beauty of Vivaldi. Listening to this work is unlike hearing a cover or remake of a single song because he has rewritten the piece in its entirety. It is well worth a listen…



Tear never shed

Jodhpur Sunset


restless tear



held at cliff of canthus



in corner of eye

a near perfect orb

reflecting upside-down world


momentary glimpse

time capsule of moment

limbs muted

I struggle

an ocean of feeling

swell of relentless rogue waves

devastating intensity

awash in the rigorous power

Earth’s magnificence

my tear poised


remembering rush of blood

surge of sanguine fluid

life transported in minutiae

rich with nourishment

thick with memories

parentage and ancestors

no sound passed lips

history played out

film length

beneath infant eyes

no sound left throat

as I passed into the world

fear and pain surrounding me

a solitary tear held in

never breaking cusp of lid

drawn back in

to remember

to hold

to revere

to cherish

to understand

I arrived in silence

and only ever breathed love



Words and image errant satiety


Raven and Lockets

Mementos tucked safe within the locket of my mind. Words whispered, voice hushed and raw with emotion. Hearts thunder when reciprocated love revealed. A shooting star that blazed in earnest while in silent embrace we watched enthralled. Scent from the base of your earlobe. A pressed flower from the field of our love. The sound of your approach. Tears shed in shared grief. The hum of satiated carnal delight. Sensations and images varied, sharing only the thread of our narrative, one I pray will never end.


Image courtesy of Phedre1985 on deviantART


Iurie Belegurschi

Night upon night I silently dream of the gods in their heavenly home. This night, song of wonder, laden with aching sublime beauty finally tore sound of awe from throat capturing attention of he, glory of glory, unfathomable majesty, his eyes turned to mine. Irises opened to see beyond time, gift of sight blessing of his omnipotent gaze. Seeing my eyes, open, unwavering as I fearlessly accept his gift, knowing that I hear the music of the spheres, he calls for me to join their feast. Gracefully accepting I am drawn effortlessly toward sky. Hair cascades around me adorned with stars, nightgown woven to threaded gown of gold, my skin illuminated from within, I become a jewel of the night. He asks me to dance a celestial turn with he, comet birthed at the joining of our hands, he sets crown wrought from Northern lights atop my glittering head and laughing dances me through the many worlds. My hearts master, my love, cannot from task stray too long and at comets return I with earth reunited yet sacred, rainbow eyed son of mine carries knowledge in his heart gifted from distant father, as I still see across worlds to kiss beloved Rígr and whisper wish to him of steadfast love and task.


Inspired by myths and the poem Rígsþula or Rígsmál (“Lay of Ríg”) about the Norse god Heimdallr, known as Rígr when walking the lands. Both images of the Northern lights: Image one Iurie Belegurschi and image two Miriadna.