The poetry and prose on this page
are a selection from carolyn’s favorites
and will change every few months.

use arrow buttons for next selection

I Become A Womb

The dark impregnates dusk
with ancient wisdom.

I become a womb
in which the night may thrive,
impart her secrets,
inseminate with seeds of insight.

Shadows emanating
from the ebony air,
struggle to breathe,
uttering a language
yet to be spoken.

I must become
more silent to hear.

A Gull’s Song

Gazing upon
the lost bay of Atlantis
gilded with mist,
drifting and diaphanous,
I fill with rapture.

Robed in the silhouette
of a weeping darkness,
I bow in homage
to this sacred beauty.

A gold moon rises now
from behind the black mountain,
casting an illumined path
directly to my heart.

And like a gull’s song
sweeping the night,
my spirit soars.

An Alien Wave

What was once
the ocean’s blue-green soul
appears in a whirl
while monster waves
heave and growl
and the dark of night
hides galactic light.

I feel a curdling
in my veins tonight,
an eyelid fluttering
from the heart.

Sometimes the flesh
has a foreign tongue
and the heart must withdraw
relying on faith alone,
like an alien wave
in the abysmal seas,
its crest torn amidst
wayfaring cries.

As a new week approaches,
the next adventure sighs,
and I long for the magic
of an unbridled ride.

Gazing Into the Void

Into the night we wander
searching for each other.

Finally I find you–
sitting on a cliff within,
gazing into the Void.

“Are you lonely?”
I ask with compassion
as I sit by your side.

“Lonely?” you ask with a chuckle.
“How could I be lonely
with the Void as my Beloved?”

“Ha,” I retort. “I understand.”

And together we gaze
with the one eye of ourselves
into the vast Beloved.

My Runaway Slave

(for DC)

O angel, O angel,
my runaway slave,
you fly like an eagle–
so tender and brave.

Beyond the cacophony
the city can bring;
your crystalline bell
continues to sing.

O angel, O angel,
my runaway slave,
you carry me with you–
away from the maze.

When I dissolve,
your comforting form
shines like the sun
dependable and warm.

O angel, O angel,
my runaway slave,
you fly like an eagle –
so tender and brave.

Beyond the cacophony
the city can bring,
your crystalline bell
continues to sing.

Private Gardens

Finally, the gardens are private. I am the only one here except for the wind, which thrashes the limbs and tresses of nearby trees, all the while making love to them in its own dashing way, snipping away excess hair, giving them new styles. All the forest has to do is stand there and bear this wild loving with the wild scissors trimming years of growth in an instant, yet merging in the passion that for a moment is theirs.

Our Woven Terrace to the Stars

(for DC)

Our woven terrace
led to the stars.
Below, a lush forest of fragrant
fig and plum trees blossomed,
their seeds exploding in the heat.

When you held me
tightly in your arms,
the fire of our fulfillment
melted any separation,
and every enchanted moment
led to new wonders.

Now that you have departed,
I feast on the memories
of our intimate adventure.

Our terrace led to the stars.
And so did you.
I took your lead,
and some secret realm
was discovered.

We became ever closer
while the forests burgeoned
and the heavens bloomed
from our fertile seed within.