Grip of Gold


Golden are her tawny tresses,

Golden are her thoughts of late;

Gold her dreams of greener dresses –

Dipped in gold, her dreams await

Days of golden-sunshined splendour,

Tucked neath golden afternoons;

Patient, she will guard her golden

Songs as hope sings gilded tunes.

Going for Gold


Golden sun in golden sky,

Gold my dreams as geese fly by;

Thoughts which, draped in golden threads,

Tuck gold leaves in golden beds.

Days and months have come of age,

Golden words on gilded page;

Denouement of summer’s blush,

Autumn sighs, a golden hush.

Once, When Looking Up

yellow aspen

I see You there, covering

me – a cathedral ceiling

of finespun gold, aspen-boughs

crowning my way with glory.


I hear You in the whisper,

silent assignations passed

from one trembling yellow throat

to another, gentle sighs.


I feel Your gaze rocking me sweet,

and I breathe, slow and deep, pause

mid-stride to rest in dappled

acceptance, cherished by shade.


You are here. You, Your essence,

Your presence – it sings, sunshine

in shadow, gold filigree

on an altar made of wood.


Splintered, I crack open. Your

notes rustle in my veins, seep

past knots, and I’m rooted here,

utterly, completely me.

Her Flaws Are Preserved in Amber


Her flaws are preserved in amber,

cryogenic perpetuations cropping up

in her seedlings –

unless she warms up to the possibility

that grace

glows gold…

Going for Gold


Slammed in the deep-freeze,

put on ice and left to dry;

sapless, hopeless, helpless –

until she encounters

the Lord of the Wood.

All winter,

roots have dug in desperation

and found vein.

Hands and heart have swayed in wind

and leaves have leaked,

discarded rainbow offering,


cast aside

for something more precious.


finds Ore

and as hope oozes,

she’s going for gold…

He Never Saw Her Value

He never saw her value,

the way the sun drew out

the gold in her hair and  her heart,

until it was too late.



mining worth from the

crumbs he tossed at her feet,

she died to him slowly;

over years of neglect,

the arteries seeking sap

withered and found new source.

He reaches,

but grasps air –

she is falling,


ore he can no longer touch,

gem he can no longer claim

as his own.