ii.

He knew he was loathed
by all in the zoo,
so he crowned himself king
of all that he knew

and swallowed it whole
’til his gut nearly burst —
yet still he kept feeding
his bottomless thirst.

And now he lies there
on top of his tree,
engorged and distorted
for all eyes to see.

✋🏼🧵

Slither
A #poetry thread

—

i.

There was an orange snake
who climbed up a tree
to bask in the light
and hiss, “hey, look at me!”

He came from a sewer
to surface here, thither,
and rise to the sky
on his winding sly slither.

He made it up there
by shedding his skin
again and again,
each layer worn thin,

for he brooked no dissent
nor doubt of his scales.
This slick serpent slept
on a fake bed of nails.

🧵👇🏼

#poem #poemaday #snake #naturephotography #wildlifephotography #photography

ii.

No wing yet free, no skies yet claimed,
just silent beats of songs unsung;
the world they were is buried, pained,
that lyres with new words may be strung.

Once shells give way, horizons part,
and rainbowed music sounds, takes wing,
new worlds will break the old apart —
the butterflies’ bright choir will sing.

✋🏼🧵

Pupæ
A #poetry thread

—

i.

They hang like commas, green and curled
from word-hung branches, a sentence grows;
they're folded into minds still furled
to punctuate new worlds that flow.

Each pupa’s case still holds its breath,
in blanket sewn with silk and time.
The caterpillar cheats its death
to form a brighter, stranger rhyme.

🧵👇🏼

#poem #poemaday #pupae #butterfly #butterflies #nature #naturephotography #symmetry #photography

ii.

The statue was well made.
It showed him, flute raised to his lips,
playing a honeyed, hollow tune.
The pipe looks gold? No — orange rust drips.

The statue took prime place
in the palace he'd remade
with all the gold he’d taken from
the people he chose not to save.

Too late. He's spiked the door,
this messiah of ill repute.
He sits, arms folded, in his oval room
and the mad piper plays his flute.

✋🏼🧵

Piper
A #poetry thread

—

i.

Into the grand old palace
stepped the great man of his people,
chosen by them and God
to dig them out of their deep hole.

And soon he set to work
remaking the palace as he liked
and had for him a portrait made
carved from white marble with a spike.

🧵👇🏼

#poem #poemaday #monochrome #blackandwhite #classicmono #photography

ii.

I stand at the gate
of the noble house’s old house,
no longer does its fate
such hot passions arouse.

And there, far up, high,
in the arc of an arch,
forgotten old Niklot sighs,
holds his spear of stiff larch

on the back of his steed:
a copper-green statue
that bears witness to the need
of the house it’s attached to

to stay in step with time.
I turn and look away
to walk far from this shrine
to his silent decay.

✋🏼🧵

Schwerin
A #poetry thread

—

i.

A noble house, famed,
was founded by a Slav lord
who was defeated and slain
by a swift Saxon sword:

House Mecklenburg rose
from Niklot’s nadir on the plains
to build a fortress, imposed
on his old lands once again

from the wreck of his past
rose the line of Prussian kings,
his legacy flowed at last
into the Kaisers’ riveted iron ring —

🧵👇🏼

#poem #poemaday #castle #symmetry #monochrome #blackandwhite #classicmono #photography

iv.

Mine eyes are drawn high
to the peak of the arch,
to cold sandstone sky,
to the roof of the church

that seems held up by glass.
A miracle of time.
Like me, it bears its high mass
veined through with sacrificial wine.

And there through high window
I see distant skies,
a personal limbo
to which my soul flies.

✋🏼🧵

iii.

And then my step falters
at the cathedral’s high apse,
behind the Gothic high altar.
My hands are still clasped

around the small book
with the cracked leather spine
that shares my worn look:
its presence is mine.

🧵👇🏼

ii.

Like him I cry out words,
but stay stuck at verse two,
where no answer is heard
from what heavens I knew.

For my body is broken,
but no one may partake
of me as a token
of what someone spake:

Though my mind is still there,
it lives in a bone cage
of pains worse for wear,
my bitter life’s wage.

🧵👇🏼

Vertigo
A #poetry thread

—

i.

There in the dull dark
of cathedral side aisle
I step forth and embark
on a walk for awhile

along the side altars,
for years still unused.
I carry a psalter,
worn leather, deep grooves.

One page is well worn:
of Psalm 22,
for the forsaken with thorns
who called out unto You.

🧵👇🏼

#poetry #poem #poemaday #gothic #monochrome #blackandwhite #classicmono #photography #chronicillness #chronicpain

Daughter

Young shutterbug
stands warm and snug
in glow-rug of her phone.
I watch her frame
her shot, her way,
and make it all her own —

memory

#poem #poemaday #poetry #streetphotography #monochrome #blackandwhite #photography #classicmono

ii.

Faint bells I hear,
their long silence waived,
though ages passed since
they’d entered death’s conclave.

But rather than be
by their doom enslaved,
I walk on out —
my final
wave.

✋🏼🧵

Wave
A #poetry thread

—

i.

In this womb,
this sandstone cave,
lie men entombed
in hopes they’re saved,
bones scattered through
the yawning nave
with safety bells
hung in their graves.

I walk the aisle
with markers paved,
each slab of stone
with names engraved
to keep what fame
they each could crave.

🧵👇🏼

#poem #poemaday #gothic #monochrome #blackandwhite #longexposure #photography #classicmono

Left

In light heart of Prague
he sits alone.
Amidst this beauty
he swipes his phone…
left —

#poem #poemaday #poetry #doomscrolling #streetphotography #monochrome #blackandwhite #photography

Fame

Statue stands tall
on his stone column plinth
in a Gothic church aisle
like a figure of myth.

Exposed to the eyes
of all those who pass by:
they don't hear the sighs
that drift down from his sky.

For this marble-made man
placed high on his perch
never chose, nor did he plan
to be showcased in this church —

for all that he sought
was to find solace and peace,
not be of rock wrought
and be strangers’ feast.

#poem #poemaday #poetry #gothic #monochrome #blackandwhite #classicmono

Nave

Tall Gothic columns:
stone stretched high
to sprout arch blossoms.
A bee am I.

#poem #poemaday #poetry #gothic #church #cathedral #monochrome #blackandwhite #photography #classicmono #silentsunday

iii.

Meanwhile, up there on world rooftop
the avalanche’s crack and pop
is yet unheard. But far below
the chalets in the peaks of snow

the people hear the glaciers’ peal,
first signs of motion. Fates are sealed
for all the statues’ feet of clay.
The ice will melt and they will pay.

✋🏼🧵

ii.

whose fate they claim they can decide
up in snow mountains, where they hide:
the skiing’s good on rooftop slopes —
while people starve and lose all hope.

And there among the potentates
slumps one who says he’ll make things great,
his thorny crown is self-imposed.
A sacrificial lamb exposed.

🧵👇🏼