COLLECTION THE FIRST: JOYFUL NOISE FROM A BROKEN HEART
COLLECTION THE SECOND: TRANSFORMATION
COLLECTION FROM RAIN-KISSED NIGHTS: CARESSED BY KAMA
COLLECTION FROM THE REALMS OF FAERIE: AN ANCIENT MUSIC
“this most excellent canopy, the air, look you,
this brave o’erhanging firmament,
this majestical roof fretted with golden fire
why, it appeareth no other thing to me than a foul
and pestilent congregation of vapours.”
~Hamlet, Act II, Scene II
Working with the paltry word is very much like working with metal to give it a shape and form, to structure it and temper it until you hold something artful in your hands. A sword can cleave through iron, wood and men but a word can cleave through injustice and untruth. A lamp can keep the night from your eyes and hold your fears at bay but a word can light your mind and awaken the sleeping giant of your intelligence.
And yet, it is such a pitiful thing. Our words can never match the power and brilliance of thought. They are only ever echoes. Writing a poem is like walking through a forest aflame with crimson, gold and emerald and all you have to show for it is a handful of dried and faded leaves. Yet we try, ever do we try. We struggle to bring our thoughts to life, to share and to illumine the dark places of our minds. Long live the word and those brave enough to melt it, join it and give shape to our thoughts.