[EDIT] Fixed. The greatest love story ever to be told in seven parts.

[EDIT] fixed. Fire, fire, mark my pyre.

[EDIT] fixed. A villanelle in 6 sentences. Memories and musings, over the warmth of time and wine.

[EDIT] fixed. Memories of love, in four parts.

The story of the works of Man. Flash fiction in 6 sentences.

About love and the waves.

A whisper in the break of troubled day.

The touch of a hand on the lap of a grandfather who smiles as though he has never seen war; the mingling of the senses with the conviction of inevitability. A metaphysical trip through the life of a couple in the endlessness of time.

The chance of night is same as yesterday", the program intoned, "but of course, host reality may be modified in any way you see fit".

A collection of short stories sharing a common theme.

a trip, a fall; alone, the taste of gall.

The time of man is short, and is lost just like a leaf in autumn.

From man to steel to flesh of man, but never will he be content again.

and the wind, it is so cold.

The dreams of dying men

Love is a flower, borne by gusts of wind.

I am a medic. I take pride in my vocation, my skills, and the responsibilities entrusted to me.

And heaven in a wild-flower

A bit of a rain.

Second half of sonnet double-bill.

First half of sonnet double-bill.

A multipart epic poem I started some time back, and only recently decided to start finishing. Dedicated to Fate and her many incarnations and manifestations.

The heart of man can only be so big.

The belly of the beast.

A sonnet cycle sonnets 45-48

The truth in the universe does not lie in grandness.

Dedicated to the youth of this world. You're all fucked, good luck to you, enjoy your life.

You have enough of me already as it is.

The last of the "lost sonnets". July 2006.

The third of the "lost sonnets". Feb '06 again.

Another of the "lost sonnets", 11-14 to be exact. Don't know why I didn't publish them. Written in February 2006 again.

One of the "lost sonnets". Written in February 2006.

Started two years ago, finished in a burst of inspiration.

but what a green meadow full of grasshoppers and cow shit has in common with love i don't know.

a poem about dreaming. in somewhat the same vein as decet 1.

Also called "Corner Lamppost. Inspired by Scarlett Wynter's poem of the same title, if only in spirit.

Almost epic in its execution. An expression of the death of originality and creativity.

A short little thing I wrote while sitting somewhere, feeling the wind.

To be blind to worlds melting outside, only feeling their deaths through the bumps in the carriage.

Hint: it's not the glass that's cut.

something that you bow before but never hears your words

passed away

even i have no idea what this one means

is like a fish out of water

Love is madness.

and young enough to last a lifetime thinking of you

is far too short a time.

those that litter the floor after a carnival

at a clock that, with its hands, choreographed the future, step by step, tick by tick.

Another bastard child of my poetic prowess and my frustration with the sonnet form.

yes, it is. it is also full of shit. it is shit filled with shit.

Another story in the "Steinbeck canon".

lapse, and elapse

full title: a meditation in a field at midnight, when the stars are out with the moon. written on a long walk to an empty field at night.

when dreams are spent uselessly.

the twilight tune of lovers lost to love and time.

to hold you near to me is bliss enough

the next time i try to write one of these...

long-overdue. a personal work.

a short story of discovery.

a castle of roses

of love, as usual. shakespeare, watch out! i'm catching up to you.

Just a little obnoxiously long thing I thought up a while back.

A.K.A. Heart of Gold

I found too late my love did not love me, nor did I love as strongly as I found.

I don't belong to you, my love

Dedicated to those angsting about the insignificance of their lives.

the face of a man is the single most powerful canvas.

trapped in a pane of glass, that glows from the radiation of a million electrons. supposed to be titled locking-glass, but well.

why are you looking at your screen?

the fourth, naturally coming after III, which itself came after II and I.

A brief introduction to some of my favourite characters.

time taken to think is time spent, nearer to dying.

genius is almost necessarily wasted.

a strange little thing that i cannot make up my mind about even years after i wrote it.

are all interpretations and manifestations falsehoods?

a story with no meaning.

a story with a moral, a tragicomedy of particularly small proportions.

it's a bad time for people who don't understand why things have to change.

the true cause of despair.

sometimes things just don't deserve to be made sense of.

for they have wisdom?

another story that wrote itself after a few cups of my favourite sake.

a story that wanted to be written after i listened to les feuilles mortes.

a short, expletivefilled examination of capitalism in the future. i had fun writing and reading this. lots of fun. in fact, the M rating is solely for the profanity.

a simple haiku

three parts: a sonnet, a less restrictive poem, and a random babbling

so much of praise for love so selfdestroying

but is it really a sonnet now?

she is to me, like

better i drown myself in sleep than waking

what holds a person?

sunsets

a redder deed, indeed

it is the night, it is the night that is.

life is living, but of course, we tend to forget that.

i used to be a stormcloud, and brought the rain to man.

tonight is the night of the macrocosm

A journey through the construct known as The Wild.

why do we call ourselves human? surely animals are not possessed of hatred.

monkeys and men- what difference, then?

it's hard to get lost outside. inspired by the other j.c.

another of my musings about life, and goldfish and kites.

The traveller seeks a wisdom lost to Man.

inspired by a friend who asked me how to fold a paper crane.

I: Imperator? Invictus? Immortalis?

dedicated to the runner- she knows who she is

we've all lost a few things as we've moved along in our lives.

experiment? or truth?

a sestina.

and don't stray too near the cage!

as they said, solvet saeclum in favilla, but i bet they didn't mean this kind of solvent.

nothing to summarize, really. you either get it, or you get lost. in a good way.

laugh, sing, and dance! at death's invitation, of course.

'tis all a lie, a lie, but who are we to cry?

Based on Percy Bysshe Shelley's work, a retelling of Ozymandias as I prefer it.

Is it a dream, or a dream within a dream?

Life's just a play, a danse macabre, a date with death!

A response to a work of a friend's, by the same title. A look at the world, while the world looks back.

Who knows the face of true Desire, and who can turn from it?

A villanelle written about Love.

but not the way we should be gray, and far before our day.

have you heard, have you heard, the songs on the wind, or the laughing birds?

another experiment in form. iambic nonameter (except for the first line! and i am proud of this one.

again, night.

love walks in fire and bathes in brimstone.

the sin of happines is born out of one's self.

madness of a higher degree.

times

remember me to one who lives there... my experiment with a new form, 14 lines of heptameter.

love is a poison.

he loved too well, who loved not wise enough... (as shakespeare put it)

a mother's day sonnet- i wrote it long before today, but forgot to post it until now.

why rail against poor Fate, so oft maligned?

the writer's words are but mere mirrors for his heart.

a rather tired song.

hints.

Though honour be another fleeting dream, still, all too real its counterfeit doth seem.

he, who tried to walk amongs the gods

One for Edgar Allan Poe

I heard the moonlight on the mourning downs.

who would be happy with a sunflower's smile?

An experiment in the terzanelle form, don't quite like it myself though.

the children watch him from afar

the old wind, familiar yet different.

what are we, when we have nothing left?

a poem on love. formatting issues with fictionpress mean that you don't see it as it is supposed to be seen...

so spend the summers in study and in science; i bid you merely regret it not.

Though death be swift, his feet betray his burden.

A garden grows beneath mine weary eyes.

Valentine's too...

A different spin on an old puzzle.

Valentine's day poem! Never thought I'd ever get around to writing one.

The clock on the wall ticks ten to nine, ten to nine...

If humans dream of sheep jumping over the fence...

The lovely stone bench in the park, again.

another night in the park, on the familiar stone bench

Time doth all wounds heal.

Mourn; but who is mourning for whom, for what? It helps if you know... but it could be anyone, even if you do not.

it's only words, but words are all i have across the internet...

with every light, there comes the darkest night.

it's my room...?

The final "seasons". Visions of dystopia.

Sonnet no. 4.

Life fifty years down the road...?

The view from a garden in the dystopian future.

A ballade, written in iambic pentameter, four sepstanzas. Still imperfect! Any suggestions for improving the rhyming are greatly appreciated!

Why it is titled such, I cannot remember- I dug this up out of my pile of old poems.

Inspired by the choice everyone has to make- die happy or live. I couldn't decide on the ending couplet- so the second chapter is the alternate ending.

A little satire on some flaws in our modern-day thinking. Guaranteed to make me a few enemies.

a poem inspired by two of my friends, who said: "so cold"; and "we might as well all die in the flames".

The 49th post, a visual work of philosophy.

A story for the deserving and undeserving.

Spot the allegory!

A short, nifty little poem for all and none.

Short story, inspired in no small part by Nietzsche. Originally entitled "De Amor".

The Reclusiam

Analyze this!. Originally called Stuff and Whatnot. Written when I was a little bored.

A cute little short story about innocence.

Raven-inspired lament for the human condition.

An ode to eternal Change.

A poem documenting the life and thoughts of a person. One of my favourite works.

An sonnet to the thinker.

A poem, about hopes, dreams, and endings.

A tribute to the fear that brings us hope.