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Retrospective | Butterflyweaver Press
https://butterflyweaverpress.wordpress.com/2011/01/01/retrospective
Ars Poetica – collection of original poetry. For Fellow Travelers…. Ex Libris II →. January 1, 2011 · 10:15 pm. 2010 was a very challenging year creatively and practically. It brought with it much change and a chance to ground myself in a new reality. In honor of the new year breaking open to offer its new chances to dream, live and learn, I have decided to dismantle what has hitherto been my only WordPress site: Atelier Pigmenta Peregrinae. Another new addition will be The Lepidopterarium. Fill in your ...
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Ex Libris II | Butterflyweaver Press
https://butterflyweaverpress.wordpress.com/2011/03/29/ex-libris-ii
Ars Poetica – collection of original poetry. For Fellow Travelers…. New Release: RICHARD MOULT ‘CELESTIAL KING FOR A YEAR’ →. March 29, 2011 · 5:41 am. I wandered many years alone and wordless. In the midnight shadows of cloister walks. Breathing in the coolness of air infused with spent incense. And feeling the echoes of plainchant still reverberating in my soul. In the silent darkness I would steal away into the library. That housed in over a hundred thousand books. At the break of dawn. I constructed ...
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Prose Journal | Butterflyweaver Press
https://butterflyweaverpress.wordpress.com/prose-journal
Ars Poetica – collection of original poetry. For Fellow Travelers…. This section is a place where different prose writing projects are posted. Some are continuous journals. Others are hermetically sealed unica. The diverse entries can be found on the sidebar. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public). You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out. Notify me of new comments via email. Join 4 othe...
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Keening Woman | Butterflyweaver Press
https://butterflyweaverpress.wordpress.com/ars-poetica-collection-of-original-poetry/keening-woman
Ars Poetica – collection of original poetry. For Fellow Travelers…. The mocking bird stopped. Taunting outside your window. While I danced at the grove. I could not let go. Not a tear was shed. With profound inner calmness. I rested my head by your temple. On the sweat-drenched pillow. And became a clear light. With barely a breath. With the fierce power. Of a lioness tearing her. Carried you off anyway. On her heaving body. And my voice speaking. How could I mourn. There was no wake. Dreams in the long.
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leaves of becoming II | Butterflyweaver Press
https://butterflyweaverpress.wordpress.com/ars-poetica-collection-of-original-poetry/leaves-of-becoming-ii
Ars Poetica – collection of original poetry. For Fellow Travelers…. Leaves of becoming II. Until it closed behind me. Reverberating the birth of stars. In some distant fold. Creating a new universe. To have said the word. To have given it a name. To have given it form. Which could be seen. And shall ever be. Call it another name. Still it will come. Only feeling its warmth. Photo taken in a cemetery in Bonn, Germany. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Address never made public). The Wom...
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Chiffre of Hope | Butterflyweaver Press
https://butterflyweaverpress.wordpress.com/ars-poetica-collection-of-original-poetry/chiffre-of-hope
Ars Poetica – collection of original poetry. For Fellow Travelers…. The eighth day’s dawning. For whom the sabbath. Has grown too long? The soul of desire. The heart of waking? In the ink black night. My photograph from a monastery in Germany. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public). You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out. Middot...
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Whither have my spaces gone? | Butterflyweaver Press
https://butterflyweaverpress.wordpress.com/2011/05/15/whither-have-my-spaces-gone
Ars Poetica – collection of original poetry. For Fellow Travelers…. New Release: RICHARD MOULT ‘CELESTIAL KING FOR A YEAR’. May 15, 2011 · 11:11 pm. Whither have my spaces gone? I was somewhat amused to notice today that the spaces that once graced some of my poetical works have ceased to be. Whither have they gone? If anyone in the WordPress world knows a way to right this dreadful wrong do share your notes. My poems do not like to be squinched up. One response to “. Whither have my spaces gone? Windros...
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Mirrors | Butterflyweaver Press
https://butterflyweaverpress.wordpress.com/ars-poetica-collection-of-original-poetry/mirrors
Ars Poetica – collection of original poetry. For Fellow Travelers…. Blinded by the image. In the mirror made. The beauty of the woman standing. Where birds become fishes. Breathing water to wake up. Into a new reality. And do not fly again. The waves of words. Once diffuse and without form. Supporting my every thought. Learning to breathe fire. Learning to weave new patterns out. Learning to appreciate how the sun glints. In the broken yet intact mirror. A gift beyond measure. Leave a Reply Cancel reply.
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Hope in Flight | Butterflyweaver Press
https://butterflyweaverpress.wordpress.com/ars-poetica-collection-of-original-poetry/hope-in-flight
Ars Poetica – collection of original poetry. For Fellow Travelers…. Hovering in the air. Like a child’s paper airplane. So beautiful in concept;. Light and perfect in form-. But a whisper of air. Could keep it airborne. But dreams hit the pavement. And like a child. Flatten out the creases. And fold them anew. In the hope the dream will fly again. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public). Ghosts in the gloaming.
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Child of Midnight – a sestina | Butterflyweaver Press
https://butterflyweaverpress.wordpress.com/ars-poetica-collection-of-original-poetry/child-of-midnight-a-sestina
Ars Poetica – collection of original poetry. For Fellow Travelers…. Child of Midnight – a sestina. Child of midnight born in the hour where silence. Reigns, his single voice broke through the pain perfected. As the universe incorporated his frame. Making a mere metaphor of the boundaries. Of skin wherein constellations resonated. Songs of stars being birthed to unwritten music. Who is this child to whom was the secret music. Entrusted while the world slept broken in silence;. Which appeared to most as st...