I have always been one who delves,unmoved by books gathered on shelves,no longer willing to still pretend—I prefer each raw beginning to its end. So I set off once more this night,armed with pen and paper for the write,into this...

I am always as dark as my inkborn in a most distant ageas alluring as I am sageliving my life on death's brinkUsing this wicked smilejust to get what I wantable to tease then tauntwith a most lethal beguileFor...

It begins—not with a word—but a winnowing of silence.An inkling.This hush before quill bleedsonto the parchment.The ink drop dangles,glistens in my candlelight.A golden glimmer on a black drop. That is all it takes.As doubt ripples, certainty dissolves,while the poetry spills. I...

Now it seems so easy to see,my path traced in a dusted destiny –all these truths which lie in store,far beyond each African shore. I sailed across a world so wideto allow my soul to no longer hide.Barefoot, I stepped...

I am but a sorceress of the night,wielding rhyme within my write,as I pen another transcending poem,while I let my wicked heart roam. With just a flick and a whispered word—no need for broom or black cat stirred—I transmute silence...