from verdant bud
petals’ shy revealing
blushing at the sun’s warm kisses
the hidden nectar, a sweet seduction
to hungry dance of birds and bees
sensuous, you make seed
so new life may


Words and Photography ©2017 Tanya Cliff ~ to contact me

Entry posted in poetry & Rictameter Verse. Bookmark the permalink.


Please check out Linda J. Wollf’s  explanation and example of Rictameter Verse:

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BUT IS IT ART? // Unsung Beauty — unbolt me

This was supposed to be another ‘But is it Art?’, but it didn’t quite turn out that way. As always, Tati came to the party in a pugnacious mood, ready to smash Tony with her witty questions. And, boy, did she ever! They discussed women’s bodies and women’s rights. They even discussed Greek […]

via BUT IS IT ART? // Unsung Beauty — unbolt me

Robert Graves: The Last Post


Robert Graves by Lady Ottoline Morrell vintage snapshot print, 1920


The bugler sent a call of high romance—
“Lights out! Lights out!” to the deserted square.
On the thin brazen notes he threw a prayer,
“God, if it’s this for me next time in France…
O spare the phantom bugle as I lie
Dead in the gas and smoke and roar of guns,
Dead in a row with the other broken ones
Lying so stiff and still under the sky,
Jolly young Fusiliers too good to die.”


William Butler Yeats: The Second Coming


Portrait of William Butler Yeats by John Singer Sargent, pencil, 9 x 6 in.


Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.


Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.


The darkness drops again but now I know

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?


NOTE: “The Second Coming” was published in the Michael Robartes andthe Dancer (1920).