"I like beautiful melodies telling me terrible things." -Tom Waits

Featured post

White Wind

It takes so much effort to separate the present from the past I am a dam on the verge of breaking I am a damned one And the waves are coming, surge by surge by surge I am eroding No holds barred.   So we speak to each other, but don’t believe what we say... Continue Reading →

A Tale from the Shore

I wrote this one as a birthday present for perhaps the greatest friend I could wish for. This is for J. – and, I guess, for life, with all its ups and downs and roundabouts, never easy, but always worth living.   You need not to climb mountain tops You need not to cross the... Continue Reading →


It was fairly strange, the fact how long those four point seven seconds between when the bomb detonated down in the foundation and when he actually started to feel his office floor shifting could stretch. One instant he stood by his desk with a hand on the edge, pristine black glass – he detested mahogany,... Continue Reading →

Guthrie G.

The world – if crafted right – is made up of explosions. In the quietest moments, the thunder is roaring And if you look closely Every still life contains within itself A fiery cosmos of raspberry flowers. Pluck some of them if you’d like, to your own avail.   The magician once spoke to the... Continue Reading →

Wednesday Child

Wednesday night, when the world lies low And feet plough through the streetlight glow, When time’s just a rippling in waters below And the past is a coil of grey mist, nothing-scented I imagine a train track through the unlight, Away. Ghostly people behind curtains of glass, From a different world, of a different mind,... Continue Reading →


Midsummer’s eve, the table spins And comes to standstill halfway turned. Outside, the merry dance beings, Everyone gets what no one’s earned.   The jester steals the high king’s crown, The priest unbuttons his soutane. The seraphim comes circling down, Trades both his wings for one cold ale.   The killer courts his victim’s wife,... Continue Reading →

The Judge

The grave bears no name By the seldom tread path, Only a solitary primrose Planted by a mother forlorn In old love.   Beware of the traveler That came riding there once On a pale horse at midday. Beware of the sketchbook He carries in his pouch.   Upon an empty slope Under the old... Continue Reading →


Up ↑