The Storm by R. Saint Claire Sheets of ocean pierced by Titans Channeled on Leviathan's back, Swells and lolls, crests and heightens, Mounting Sky’s sulphuric crack. In black, the mad widow divining From the shore, among the wrack, A golden sphere from her hand is shining, Sparkling remnants of the heart she gave. Tonight--at last her stars aligning-- She’ll lie within his watery grave.
ODE TO SPRING by R. Saint Claire Wings span across the sky in flight Green, snaking slivers stretch and lift. From murky mounds to peaks of light The falcon’s golden iris shifts. From sea to seedlings turning under Deep earth wherein the giant lolls, Waking buds from winter slumber Burst to life on verdant knolls. The naked maiden in the river, From the mud the clearing tides; Golden goddess, faithful giver, Gathers up the blooms that rise.
ODE TO MELANCHOLY Saturnal turnings to woeful wooings, Unrequited in a heart that aches, Infernal dreams of despair imbuing, Hopelessly tethered to past mistakes. Romantic passions the depth of Venus, Bacchantic thrashings; they both espouse Byronic madness—a proof of genius! Flawlessly shuttered in one dark house. Melancholy, to thee I sing, For all the gifts your heartaches bring.