Little Lamb

  She spoke in tongues of old of stories long told Red raw and brimming with gold Her breathe darted against the cold Trees fallen by the wayside lonely in the night silenced by the wind, her voice – hushed … Continue reading


In the centre of the room
under a roof made of straw.
The hearth – rages
in leaping song,
the flames loop and wind,
Wood and timber – consumed by the lips of hell,
An ageless tale of the gods,
Her face sheltered beneath gently fallen locks,
Lit by the fire; the colour of the flame,
Resting her cheek on the lap of love –
In the shadows of endless heart,
Tending to the threads of scarlet strings,
Twined for eternity to ancient ties,
With hands – warm and wandering,
Grasping at the throne,
Beside the fireplace darling Hestia dwells.


A Call To Arms

A call to arms,
My heart;
Hostile in the dark.
As the sun beacons
Summons the grave
of darkness,
The moon regains
composed in the depth of night,
Upside down; like a bat of navigation
My insides sign with articulation,
A skeleton to breathe against the grating battle-cry
Eloped in time stood still,
Forever merging with the ghosts of Halidon Hill.

J.Calvert 2016

Edge of Reason

A little edge of reason –
Stealing back the sheets,
Dark lines and silhouettes,
Make for a tasty treat.
Eyes aglow, underneath the frayed strokes,
Below the canvas of misery,
In shaded cloaks of grey;
My mind is a temple, trudging the day.
Beneath the setting stones,
A darkness envelopes,
Crossing the tides of time,
To a place my soul mates lies.
The years pass by, on a foreign tide,
My heart belongs to this borrowed land,
My mind restless in a simpleness,
Of customs and folklore,
Yet the lair of witchcraft and rebels,
Entice and compel.
Forgotten by the dawn,
Time stretches on,
I become a distant memory,
A history left unsaid –
Unspoken for centuries,
Silent on the wind.

J.Calvert 2016

Empress Ruling The Throne



A thousand men, stand before me –
In inferior armoury and fake crowns,
Prince in shining armour, I’d rather wear my own,
Black and gold shields, I’ll fight against the drones,
I look good in leather and chain mail,
Riding on my horse,
Weapons and words wielding stolen lies,
My tongue is held hostage, by my mind,
Crying wolf, the courage distilled,
They bore me with their cheap perfume,
Full of promises, little puppets on a string,
Dance for me, the queen,
We are all silhouettes, in the dark,
Dating the night,
Boy, I don’t need a protector,
Tough as nails, scratching down your back,
I’ve got a weapon of defence –
My own.
Empress ruling, the throne.

If I Had A Heart

Bring back a day,
From the past,
Lose myself in the bliss,
Taste the memories, on my lips,
Toy with the recollection,
Of anecdotes and legends,
Of warriors and shield-maidens,

Nostalgia for your touch,
Fill my sleep,
If I had a heart, I would feel the pain,
A thousand deaths would greet my fate,
Bitter against the grain,
And slaughtered in shallow graves,
Suspended by wire threads
That hold my limbs,
And feather spikes,
That shawl my dearth,

My voice a lost language,
Speaks only to me,
If I had a tongue, I would lick your wounds clean,
In forgotten reap, lesions contort my skin,
Feast like poison through my bloodstream,
Diffusing over the mountaintops,
Clearing the snow peaks,
Vanished within the clouds,
A tribe of souls walking these very steps,
Vanquishing in stolen breaths.


Inspired by:


On fallow, Torn, faded fabric, River rocks, Caught the tatters of her threads, Taunted and bellowed, the garden snakes riff, Her feet a shell of broken skin and bone, Behind a weatherboard shack, Peeling the paint back, The door of … Continue reading

Ink and Quill


Incredible photography by Pheasant Fashion Photography.

This is my passion,
The ache and urge,
For my words,
To spill forth,
My sense,
My deepest heartfelt,
My thoughts conveyed,
Quill, a feathery plume,
Etched and engraved,
Ink drips,
Tints and stains the page,
Fragile, erratic and torn,
I breathe and write on.

In Fields of Tulips

In distant times, on faraway tides,
A tulip field and starlight skies,
Lovers swoon in waters of lukewarm,
Tepid breaths and cloudy mornings,
Dew frost on lips,
Dawns kiss,
A memory; a still shoot,
In slow motion, a camera to capture loves first fall,
Enchantment descends on eyes of the fallen,
Wings unfold, hearts amiss in loves newest hour,
In recollection, in antiquity,
A golden brooch and a lock of hair,
A brass and copper thoroughfare,
Lovers lost in tulip fields.

J.Calvert 2015