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.


Aphrodite’s Golden Apples

Thousands of years ago,
Cloaked in ancient tides,
Of velvet night,
Showered in raindrops and silky skies,
A face as breathtaking as dawn,
She, swathed in perfumed garments,
Of gold and silk,
Myrtle-garlands fanfare in ebony locks,
Her white veil parted, the curtain draped,
Casting shadows on an ivory cream face,
Lips as pink as a Gallic Rose,
A symbol of Aphrodite’s love,
Golden apples taste so sweet,
In her garden, by the sea.


A goddess of the forest,
Slipping through time,
Leaves of gold and olive stem,
Swathed in ferns and fronds,
Covering delicately,
Hair of midnight velvet,
Falling gently over bare breast,
A moonlight paddle over tides of steel-blue,
To the water’s edge of pine silhouette  and murky depth,
Of hazy morning mist,
To greet our spellbound sight,
On the banks of the shore,
There she moves under the sun,
Cascades of light drenching her body,
Dazzling the creature of the forest,
Fawn and fallow,
Hare and fox,
Tread alongside,
Black velvet Unicorns canter by,
Here on the mossy floor of golden green awe,
In pillowed thought,
In tiptoed breath,
In dreams of brightly coloured caress,
That is where I will find,
The spirit of Artemis.