Siren Whispers

Siren Song


A simple beauty

The trees are so tall,

Their sway in this early morning

Is perfectly sublime

They ensnare the sunlight

And I watch, captivated

Each leaf seems to be lit from within

As though they devoured the sunrise

Before it moved from view

The color of the leaves is vivid with summer

A simple beauty

Taken for granted when we don’t stop

And look around us

I sit here, listening to the lush sounds of birdsong,

And watch the joyous abandon of the trees

As they dance

Telling me a story

I am enraptured


Copyright ©SirenSong1208

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Photograph taken by SirenSong1208


I write


I write

And in doing so slice myself open

Watching, as though distant,

At what spills forth

My gaze detached

Is this me?

Is this what has been wrought

From all the joy and pain?


I write

And reinvent myself

With every word

Every utterance


And uniquely


Yet, in this I am but a stranger

Unto myself

As I weave these ever-changing threads

Into an identity


Copyright ©SirenSong1208

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Photograph taken by SirenSong1208


Betwixt and between


I find you

betwixt and between my thoughts, 

a marker in a book I wish to remember.

My eyes

lingering upon our page

as murmurs,

sweet upon my tongue,

become an invocation

of memory

without fail.


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Photograph taken from Pinterest, unsourced


Warp and weft


moment by moment

warp and weft

strong and aligned

when pushed and pulled

by elements out of their control

there was no unraveling

but threads that became more tightly



Copyright ©SirenSong1208

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Photograph taken by SirenSong1208




Shy girl meets shy boy.

Red rover red rover

send Christine over.

School uniforms and knee socks

and whispers in the back of class.

Recess where the girls stood on one side of the blacktop

and the boys acted the fool on the other,

one-upmanship turned into an art.

Library dates

and a friend of his singing ‘you’re so beautiful’

while I sank further into my seat

wanting to die of embarrassment

but secretly pleased at the same time,

my face a sunset of reds and pinks.

He came by my house and rang my doorbell,

he had a gift for me he said.

A slender bottle that said what he couldn’t;

I can’t seem to forget you

your Windsong stays on my mind.

My first gift

from a boy

who was my boyfriend,

although not a boyfriend in today’s terms.

A boy

a friend

and someone who wanted to kiss me.

I was his girl.

It was later on,

much later,

that I was to learn how this quiet boy

beat all the other boys to the punch.

A new girl

a new face

and all the whispers about who she was

and what she was like.

They all wanted a shot at her

but he took the first chance

and for those two school years

she was his girl

and they never ever kissed.


Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph by Grimafust Ubaovin via 500px


A beginning

A beginning

as delicate as a snowflake

in the winter sky

or morning mist

upon a tranquil lake.

We wait to see the shape it takes, 

rising quickly

and evaporating

as the sun burns it away,

or beginning slowly

settling over the water

opaque to the eye

as depth is created


a calmness as it wraps around us

with stillness

and beauty.


Copyright ©SirenSong1208

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Photograph by Paul Jolicoeur via 500px


Blood and beauty

Blood and beauty

and how we fall

with the jagged edges of life

softened with love

or meticulously opening

a vein

leaving us ashen

with blood loss


Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph taken from Tumblr, unsourced.