Siren Whispers

Siren Song

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Dead Sea Scrolls


I touch the waves

of unforgotten memories.

Water becoming my parchment.

Letters to the ocean.

Where my secrets

become forbidden text.

The Dead Sea Scrolls

of all that we were.

Written in a  language


only by us two.


©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph taken from Tumblr

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Pursuing the shadows


The silence of the night

Blankets my thoughts

Allowing them to fade from the light

Pursuing the shadows

The nyctophile within

Celebrating the darkness

That sits not solely

With sky, moon, and stars

But which seeps from my soul

Out upon my paper

The ink drying

In vivid strokes

Identifying my words

As absolute

In their intent


©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph taken from Pinterest

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Empty forests


The empty forests of my mind

Are filled with trees that touch the sky

With dappled shade and secrets

And beginnings and ends

Of boughs and branches

Filled with thoughts and plans

Ones that I’ve had

And ones that are in bloom

But there are others

Those that are in their infancy

Newly seeded

Awaiting optimum conditions

And time

For growth

The sun, the rain, the air, the soil

Working together

Bringing to fruition

This vivid and verdant path

That I am meant to walk upon


©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph by SirenSong1208


Cemetery secrets


Cemetery secrets

Spread from head to toe

As deathlike quiet descends

Upon the landscape of my corporeal being

From thoughts that linger like an opaque mist

Clouding judgement

Clarity becoming a haze that we cannot see through

To ribs caging a heart grown quiet

Stilled and dormant

Shackled without cause

Seeking answers to questions that will never be answered

Every twilight she locks them away.

The gates closed

As she waits

for the dawn

And release


©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph by SirenSong1208; Glendalough, Ireland





A quiet whisper

Given gravitous

As a scintilla of connection

Was accorded voice

Days became threaded

With intensity

The warp and weft of each

Given strength

Through honesty and depth

As knowledge and feeling

Became the foundation

For something real

And magical

In the lit darkness

We’ve created


©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph taken from Pinterest



Blood and memories


Slipped under the skin

It was a silent passenger

Within our days

A need

Coursing through our veins

Pulsing with intent

It was moments

Heady with promise

Anticipation so thick

We could cut it with a knife

Giddy with desire

We fell over each other

In our eagerness

To touch

And touch again

A ravenous hunger

Never appeased

It was all of this and more

But now

In the shadow of Autumn

It is nothing


But blood and memories


©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph by Simon Filip



I haunt them like a ghost,

drawn to the vellichor

found within four walls.

A dusty, low lit date

with history.

Each shelf holding the means

to entrance me.

I sidle down cramped aisles

fingering spines

breathing in the musty smell

of old books

and time,

bad lighting adding to the ambiance

and my mood.

Wondering at the stories,

the ones not found within the pages.

Where did they come from?

How did they get there?

Were they read again and again?

Were they well-loved?

Finding an inscription,

a scrawl of cursive ink,

I wonder who they were,

what they were like.

They are faceless,

these erstwhile owners,

but their story is rich

within the depths

of my imagination.


©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph taken from Pinterest