Ode to my muse

sketch of a man

If words be written to seal the beauty

and art to capture all that words can’t

then every drop that into papyrus bleed

and every brush that into the canvas weep

will do so for my muse alone.

Yet truth it is that all smithy would fail

to transcend his being into inky hues

for never did beauty reside in words

and never was art fairer than my muse. Continue reading


Shall we talk about flirting, my darling?

man kissing womans hand
(c) John Gannam

Of late, I’ve been charged with flirting blatantly. And I certainly plead guilty. A modest blush paints my face. I look at you, you frown with disapproval. I pass a smile, your frown disappears into thin air. I perhaps then pass a wink, too.

Many of you fine wordsmiths will agree that the art of flirting comes naturally when words are your true and only smithy. Oh, you do know well enough that words can thaw the frosty sylphs or conceited dudes, words can Continue reading