Dusky Musky Ophelia

Ophelia is outside my house. Painting the very air in cinnamon hues. Swirling past garbed in widow’s weeds. Spiraling off strange currents. There is musk and spice in the air: The tail-end of lusty desires. The very air resonates with a heady tang and bated breath This storm blows.   Copyright Tom Tide 2017   … More Dusky Musky Ophelia

Thane Of Strife

I should be burned, dead and buried. God knows, I could have helped them burn. Soap does burn, does it not? I am made of ash and oil. Twas my place to soothe, though. To aid. To cleanse. My current station? To laquer a haunted Thane with fresh layers of guilt, year by year. They … More Thane Of Strife


  Prey allow me to make your humble aquaintance. I am a coxcomb. The jester’s livery. The Jupiter of Jollity and Mercury of Mirth. My one function: to beautify and orbit the radiance of King Lear, and dwell in the  eternal eclipse of his Deified orbit. Before my trampling, that is. You see, my master … More Foresight

Violent Delights

He was ever Herbologist ere priest, Felt sacred in the living green, Divine! His thirst for cures and antidotes increased, Yet plummeted his faith in scripture line.   I was his greatest ever creation, Brewed only once, so deadly was my blood, Made to dispatch those long past salvation, Though toxic,  my intentions were all … More Violent Delights

Bane of Cawdor. II

My cursed maker. They bound him within his forge till he finished me, and their goadings  finished him. Thrice cursed was his mind, and his body followed. Rather than make any more of their cruel designs he beat his own eyes to pulp with his hammer, and cursing his Gods thrust his clever hands in … More Bane of Cawdor. II

Bane of Cawdor.I.

Have you ever felt the true pulse of another? When the heart is driven only by impulse and instinct?  Perhaps when pressed close, by happy circumstance or mutual exertion. Has your own heartbeat quickened in response? If not, then stop listening. This is a tale of throbbing and intrigue, not fit for dainty ears. Read … More Bane of Cawdor.I.

Allegedly (an imagining of what the window from ‘Much Ado about Nothing’ would say, given half the chance.

I count myself blessed. I may be but a window, but I am frequented.  We Tuscan windows are known as ‘the eyes of buildings’. Eyes are oft known as ‘the windows to the soul’. Therefore, I count myself soulful. I am an observer of encounters: both voyeuristic and by mutual consent. A connoseur of many … More Allegedly (an imagining of what the window from ‘Much Ado about Nothing’ would say, given half the chance.