
Eye of Calla t
From the swirling vortex of the cosmic deep,
An ancient one rises from immortal sleep.
With a stolid gaze of floriated grace,
The Eye of Calla transcends time and space.

From the swirling vortex of the cosmic deep,
An ancient one rises from immortal sleep.
With a stolid gaze of floriated grace,
The Eye of Calla transcends time and space.
ROSES heavy, full of bloom,
BENEATH A tinted, cloud-filled splume,
MELTING like a strawberry cream,
With SKY azure poking in between.
Neon bleeds on stone,
Silhouettes in weeping rain,
The Night Walkers fade.
Visit my shop. https://TheArtEclectic.redbubble.com
Beneath the brush where sinews bleed and twine,
The nodding bells of checkered scales incline.
A venom-vivid bloom against the prairie,
The coiled grace of Snake’s Head Fritillary.
The tide returns what time has kept,
Where ancient stones and shadows slept.
Upon the Shore of Forgotten Prayers,
The sunset burns through salt-thick air.
Looking for ARC readers.
She knows what she hears now. Knows how to use her gift. Some gifts arrive with a cost nobody mentioned. Some notes, once sung, cannot be taken back. When everything changes, only one question remains. The answer is in the Heart. Are you willing to listen?
The Heart Chooses is the book I most want you to read. It is the second book in the Pattern series. If you would like to start from the beginning, The Gift of No is also available.
Download The Heart Chooses: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/blogiokopz
Download The Gift of No: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/qvxzp13qm2
Triggers: None
Will be published July 2026. Both books.
ARCs are available now.
If you want to contact me about the ARC. mcornetto@gmail.com
A sky that thinks in shades of gold,
Churning stories yet untold.
Beneath the Sentient Aether's height,
He stands within its swirling light.
A thousand suns in circles spin,
Where purple clouds and light begin.
The valley sleeps in rainbow blue,
While golden starlight breaks through.
"There is a quietude in the evening that no other hour can claim." — Virginia Woolf
"The door to the invisible must be visible." — René Daumal
A working insect, busking.