Sphinx 3D Art by Jake Burstein

image courtesy zbrushtuts.com


Foreboding entity

Ancient and brooding

Wisdom in antiquated gravity

The perennial riddler

Perched on the threshold between being and nothing

Before you there can be no fiddler.

Spin me your intricate webs

Silken yarns of the world

Woven from the legends of the unknown


In your stiff lipped aura.

On the loom of Time


As I weave into a masterful tapestry

The truth.


And death

Will not come

From your lips

Pursed shut

In the mystique of your smile


You are

Ancient and brooding

Wisdom in antiquated gravity

The perennial riddler

Perched on the threshold between being and nothing.


© Sena Frost 2k16





Leroy Neiman – Rocky III, image courtesy Google Images
Gladiators in the colosseum

Dancing across the square foot arena


Death dealing blows travel at formula 1 speeds


Ducking and weaving


Surreal grace


Muscle driven sledgehammer blows

Thud against concrete will

And ephemeral temples

Bathed in the golden glow 

Perspiring courage under pressure

Shift of posture

Power surging from the glutes

Flowing in a single wave


Shower of sparks blows the head back

To the roar of the crowd 

Feet thumping approval


The Coup de Grace. 

© Sena Frost 2k16


image courtesy hot-metal.net


Dunk me into the water

Under the crystalline depths

Between life and death

I am born anew.

Take it all

The pain

The regret

The sorrow

The depression

The scarlet cloak of sin.

I am drenched in blood which is not mine

The burden of a life I was not supposed to live.

It clogs my vision

Roots division

In my failed rendition

Of perfection

I cannot see the light twinkling brightly ahead of me

I am drowning

In the crystalline depths

My chainmail weighs me down

Dragging me into the darkness I sought to protect myself from,

The last bubbles of my screams tracing a silver stream in my deceleration.

Break me into little pieces

Place me in the crucible

And turn up the heat

As I slowly turn from red to white

Molten and free flowing

A far cry from the use I need to be,

I flow readily into your forge,

Anneal me

Tamper me

Bend me on the anvil to your will

And cool my edge in the waters of your love.

I am whole

The one that was broken before

Forged de novo

Reflecting the sun

In your Son

I am a cheap knock off

But hey

Even broken mirrors still tell the truth,

I am



And so I beseech you,

Dunk me one more time.

© Sena Frost 2k16

93 million miles away on a little rock

earth rise from the moon. image courtesy http://www.nasa.gov


93 million miles away on a little rock

His glasses caught the last of the sunset

An oily sheen of golds and yellows tinged with russet

His comfort pinging away at his ears

The soothing crispness of singers

Acoustics washing the jagged ocean floor

Echolocating miles of vivid stories in his mind

Of loves lost

The fleeting aroma of rose petal affairs

The indignant glory of sexual relationships

It rose high over the rumbling of the rickety tro-tro engine

Lulling him into soporific silence.

He disembarked

Vaguely aware of the young females staring at him

He smiled inwardly

And passed them by

Feeling their stares burn holes in his back

As he marched away.

He was lost in his world

The mélange of madness and wit and sheer arrogance and conspiracy theories that was his locker room.

He was lost in this world,

Not a victim

But not without scars

The blood on his hands glistened wet

Fresh every time he raised them to his face.

Even the one he loved above all

Was a reflection looking away from him.

A man is lonely not from the lack of attention.

He was not granite sculpted

Rather he was painted after the fashion of mannerists,

Each brush stroke weighted carefully.

A relic caught in the crossfire of the 21st Century.

Approaching the quarter mile with steady perseverance.

He cared

But who cares?

The gravel of the new road crunched under his feet,

He paused,

And stared at his heels,

The fault line creeping across the sole,


He made a mental note to fix it up,

So many tabs to keep

Ore ready to be refined but yet the crucible had a hairline fracture.

He was incoherent

Yet he stopped to watch the damselfly

2 wings fore

2 aft

A divine feat of engineering.

He turned the curve and opened the gate

It grated its usual greeting.

He dropped his bag and set to work releasing the tortured thoughts into the prison of sheets.

It began like this
“93 million miles away on a little rock

His glasses caught the last of the sunset

An oily sheen of golds and yellows tinged with russet…”


© Sena Frost 2k16


I Do Not Want To Be Here

image courtesy twitter.com


I was a king

I lived a life of gold

I was a servant

Living a life of servitude

An eternal gratitude to men who still saw me as king,

I am a son of the sun

Who the gods saw fit to give skin to drink in and not be sick


Its glory

My life was meaningful


It bettered my people

So I really do not want to be here.


We saw you

At the edge of the world

As pale as beaten tree bark

And hands so soft

We wondered whether you ever worked a day in your life

The mosquito belittled your divine status

Even as you frothed at the lips clasping  a thing with leaves

And a god

You said was the only one.

My people rescued you from death

But you take their names from them

And give them yours

And you expect me to follow you wherever you go.


I do not want to be here.


You came

With your tricks

I never knew I could see my own face

Unless I was at the stream

I did not know I could kill a man with lightning

Just as powerful as the gods

But I had the rich soil

And the beautiful gold was my cloth

I could still do what I wanted

So trust me when I say

I really do not want to be here.


You came in the dark night

With fire and smoke

And you took me from my people

You took the symbol of my origin from my neck

And replaced it with your mark of bondage


A king!

Walking the ground

Towards the big water no one bothered to cross.

Why would you still take me?

When I really do not want to be here.


You took me on your cursed ships

And packed my people and I like mats to be sold at the market!

You made us babies in the forge of new life

Unable to hold our waste in

Humiliating and staining us with every roll of the ocean,

Serving pap not fit for even dogs to eat


I really do not want to be here.


You took my wife and child from me

Washed them clean

Like precious pearls

Just so you could relieve the fire in your loins,

I can still hear them screaming

The blood curdling in my heart

Beating itself into an incensed pulp

As I learned to sit up

But words escaped me.

I heard her last words

As she gave herself to the gray fish with the sharp teeth

And the ocean swallowed my child whole.

I wept

And I made sounds for the first time

As the timbers shivered.


I do not want to be here.



Sold like livestock!

They are putting their dirty fingers in my mouth!

Am I chattel?

I look up to the sky

Surely the God they talk of does not like this?

I stood for the first time

And looked at the land from which the pale men spoke so proudly of

Unwashed bodies

Stinking breath and rotten teeth

This was the ship all over again.
I was sold off

Like a cheap trinket!

And now I walk for the first time in my new life

In my blood shoes

In a land which is not mine.

Take me back!

I do not want to be here.


They put a machete in my hand

I am too strong to be put into the cotton fields

So they put me to work like a bull breaking up land.

I wield my machete like the warrior I was raised to be


They dragged me to the stocks

And whipped me like leather hung out to cure

They gave me stripes

I! a king

Flogged like an errant child!

I healed slowly

Even as flies laid their eggs in my flesh
bloated and putrefying

Why would anyone think something else?

When I clearly do not want to be here


I am called an animal


The lowliest of God’s creation


My master sleeps with my wife every time

Even when she is covered with the sweat of the day’s picking

He feeds his children off her breasts

Even dedicating a single one to them.

If a man can sleep with animals,

Then what is he?

You know this,

I do not want to be here.


You call me coloured

A kaffir

Cursed to serve you because you are smarter,

While you build your empires on the fields watered by my sweat and blood

You call me nigger

From the romantic negra

Even though in my land I am negus,

I am rich like the dark night

The soil which you value so much for your cash crops

And yet you see me as fodder,

Food for your dogs and quarry for the hunt

You make me sit in the back

And use different restrooms

Even though your wives fancy this brooding virile Mandingo

And you lust after my thick daughters.

I am powerless for now

But I do not want to be here.


You took my necklace

Replaced it with your chains

Yet you swapped them with a noose

When you pretended to give me liberty

Suffocating my rights

And now you do not say it

But in your eyes

I am just


I want to escape this damnation,

From people who claim to be blessed

And preach the Good News.

From this

I do not want to be here.




I am long gone

And my son no longer wears the shame of my chains

But he is in a minority

The irony of being the majority

He is the son of the sun

Who gave him his midnight skin to drink in its glory,


They take his life away

Riddling him with potholes

Just so they can see if he bleeds the same stuff they bleed

Because they are

Still living in the past

Do you seriously think he wants to be here?


© Sena Frost 2k16

The Frost Epic

​The wind whistles

Ruffling his t shirt

Not too large

But enough to show off his boyish frame

A head and half taller than most

A giant

But still pretty much


I listened to the wind keening a little more

Then thrust one foot forward

The next

And fell into my usual gait

A mix between ramrod straight marching

And an ambling stride.

You range quickly

And not soon enough

For the highway has come to a torturous end

An inglorious fork

A T-junction of sorrow

The cadence of its finality

He was not used to this

Being done with a person

They were all the same

Even if they stabbed him with a thousand blades

And left him in a lake of his own shortsightedness

He still regarded them as human.

You think it’s funny huh,

You take pride in being perceptive 


Where has all that knowledge got you?

Even as the spittle of reality drowns you

An eternal drool of Had-I-done-this

All that forbearance

A bucket load of night soil.


I tell myself

I look behind

And the past smiles at me


Unchanged forevermore.

Her perfume wafts towards me

And I falter

Taking her in deep breaths


To cast into the hard set die

Because the future is pretty fucked up from where I stand.
“You’re of age

You’re too young to be thinking 

You need to be making this

You should be doing that”

The cacophony of opinions

Scrape along the chalkboard of success.

You wallow in a well of despair

Hoping that someone might fling a pail in

And slosh you all the way to the top

Even if it’s just for pigs to drink.

The pressure perches on my shoulders

A raven of foreboding

Where the journey to life splits into roots of a tree

Going ever deeper

Yet never reaching the core.

The fog has not set in yet

But grudgingly I move forward

But with a mirror in hand

Always checking

From when the highway split into a t junction of sorrow,

Connected by a spool of yarn

As I move further into the labyrinthine darkness

Into decadence.
He’s loved them all

Spaceships engaged in galactic dogfights

Humanoids always more advanced but never better than earthlings


The irony.

Dragons belch flames of wrath on medieval battle fields

While gods and giants duke it out in the visceral marshes of their own doom

And then 



Prepares me for the truth.

I doubt,

And the question of my existence makes me uneasy.

I do not feel beautiful inside,

Yet the winds whip my face 

Which is

Sprouting a scraggly beard

Otherwise a smooth outcrop ready to be climbed by the foolhardy.

Hardly anyone believes in magic these days,

And you know your mythology is monotheistic now

The miasma rolls in

And the sun shines through

Weaving paths of liquid gold 

The known patterns flee your eyes,

The unknown

Bares its fangs at you.

Even though I am acknowledged

Kinda like a macho-man’s hand shake

Cordial but crushing.

I trained well at my craft

Honing it

The whetstone scarcely ever flaking

Feasting on the dulled edge

Just so it glints

In the dark night.

The one which rises from the mud on your bare feet

Inky black

Billowing round your eyes

As the voices fade away

Because they were all in your mind

And he

Gullible as always 

Believed that the dark could do him no harm.

Even as he tripped and fell

On his lonely road to nowhere

He rode on his know-here


These were not uncharted waters.

North Star ahead

Scylla geysering on his left

 Charybdis erupting on his right

And the wind urging him on.
Oh gust

What would he do without it?

It rustled his clothes

Whipped the storm from his eyes

And breezed him by on a warm day.

Turbulent and fickle

Yet an unwavering constant in this equation.

It howled now

And I responded in kind

Facing off the pack of rabid hounds uncloaked by the gloom

Unfettered by my imagination,

I let out a bellow.

And you stood there,


Son of the sun

The autumn child

And despite their hungry baying 

The frost kicked in

And snapped their jaws

His resolve buoyed

He marched on

Even as his ginormous boyish physique blotted out the day light

Eclipsing his natural features

Their crystalline facets shimmering in the induced twilight.

He was in the zone

And the headphones came on

A curtain of music

Obscuring distractions

So I can hear my thoughts

Living and breathing 

An elephant in the room of my discord

Purposefully strewn 

Because in the dark

They are the nightmares that keep me company. 
The sun, the moon and the truth

Are never hidden from your eyes.

This I know

Because he looms over all

© Sena Frost 2k16