Helga Ross says of herself:

"Though I have been writing for years, it has been little more than a year since I wrote my first poem. I picked up the threads of the dream I dropped many years ago, to write poetry. I feel like I'm starting over and in my second youth. Now I remind myself of those poets of earlier times, when art was a way of life, not necessarily a livelihood, but valid in and of itself.

In the intervening years, I shelved my liberal arts education, English Major, for a career in the business world. It served me well and now provides the means for this pursuit which I find so much more satisfying. I'm one of that spirit, 'Child of the '60s', a lover of nature, of freedom of thought, of authentic self-expression, with wide and eclectic interests and tastes which I like to reflect in my writings in all its forms.

I wasn't sure what I would write, what my niche would be when I embarked, but it wasn't long before a writer friend pointed out the poetry in my prose - and here I am."


Venus of His

(Petrarchan Sonnet)

by Helga Ross
She’s such a pretty thing her smile’s a sin,
Venus of his, budding siren-sweetness
Botticelli-like; luminous likeness,
cerulean eyes, alabaster skin.
Long curled lashes shielding shyness, her twin
orbs no more reveal than naked neatness
she’d unveil and yield to lust’s completeness:
His loss, the longings misgivings have been.
He smolders, she fires his desires.
‘That was then’ tenders reminders again;
how he’d press his lips on her pounding pulse,
enfold her; thunder what heart drowned out, when
in the flesh, (which her image inspires),
he didn’t shout he loved her, last impulse.

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last update 23.03.2016