Tamara Lakomy

The May Editor's Pick Poet is Tamara Lakomy

Please feel free to email Tamara at: lakomy@blueprints.org



For when the first leaves fell across the land
Expiring their last breath, as their naked hosts stand
For when the mists fall low shrouding earth in grief
Always whispering the tender words of severing relief

The season has departed, the jubilation of colors run
Into a myriad of burnished fires, auburn and golden spun
When the silence of the wintry steps encroaching on our hearts
Everything is frozen in somnolence as the glorious sun departs

For in those drapes of mists there are desolate echoes of my loss
Like those shorn leaves, I am a vagrant memory that they toss
Its quickened heartbeat, poignant as my solitude falls soft as rain
Like the dew on morning petals, I am as evanescent as its reign

For when the risings of a million suns fail, naught shall turn your face
Where enthroned beyond oblivion you decree vast emblems of time
For when creation ceases to thrive and the ensconced stars hurtle from grace
Like a tear in the void, you shall walk away, from earth’s bleeding paradigm

The wealth of knowledge runs short, the words are dust we gasp as air
For immured in existence, we are sentient particles of limited life
While we weep with the dying seasons, our souls mourn their mortal share
Of this patchwork of divinity of which we are never rife


For weariness of the spirit is the frayed yarn of reason
When the infectious madness as a pestilence cloud
Bends you into a broken being upon the throne of treason
Braying its abysmal poison into your ether aloud

Time is the Janus of the most treacherous kind
Ruination in its wake of good days bygone and stale
Making of memories forlorn echoes to fade behind
Aging the youthful hearts given to bitterness once hale

Oh Janus of the unforgiving blade, you bring remorse
And forgetfulness of ancient wounds long lain to rest
But to the depredation of complete demise you have recourse
When you sow the seeds of cruel change and fortune unblessed

Hand in hand with the balm of soothing grace, tempering old fires
When you shine your benevolence as a wheel of fateful luck
For you cater not to mortal whims nor their industrious desires
Reckoning even with the stars from their marches struck

Janus of the ruthless time, greatest ogre older than hills
Weathering earth to its bare bone and the sun to an cold contribution
Making a mockery of the strength of humans and their hoarded skills
Coming with a vengeance in dotage with the pendulum of retribution

For there is naught that cannot be erased with the hem of your gown
Passing through the mortal ages as a solitary hermit bearing light
With the scepter of power in your hand, infinity being your crown
Forever spiraling into the boundless space, beyond the gates of night

Master over fate and judge of a wisdom unknown
Did humans seek thy keys to steal and they doors to break
Our unmindful host, till the day to bitter meaning we are grown
Then backwards peddling we seek the bliss of your shadow’s wake.


When the sound of music turns to dust
And the heartbeat of existence turns to rust
Follow the lead into the echoing dark, alone
To witness how vast the worm has grown

That which fed on your shudders and eased into the crack
Of the breached edifice that once did never lack
The tumbling memories are corrupted with the spread of your disease
An ubiquitous force of hell, that does as it shall please

The pressed oil of our essence is the distilled odor of our pain
That kindles their lanterns in their journeys across the plain
Where the wheeling fires of their inner flames hunger for our remains
To fuel their ever expanding realms, upon our crushed skulls, their domain

To play a game with the infernal legions, when you have no time to spare
And withered each moment of your weathered numbered days by the glare
Of the sun who reckons each hour you approach your prepared grave
Where life begins anew, bought by the darkness as a virginal slave

When Man thought he was alone, he spoke to the stars his pride
And watched as the sundering powers did his strength and wisdom divide
For the evanescent bliss is brief when vitality wanes and night fails
Reminding humans of their true fears and the meaning it entails

For the hushed truths are kept in closed mouths sewn tight
And the words remain as butterflies their tender wings torn in fright
Where each blast of the trumpets of the braying chasm of despair
As Scylla and Charybdis draw you into their gasping lair

Between you and that filmy veil is the angel’s breath of relief
That rewards your toil and labor in this world of eternal grief
The harvest is ready for the culling, the souls ready for the lamp oil
And our blood perfect for the libations and our bones to broil

Tamara Lakomy is an archaeologist residing in London. She grew up in North Africa, born to a Berber Amazigh father and a Polish mother. Tamara is an author and poet, often combining into her writings, her experiences as an indigenous Berber with her reflections on modern living.

Tamara runs a foundation specializing in heritage protection and women’s rights and is a fervent supporter of advocate for sustainable solutions to troubled regions. She’s also the co-founder of Blueprints.org.