Tuesday, December 31, 2013

awaiting the new

Winter Sky
Straw sky
Moonless, Sunless, Starless
Leaveless trees point gnarly fingers
to the heavens
deepening into darkness.
Frayed and tattered demons
Lucid praying
A feeling beyond touch
Beyond fear or sadness
A feeling unlike hope
Without reason
Yet delineated
Like constellations
I make motions with my hands,
move my skin into contact
with ineffable realms.
Move, oozing miasma.
Creating signs in faint luminescence.
Bit by bit they encompass
the night's horizon.
But there is more.
It comes to me in brief emanation.
Droning, encircling, swooping in and out.
I organize a study chamber.
Pull out maps and ruler.
Set my quill to taking notes.
Images engaged in excited conversation
pull me in to their heady company.
I can feel the sky breaking around me.
Bits of colored prisms falling.
Make a wish.
And Why Not Now?
The 4th dimension embraced to spatial 3.
Length, width, depth --
will may move within.
Yet we travel always in time,
whether we want or even know.
Ever onward through duration;
moment to moment
encompassing all of our lives.
And yet they say there is no time,
only now.
Every precious second, every interminable hour,
every slippery slovenly unrelivable day,
an unrelenting onward and inward and outward,
soulesque surrounding.
Where is now?
Yes, everywhere, of course, but how do we divine,
make sense,
manifest intention,
measure meaning to instant that
expands into infinite unknown?
How do we comprehend what extends true and real,
stands the test of time,
that continuous emergence, strands
playing in the breeze entangling and evolving?
How do we tame Now
and make a dance of time, swinging and swaying,
executing formal twirls of shadow
and light to uplifted applause?
How do we account for time,
yet spend it like raindrops,
yet savor forever awakening?
If it must be done, it must be done now!
There is no waiting room in eternity.
Yet there is no being done.
There is only doing, and being,
and bravely swimming uncharted seas.
Not with a Bang
Light calmly shines
through bare-branch silhouettes.
Ice, frozen in time
sparkles, giving no reasons.
Still.  Cold.
Natural cycles.
Out on the battlefield of man,
brutal bleeding,
shattering of bones and dreams
too loud and crazed
to be heard
reverberating in shattered brains.
Once a molten planet
shot out of star stuff
creating plains and seas,
rocky terrain,
spinning so merrily
with no idea of sadness
set into motion.
Spiraling cycles.
In crystal stillness
frozen tears break and fall
slowly, silently, into time,
knowing not what we have wrought.
ago and away
    Long ago and far away
    In the inner plains of time
    A fair voice was heard to say
    We will meet to love someday.
    Through centuries of waking dream
    Varied tongues have shared the rhyme
    Each meeting, new though it may seem,
    Another pattern in the scheme.
    Running now through you and me
    A thread, a wisp of fleeting song --
    An ever-mending tapestry --
    This treasured bit of life we see.
awaiting the new
anticipating deleting
old reviews,
debts no longer due
hoping that greeting
"Happy!  Celebration"
proves true

Saturday, December 21, 2013

12th month - 21

What year has this been?
Caught up in days’ parade; now take it in.
Peaceful moments safe with friends and kin.
Joys of open grace, sad tinge of want.
Simple blessings, taunts of goals beyond.
Under rambling clouds, upon solid ground,
jaunty walk intent on happy thoughts.
December 21, 2013

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Remember, remember the 8th of December

In Remembrance
Imagine no John Lennon
His visions undescribed
No Beatles to remember
That music still inside
Imagine all the people
Never crying when he died
to unite through imagine Nation
More than a generation ago today
A madman blew our Lennon away
Yet, the import of what he had to say
Can not be taken
It is up to us who know
His words are seeds to sow
We can help his message grow
as inspiration


Thursday, November 28, 2013

happy Sagittarian celebration

music of the spheres
In the quiet of night sky
while starlight and peace prevail
a haunting rhythm,
music of the spheres,
slowly soars, entrances,
embracing fear,
kissing taunt of pain away.
Well into darkness, watching, 
hoping for a passing meteor
to swoop down and carry me
far into another space,
where kindly constellations
tell stories of joy and thanksgiving.
Celestial fusion crackles and strains
like an old jazz recording.
Melodies of another age
written on a mighty, sacred wind
told like Homeric verse
by the wanderers --
heavenly nourishing guides
leading us home.
Lake so dark
I can't see into it
swallows the sliver of Moon
as clouds roll through to
cover the sky.
Quiet, simple.
No life; nor conflict.
Meaning is that quality allowing sensation
to mature into sense.
Sudden chill wind requires response.
I turn
back, front, crouched down
into my own shelter.
Why am I not safe in a heated
room, exploring pleasure?
Context quotes:
"That was another stream,
a dream not taken."
No road enters here --
circle closed, unyielding.
Stories, fading candles, flicker.
Sweet wealth of warmth.
My fingers draw ritual from
patient water.
Sensation condenses.
Sense evaporates.
Scent of warm breath.
Taste of cold wind.
Wet, dark, silent.
Outside of meaning.
November 28, 2011
Thanks for sharing
Thanks for sharing
your intimate secrets
guilty despair
"How can  anything matter?
I am too dark,
no fun to be with."
It is not a birthday without
cake and good wishes.
No cure can take hold without
a get well card,
expressed courage
from caring others.
I have no rhyme, no rhythm,
no choir to calm me
into soft healing eiderdown.
Searing potions,
shocking wires,
disconnection from
harried continuity
cannot weave wholeness.
Kind touch, open
reveling in shared humanity
paints a loving pattern
for integration,
incentive to dare creative leap.
Re-merged, charged with fuel for 
healthy fulfillment.
Multi-hued singing fountains
rejoice in new found dancing.
Not in Gratitude
Gratitude implies obligation
Shining happiness implies
free acceptance, grace.
I am graciously embraced with joy.
Happy in my natural rhythm,
open to pleasure;
warm, melting sunshine,
complex luscious nectars,
elation, charismatic exultation.
I am in awe, a true believer.
I am not on my knees in supplication,

but supine, open to grace.

Monday, November 11, 2013


Honoring peace
Honoring lives left behind
not in consecrated fields
open to air and sunlight
tended father to son,
mother to daughter.
Dust to carry forward.
Lives not given, not shared.Taken.
Ripped asunder.
Limbs, guts, glory.
Shrieking abandoned waifs,
wailing inconsolate lovers.
Screaming bombs, squealing tanks.
Arms shattered,
vision scarred
for peace, for Fatherland, for prosperity.
Today, cold, raw, ice flecks
obscure a longed-for Sun.
Support Our Troops
What if they gave a war
and nobody came?
What if our ethos gave up
on targets to blame?
March of disorders;
unstable bonds break down,
crush frightened innocents
to dust.
We meant to serve our nation.
We meant to save rights, defend
threatened treasure, stalwart
bulwarks against disaster.
We meant to honor sacrifice, work of
our fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers
for the good life:
family, God, country
and a wholesome recompense of pleasure.
Not executors of horror so intense
as to reverberate through our
remaining consciousness.
Who is advanced?
Who left in pieces that never heal?
God is on the battle field
not as commanding general or inspiring
as witness
and gentle minister
of last rites
to shattered soldiers.
Not in Our Name
Nobody wins in a war
(well, maybe a few financiers of war industries, but)
Not us, not them, not humanity
Not the dead, not the living
Not the yet to be born
Not the land, water, air, our natural resources
Not the roads, buildings, pipes, utility lines, the infrastructure
Not love or peace or morality
Not human nature
Not Right
Not Justice
Not God
Not the battlegrounds or the cemeteries, or the unhealable wounds in our souls
Whatever we may hope to accomplish with war,

There are better ways.

Monday, November 4, 2013

the political is personal

Live Revolution
Revolution comes when it is ready.
Sparks so many times seem sure to light, embolden change.
Only when the tinder is sufficiently arranged will fire take hold.
Blaze clear fidelity to this erupted moment, charging forward.
After images, ash flakes in settling dark, take flight,
swirl within echoed breeze.
Readiness, relative to chaos, free range of human whim.
Revolution is but a shared anthem, parts of anger and revenge,
parts of reaching toward a new religion.
In the aftermath of violent schism,
what bright vision will sustain?
New World Order
Post-feudal society
obsessed with security and place
lock-step shuffle of obeisance
counting corners, counting on
science and leaders of order
counting on gospel served cold,
filleted, and layered just so.
Fashionably secured, tied and
corseted, made up for easy recognition.
"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy! Buy me
the pretty fire." So mesmerizing, so
certain to tell me who I am, how to be.
Casting savage spells, they are,
far and wide, telecommunication.
Tying up and tidying with vast
imaginary whips and wheels,
spinning like a Pied Piper's tales.
No wonder.
We get it wrong and twisted.
Throwing out the wheat to eat
the chaff.  Poisoning the well
that no enemy may drink our bounty.
Burning our bridges and tunnels
to save them.
Embarrassment of riches.
Gorging on fine cakes and
sugar water champagne.
No wonder.
Eerie daylight marching
timed by mechanistic masters
armed with decisions directing
torture, incarceration.
Power derived from the people
constrained of memory
mistaking some paranoid parody
for a promise of life.
infinite regression of change and resistance
multi-rhythmed rhyme
singing into the winds of change
to move their vector more in line
with where we wish to arrive
What is power?
Power is a word.
Power is an idea.
The Word is power.
The Idea is power.
Power is a distribution of energy, wealth, strength:
Physical, material, mental, metaphysical,
Power is that which allows us,
Or we allow others, to have
sway over their/our actions, emotions, limitations.
Power is a rush of air, of water, of electrons,
of words,
of weapons, of will
-- the force behind movement
or stasis.
Feudal Diffraction
It's not the color chart; it's the hierarchy.
Hoarders of permission slips for supplies
thereby decide what gets prioritized,
which brick gets laid, or even fired,
who lives well,
who scrapes til they no longer get by.
It's not our genetic code that compels stupidity.
Perhaps it's a kind of manic compulsion,
depressive obsession,
mass psychosis,
St. Vitus line-dance to a zombie
caller's tune.
What to do?
Meme-web reconstruction in increments
paradigm warping incidents
realign the pulse of macro/microsphere
benign gibberish cy-phones through?
Take back your time.
Take back your right to self-valuation.
Take back your place
outside of the lines.
If our needs, self-fulfilling desires, greater
ecstatic glory and grace
are to be based
on solid infrastructure,
on fruitful interplay,
on free and freeing expression,
let us take hands in
undulating, beatific dance
Let us be and do and feel
that which gives us permission
to be whole.

Thursday, October 31, 2013

October 31, 2013


Pink Floyd vs. The Beatles - The Creepiest Song You've Ever Heard

Night Air Reflection
walk city streets, ride subways
costumed as commoners --
subterranean trickster consciousness,
ethereal siamese twin
to the mundane.
Shadow and substance
entwine as before
the incursive divide.
I long to tell you,
yearn so I loudly whisper,
but only if you really listen.
I cannot say these things twice.
Memories seep through,
acquire form.
Stand straight and true
as soldiers or Marines
gifting full allegiance
to any who will take that load.
There are Gods foaming in excrement,
demanding relief in sardonic
potent and deadly.
Angels and
Demons wage stochastic war;
dice from a grail
foresage trial or comfort.
Hungry Ghosts wail.
Vampires and Creatures
made of night
seek shelter before
travails of fablers
break them.
Morning Star
winks salaciously.
In wild’s kingdom
all manner of beings
Eagles soar.
Lions roar.
Whales sing.
Humans open a
veiled third eye.
The World rejoices.
Samhainic Verse

~sharing(secret)water~ EV13 


night's pages

{patchwork narrative} a flash fiction serial following the story of a child vampire, the eternal child monster working out that existence
originally featured (and still appearing) on my PostApocalypse tumblr site:  http://postapocalypse13.tumblr.com/ 
now appearing on this Blogger spot for easy editing and viewing. 
The last entry, which is what you see on the home page, is the first “patch” of the story. Go backwards, down through the previous posts to see the whole story, or as much as you like, or some now, some later ...

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

scorpio intimacies

On the Threshold of Silence
Absorbed by rabble noise my tired voice trails unheard.
How can it matter what I say?
A fool, I record hard travel truth in written word
to scatter as if for use someday.
Realize that my eyes see uncommon visions.
My mind seeks to find unlikely decisions.
My lips may seem gripped, but that’s not done on purpose.
What I know doesn't show on my nondescript surface.
How can I explain,
entice suffice to hear,
what isn't always clear?
Notes of refrain
jumbled with pain;
I must be insane.
play with my inner ear,
keeping me guessing.
Burden or blessing?
Of course you don't care.
Just turbid notes on passing air.
Weaving through aether,
permeating atmosphere,
essence I ache to share
already everywhere.
You never heard it from me.
Valerie Plame, Valerie Plame
The very fact that we all know your name
is a crime.
So, who's doing time?
American splendor,
a pop carnavale.
The greedy get famous.
The poor rot in jail.
The glitter and star light
is doing its job:
distract and divide while
they rape, kill and rob.
Is that a pimple on my face?
Oh, I'm such a big disgrace!
I can't keep it all together as I should.
The only explanation's I'm no good.
I want too much.  I need to much.
I never learned to mind my p's and q's.
I didn't toe the line and pay my dues.
Now my opportunities
ooze beyond reach,
bleed out,
What am I even saying?
If the right people hear, surely
despair's  a treasonous crime.
And, unlike those Whitehouse lackeys
I may well end in a cell doing time.
October 23, 2007
Persephone's Breakthrough
This is where the idea is born.
soft green meadows gently disappearing into fall
sounds of dying, scent of woodfire and candlelight
no separation between what is becoming
accept and be revealed
summer's wild adventures
spring was a torrent of clarity, precious rain,
Earth coarse, ready for fecund pleasure
Queen of night in daylight's realm
obsessed in flowering
roses and daffodils
valleys and nubile hills
all is vanity and laughing vice
"But, Mother, I'm not a nice girl.
I'm a creature of the breeze; secure in shadow;
alive in the cutting edge of the storm."
Myth in revision
standing at the back of the playground
learning theater, tucking metaphors
through interstices of sense and dream
In spring, kicking stones along sandy riverbeds
reading the classics
expecting valor, glory, dramatic lines
Summer deceives
the stink of rot where flowers bloom
ancient feuds, retaliations, rage
tyrannosaurus feeding future waste,
absorbing a zeitgeist of want, of predation
within greed swollen seed infectious fear
search for further truth
mythology frustrates, curls back on its own ash
burn with hazy summer wine and dance
feet connecting dust to sky -- but only in designated
spheres, with designated peers, self-selected inhibitions
sweat out poison into the ground; now, eat the bounty
midsummer farce, far from clear, far from sunrise,
counting out the chimes as if time were treasure
silly summer madness as if what matters
is so circumscribed, so predictable
Early autumn firelight
reminiscent of witch hunts, ghosts of cavalry,
dire warnings and endless hide and strike
the game, the funhouse, turns deadly
sanctuary calls, demanding sacrifice
the noble phoenix fed on frankenseed
can not rise
skies descend, dark mirroring
smell the woodsmoke, intoxicating, soft and sweet
masks the taste of bitter bile, secret vomiting
starving despite harvest's gay array of treats
faded, nearly blind, falling in and out of
shamanic fever, primeval native dancers beyond sight,
ripple of tribal beat at the periphery
ecstatic vision dark/light/agony and brilliant breaks
starbright constellations
Traversing worlds
seasons, years, moments of clarity
no need to travel, to invent boundaries
dance of the highlands warmth and sustenance
makes whole
October 23, 2009

Friday, October 18, 2013

a little Moon music

Moon Light Triptych
Silver bracelet of Moonlight
night prism of serene
casts lines, luminescent desire
emboldened in reflection
Masked Lady Moon sneaks
into my room,
speaks of fantastic adventure.
Dare I question her
abundant gesture?
I a masked gypsy
painted in gloom,
a taste for wry humour,
impossible promises,
resplendent terrain.
A woman insane,
taken in by the Moon.
Fair sister, illusory rock, cold, dark
so far from my daily chains.
I have no home
but clear, quiet salvation
hiding like Moonlight
unmasked in my mind.
I tell you the moon dreams of beauty.
I tell you the soul is but a butterfly,
sweet and fluttery, without the substance
of a cloud.
I tell you that this is what I adore:
You, here and now, a shower of acceptance,
telling me to tell you more.
as out, so in
Lake silent, dark
mirror to reflective Moon
complete in stillness
Wind escapes blackened maples,
catches crackling leaves
to whirl, to fall
Integral, self-contained, this world knows
mystery, bloodlines, senses unspoken,
helpless ecstasies eternity allows
for now
October 18, 2012
Passing mist veils/reveals Moon glow
as she moves through caressing clouds
trying to reach me
so far below.
How can I know
it is me she desires?
My mind is on fire,
moonstruck, some might say.
Flying along the Milky Way
fueled by moonshine.
She flashes her shadowy eye
through cloud-studded sky
and I feel fine.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

website update

night's pages

{patchwork narrative} a flash fiction serial following the story of a child vampire, the eternal child monster working out that existence

notes playing to a theme
nightly poetry posts
Emerging Visions visionary art zine

Something Sacred – metafiction
PostApocalypse blog includes original patchwork narrative flash fiction serial
Selected Works 1968-2005

Year of Prophecies as a page
Year of Prophecies as blog posts  and posts beyond the project
Samhainic Verse
beginning soon, posts about healing through dance

Seers and Seekers ten years along


Seers and Seekers: A forum to discuss and explore topics of the occult, speculative art, and philosophy broadly defined. 

"Seers and Seekers" originally occurred to me as an occult/science fiction bookstore in which patrons would discuss the ideas presented in the literature. Today we have a wealth of inspirational, philosophic/metaphysical and artistic websites to play among. I hope we can create exciting discussions relating to this wealth of ideas.
I envision this forum as a place in which to expand our consciousness, put concrete form to our grapplings with the big questions, and encourage creative thought -- a place where visionaries can feel at home.
October 17, 2003
8:52 pm EDTBoston, MA

Sunday, September 22, 2013

joyful Mabon ~


Pixel colors whisper, soft hum of trails diminishing.
Lumbering, tales sweaty from slumber sweep
crumbling crusts, twigs and dust,
unencumber twinkling.
Luscious Moon, brilliant, rises
like a sacred flower unbinds, radiates,
smiles indulgence.
Celestial song, deep-breath effulgence,
lofty spirit.  All we who hear it open our wings.
This night we fly over poignant fields of work requited,
imbibe euphorious mystery of peace.  Labor’s release,
rewards of harvest, ritual feast of play.
Uproarious dance with moonlight; voice, arms, soar
in embrace so strong, complete.