Saturday, May 31, 2014


Fish Tale
I didn't know the fish would die
flapping on sun-warmed metal.
Peacefully domestic afternoon.
Children discover death
and other worlds.
Sitting by the well
to draw inspiration.
Spinning yarn, weaving words.
Dusty work.  Flakes of skin
embed the fabric.
Struggling through childhood,
the tales get twisted.
Little boys & little girls
separate language.
We think we know our place,
our destinies,
from the games we're given,
the words we've learned to imitate,
rhymes, reasons, rituals.
Imbibing passion body to body,
we awaken rules of blame.
The woman tempts.
The hero conquers.
The sad boy desires a
self-fulfilling fantasy,
stomping upon his heart to
start the flow of real blood,
real rage.
Out of water, out of earth,
out of air,
flopping upon some inert surface
the tale mechanistically repeats.
What world can we discover
nurturing life?
bird songs
I've been through this before,
pre-dawn morning
birds chirping, infiltrate my airspace,
awake when I should be long oblivious.
Good girls dream of princes,
subliminal desire to be slain
by love piercing enshrined virtue.
Gold hued birds in crystal cages
incant witchery for food --
hair of newt, spleen of worm; smoky
syllables induce pleasure.
Warm hearts beat together, no bond
of pact
or sentiment.
Lore is explicit; no crime to commit.
Vexed, inconvenienced by the regular
comings and goings of
the natural world.
Birds of a feather exchange their
social pleasantries.
It is I who should be sleeping,
conjuring brave new worlds;
ambient noise translated into
neoteric lullabies.
Rambling through fields of daisies in spring.
Hoping to find a new feeling.
Coming to terms with what each moment brings.
I'm making a bargain with time.
Not getting tired of running around.
But wanting to know where I'm going.
Trying to measure my meaning in sound.
Trying to keep it in rhyme.
Hoping to answer a call to my heart.
Quest for passionate focus.
Adrenalin pushing, I'm ready to start.
Making a bargain with time.
FAE OPERA (excerpt)
A joyous encounter with life
A joyous encounter called my life
I've swung from trees in tropical climes
And swum the seas of paradise
And learned to breathe upon the earth
You've got to see me; you've got to listen
to these wonders that I've learned
Traveling, traveling a hard-stoned road
Working my legs, my back, carrying my load
Journeying for countless years
Seeking out the sea of tears
Eyes bound behind innocent’s lace veil
I break my trail
(As in my mind my song unwinds my tale)
A marvelous secret, a hidden treasure trove
While unicorns play harpsichord
within a blossomed grove
A newborn child with something wild that
plays in rainbowed eyes
Has been declared of druid laird
Born to hypnotize
Been borne to hypnotize
Sing lullabies
Reward all the heathen with sleep
And dreaming dreams as such who waken
Find their very core earthshaken
Thus made to believe in possibilities
They set their sites, reshaping all reality
And of them they've begotten me.
Sound the magic pipes of Pan
All who hear may understand
The fluid waif who walks the land
Spawn of Diana's fling
With the clove-foot forest king
Vibrate to music, music, music
In every cell of living fluid
'Tis alright to be a druid
Of forest borne to roam through future lands
Touch me, touch me, touch me, touch me
Become my hands.
Floating, wandering, restless shades
Call me to respond.
I rode a mountain faire
Picked daisies for my hair
Learned to know the name of every weed
I dwelt the night alone
In a crevice made of stone
And never thought of what I next would need
I dreamt of castles bold
And the language of the Olde
And struggled to bring my dreams alive
And whistled as I rode
The songs I'd oft been told
At parties seen
In waking dream
Another place and time
Another tune, another rhyme
And I'd sit beside my campfire
And gaze into the flames
And yearn of learning other places,
Atune to other names
Traveling over other lands,
Seeking secrets, other plans
Or just remembering another song
For the secret of each soul is in its song.
Blazing all around
Miles from bare ground
Twisting twig upon an aery sea.
Luminescent way
Whatcha gonna say
Songbird, whistle your wisdom to me.
A maid of golden wings
In lullabying sings
Of white sails racing in the wind.
No two are e're the same
Of the tales she can name
Oh, nightingale -- take me in!
Blazing all around
Miles from bare ground
Journeying upon a vessel rare
Silently I sing
To hold remembering

Magic castles in the air.

Thursday, May 22, 2014


E.L.F.  5/23/14
Please, never mock at Eris
Lest Eris mock with you
She of star hot temper
fells any who upset Her
You haven’t got a clue
It isn’t that you’re stupid
Or even that She’s wise
but that’s She’s wildly puissant
You aren’t dealing with Cupid
mere love spells to hypnotize
She wields power of Chaos
She cares not about Right
No honor for high status
What Eris wants She fabricates
from that within Her sight
Will charged up with magic
Slights small or large revenged
Express desire, She grabs it
Though for you it’s tragic
She laughs and strikes again
Best mortal, mock not Eris
Lest Eris mock with you
Unfazed by fear nor reason
She razes as She pleases

You haven’t got a clue

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Under a Wesak Moon

Under a Wesak Moon we plug along.  Sense is a human
Silent knowledge that can’t
be quantified, measured.  It is more subjective,
contextual, subtle,
Yet vital. 
Such instinct, lore, ought
not be lost, drowned in prideful ownership,
nor discounted for quick profit on the popular market.
Traveling through water.
Revel in loud telling
fancy tales for a shilling.
Skillfully fade; still outside of jail.
Intimate with rambling river --
advised never expect a binding code.
Love ‘em or hate ‘em
we club ‘em and mate
‘cause it’s all we know.
Tomorrow is only a threat.
Tonite is the moment we met.
To live by chance of regret could do us wrong.
Listen to me.  I’m a song.
Why invoke Love, so imprecise an instrument,
when desire craves divine-like acceptance,
adoration of sparks within us,
all that can inflame
madness, empathy, a symphony, a cure for anything.
Love can become rational answer if the world of we
define it as sanity. 
Health, enlightened cooperation, love’s inspiration
to keep us all at the top of our form.
Love fresco of swooping angels,
vowed to fly us to our highest goal.
aspiration enriched.
Taste bittersweet long accumulated heritage.
That metallic tang of blood, carbon bonds descended
through rock, dust,
skeletons deconstructed to reclaim from waste.
Black swans, dragons, screeching birds surge through flame,
ever re-emerging,
carry potential energy into consecrated deserts.
Sleep well in comfort of serene will. 

we learn to bloom.

Saturday, May 10, 2014

mother eve

Mother and Child Meditation
Think back to the bond between Mother and Child
Do you imagine it broken by
internal jealousies, shyness against intimacy,
cringing before angry gods of tribal culture,
dying of a thousand casual wounds, volleys
of will and grievance cast into fragile frays?
Or do you see a pageantry of unfailing matriarchs.
Strong sons and daughters waltz in attendance.
Flowers bloom from every slip of finery into
fecund mud.
Mothers of our species tend toward
adaptability, bear challenge of balance.
Trying out touted trends, begging for guidance
when their own experience ill fits today's
terror and tantalization.  Always someone must
be blamed; sentiments must be appeased.
Where is the ease, the joy, the sharing up and down,
familial care and comfort?  Where is that not our fair
A child is a gift to the future; a mother is a gift
of nature and nurture.  Each brings, receives
all imaginable possibilities.  Each is a present day.
another road song
Not all mothers are loving.
Not all grandmas are kind.
DNA can marry hate, terror.
People arrive shamed in error,
in need of mentors, friends that share
release rejection, reverse lessons from
blighted start.
Transformance art merged with concentration,
consecration to a sane desire --
What would we require?
I remember
Mother mine,
I tried to mother you.
What did you do?
You lashed me from behind,
expected more from anger
than kind eyes, caressing smiles.
Intimated I endangered your true child,
who followed, the one
resembling you.
Scapegoat for resent to represent your robbery,
unfaithful promises not of my time.
No regrets.  No graveside confession
of apology.  I have learned to be
a creation of my own obsessive mind.
Eternal Chao
Eternal rumination through
tangled elaboration.
Taking respite a nonce
to enjoy the adventure,
or stationed to caverns of woe
for a decade or so.
No dragons nor maidens have I,
no trade in answers.
Conveyed by sky,
falling as I yearn to
through luminous translucence,
layers gorgeously etched.
Feathered and free.
Reassurance, Earth’s embrace; firm, gentle.
I tell the ache of ages:
break out, grow
angelic arms.  Malleable,
able to reach each troubled
artery.  Ease the anger,
dissipate insanity.
I am Mother, Daughter, Holy Crone.
I am eternally
my own.