The Moon and I


The moon and I, we sing a song
That none have ever heard;
Not deer, nor bear, nor human being;
Not feathered, wing’ed bird.
And nowhere on this whole entire
Oval, orb’ed earth;
Is this song more loudly sung
Than here, before the hearth.

Wedding Toast, medieval style


Like something lost that we cannot find,
Save dreamily in a sleeping mind,
Are those valiant days of swords and spells,
And battles fought in the dales and dells.
Hearing them now, they sing their song
Of wars they’d fought, and peace they’d won.
Their chorus tells of ages long
Whose sands have run and now are done.
But oh! How great that age had been;
When godlike Kings on thrones did sit,
And worship of nature was not a sin;
Those days of magick on parchment writ.
But I say that age is not fully gone.

That mystical age we still can see.
It dances in these lover’s eyes.
Here is a spell that will forever be!
And so, by-gone days newly arise.
Now, let our heart’s rejoice, and at this roast,
Lift high our cups to salute and toast
That ancient spell in these lover’s eyes,
The magick of love that never dies…





Unchain the dim ringed stars in stellar clouds
Where nebulae strain to birth, and gas congeals;
Hammered by massive pressures that all surround.
Forged in celestial fires, the thunderous peals,
Of hammer, after hammer, after hammer
Resounds across the frigid vast expanse;
A clarion call through universal clammer
Announcing something new! The cosmic dance
Pauses. And in that moment of fresh birth
The spark divine explodes! A being shines
And stuns the dim lit flickers into mirth.
Alas, the dim lit wave at speeds so slow
And so entice a new birthed star to go.

The Jester’s Ball



Gossamer threads of diaphanous dread
As Sheol’s spinnerets
And forked footed minarets
Catch the unwary in webs
And the muse’s music plays
And the ladies’ castanets
Cause my spirit to dance.

I put down myself
Put down the lance…
A lot.
More than I should.

If I could,
I would,
If gifted the crown, the scepter, the sword;
Lay them down;
Join the clowns
The Jester’s Ball!
Rippling waves of jollity,
The Joker’s jealous of the Jester.
“Alas, poor Yorick, I knew him well.”
His jests, when lost… Not found…
Are an agonizing loss.
A certain brand of Hell.
So laugh, live, love. My dove. Cries. No more…

Smell the roses…
Gloss over…
Your pain….
Open the windows,
And let in the rain.

You may enchant me if you desire



She enters a room like a blazing comet,
Filling the void of our less interesting space
With such a glow as to draw all into
The tails of her passing.
You can not miss her,
Not if you try.
She flashes one of her “Just for you”
Never mind that this teeth-display spell
Has already been cast
Upon twenty people before you;
You still see that smile is
Focused, like hollow eyed roman statues,
Only on you.
The sway of her hips,
The glint in her eye,
The pucker of her lips and their gracious
Touches draw you inextricably to her,
Only to be cast off by the next
Oh-so-willing victim.
She is a joy to watch!
It is, it is, it is amiss
That I have lost the train.
Not I, but thee, sweet lady.
You may enchant me if you desire.

The Docks of Scatterbray



Off the misty coast of the Summerisle,
By the docks of Scatterbray,
Came a massive host of billowing ghosts
Moving silent o’er the bay.

No, not phantasm, but ominous cloud
Had threatened the skittish shore;
And yet, across the chasm, no white-capped spasm
Of waves fled the stormy roar.

With waters so still, cloud it could not be.
Swift hands did grasp a spyglass.
Like the winter’s will came a frightful chill
O’er him who saw what did pass.

Two bloodied almonds, two ovals, red eyes,
Gazed burning through the night’s fog.
No final amends those fearful men sent
Would save them from dying like dogs.

“Damn bloody poor luck!” The baymen all cursed,
Viewing that which did approach.
Those orbs in the muck were the Red-Eyed Buck,
A ship, death’s sea-faring coach.

Soft billowing sails was what had been seen,
Flying high on massive masts.
Like a banshee’s wail creaked the wooden rails,
Like a corpse that screamed its last.

Her captain was known, both far and quite wide;
A fiendish fellow was he.
And the shoremen all died wheree’r he did ride,
Screams echoing out to sea.

Off the misty coast of the Summerisle,
By the docks of Scatterbray,
One still can hear the shrills of fear
Of the men who died that day…

The dagger deep



Oh how you twist the dagger deep,
Into the corner I hide, some obscure part;
Then row against the flow of blood, creep,
Through the whole, into my heart.
I did not stay your hand, but rather
Abandoned myself to the tender strike.
With rivers of emotion flowing, why bother
To deter the dismantling of the dyke?
From within me , you pinch my veins
And staunch the seepage of these wounds.
You rebuild the dam, with care, and with drains,
Should I suffer another season of monsoons.
You successfully sieged my walls of doubt,
Stabbed me, then crept beneath my skin.
And I’d not have warred to keep you out
Had I known surrender was the finer way to win.

The Heavenly Lake – Jilin, China

The Heavenly Lake - Jilin, China

“One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.” – Henry Miller   This is The Heavenly Lake bordering the Jilin Province of China and North Korea. I hope to take the train to visit here when I arrive in Changchun. I’ll take my own photo once I do, I promise. It is only a short week away before I embark on a journey to the far east, to the highlands of northeastern China. Though I expect, as this photo suggests, that my eyes will have the opportunity to engorge themselves with fresh vistas and breathtaking scenes of oriental antiquity, sightseeing is far from the primary goal of this journey, though it will certainly be a perk. No, more than anything, it is fresh ideas that I am starving for. My eyes don’t need to be engorged, so much as they need to be replaced. Not only do I hold out hope for a new way of seeing things, I hope to the see the world with a whole new pair of eyes.