Category Archives: Uncategorized

A White Sky and a White World

I hope for snow this winter. Fat, wet flakes, covering everything in white.

A white sky and a white world. Still and quiet. A veil made to silence it all.


Wake up one morning, to the world held in an orb of clouded glass, unseen.

Not have to go to work. Not to have to rush and fret. Just let the sky close in.


Build a fire, pull my navy blue comforter over my legs, and read a book of

angels, the ones who rebelled, those who were faithful, and those whispering.


I might even allow myself to pine, like a young man. for a love that almost was.

A love long gone from my life. That dark, dark hair. Those eyes of clouded glass.


And as night falls on a still world, the stars unrevealed and the moon turned away,

I might stand in my door, and look into the shadows, and believe, no demon waits.


All The Drama Geeks Grow Up Someday

All the Drama Geeks grow up someday,

All those youthful dreams and enthusiasms

Pass on.


So excited for a new song, so in love with

Someone, like they were the moon itself,

So wrapped in dreams.


So pure in our lust and perversion,

So pure in our wicked little hearts

And in our madness.


The world was a wonder, a dream,

And our tinsel stages, our little Eden

Was all we needed.


All the Drama Geeks grow up,

And grow cold, and lose the light,

And lose ourselves.


Those days are never coming back again.

We will never be innocent again.

The world will never dream us, now we’re awake.


I once thought the road led somewhere.

I’ve stayed in this town forever, forever more.

Hypnotic sirens whose poison song dispels hope.

My enemies are here forever more, too.


I could not find the angel, so I scorned sanctuary.

In my home, the soft and sad songs replace her voice.

I make up worlds staring models and actresses so pretty.

In my head no one talks over me, or is flippant.


I can’t find what I want here. It’s only in my restlessness.

There was one angel who came in February, in a tourist town.

There was one angel who came down, and who touched my face.

There will be no others. One will last until the end of time.





Blossoms and Thorns

She wears a flower crown of blossoms and thorns.

Her man has an angel’s light, and not Satan’s horns.

Thorns prick little points of blood upon her fair brow.

Sorrow and beauty, loss in grace, in her sacred bough.


She wears a simple and splendid dress, takes his hand.

They dance, Children of God, of this bright, golden land.

Hymns they have song, of summer eternal, endless blue.

Where all are reunited and comforted if they lived true.


He touches her face, kisses her cheek, she closes her eyes.

The warmth of another, tenderness, a wished for surprise.

When they wed, crown gone, but blossoms, thorns remain.

Love stays, but angels and demons still watch in the cold rain.


She kisses his lips, they will wed tomorrow, they will be one.

Her crown floated in the water, candle bright, taken by that son.

The thorns in her brow, the color in the blossoms, the blood shed.

The vows of two souls, and the sharp swords, when two become wed.

I Heard A Young Woman’s Breath

The mountains, dark and wooded, on a winter’s night.

Starlight radiates off the dirty snow, all black and white.


I heard a young woman’s breath, ragged and full of pain.

I turned to look, call her sacred name, on that country lane.


No one. No crunch of feet on icy crusted snow. No naked eye.

I heard a young woman’s breath, hot and torn, stink of rye.


In the sky, a bright, pulsing light, filled with a demon’s hunger.

The stars, in their cruelty, take all hope from us, ever so younger.


I heard a young woman’s breath, but Fae or Demon took her away.

Too late to call her sacred name, no gold coin now can for her pay


the way over to Elysium and those happy and sunlit fields of peace.

Old Men sold us for baubles and gold, and Satan now pays the lease.


Apocalypses Reveal Judgment and Grace

She sits out in the backyard, among the fallen leaves and dead spots of dirt,

at the old and rusted patio table, smoking clove cigarettes, sipping Coca-Cola.


November, and she has her favorite, fluffy beanie, gold and black and white.

It has a sacred seal, and it brings her luck, and keeps the demon in the river.


The house is ramshackle, filled with too much junk, and not enough people.

Just her. She writes apocalypses in the dead of night, scribbled visions of grace.


The wooden fence against the forest keeps out Lucifer from her deep dreams.

The forest beyond is filled with Fae, who may or may not hurt her, this winter.


She finishes one cigarette, and lights another. It is cold, but inside closes inward.

She wants to stay out here all night, but words come, and come full of fear and fury.


The north star shines now, the only one in a velvet blue half-light sky above her.

It leads home. It leads to heaven. It can’t take the chill of the gust of wind on her neck.




Winter. First frost, yesterday. No snow yet.

I have the little tape recorder, and a cassete.

I look up at Venus rising, bright, pink far above.

Is this madness? Is this hope? Is it foolish? Love?


I still carry the limp from the wreck. You are gone.

I still hesitate. I am still afraid. Must act before dawn.

I sit against your gravestone, and I press down “Record”.

Hoping to hear your voice, that same haughty chord.


Voices of the dead are silent, but can be captured.

The veil of Charon can be torn or even raptured.

I want to hear you again, know you linger still behind.

I want to hear you again, say the prayers for peace of mind.


Sitting in my room, getting ready to play the tape back.

It’s a hope for a faith and dream that I will always lack.

Will your voice came quite and proud, as in our mad life?

Will it be fear that comes, torment, caught in purgatory strife?


I press play………..

These Dark Hills

The crows fed me, as I stayed at my slain brother’s side, in the dark hills.

Morning and night they would come, as I would not leave my brother’s side.

These dark hills. This dark war. I hear other things in the darkness.


I talked to him. I sang to him. I cried over him.

Waiting for our fellows to come for us and take us home.

Keeping his soul safe from those things in the darkness.


These dark hills. Shadows and unseen things keenly felt.

Not just the mortal soldiers who took my brother’s life.

Things ancient and fetid and that hate all the world.


I stayed at my brother’s side, and prayed, and kept watch.

Waiting for our fellows to come for us and to take us home.

For him to be laid to rest, and assured of his place at His side.


These dark hills. This dark war. All that hunts us in darkness.

I stay by my brother’s side. I’ll keep him whole and clean.

I will watch over him, until our fellows come to take us home.



Odysseus strove 10 long years for it.

I never left mine.

I can’t find it at all.


A blood brick Baptist church.

A big stained glass window.

Jesus haloed by the rising sun.

I can’t find God at all.


I sit in a swing.

The church playground.

Still and misty morning. Little light.

I can’t find myself at all.

Just Atop That Wild Hill

End of shift, almost.

Standing outside the docks of the grocery store, where I work.

Smoking a cigarette after unloading a delivery.


The sun coming up.

Streaks of red and yellow and orange.

Muted and burning.


On the hill, just over there.

Thick with brush, knotted trees.

They hung witches.


1600s, a wild panic.

The gallows to hang witches.

Just atop that wild hill.


No one else here knows.

Everyone tries to forget.

Act like it never happened at all.


Just a vacant, brush, trash filled hill.

No other sings of the lives taken there.

No one sees or hears the ghosts.


No one else here knows.

Everyone tries to forget.

Act like it never happened at all.