The voices echo above and below,
Long ago and beyond your front door,
Now and then,
And again and again and again.
Listen well to what the voices tell.
The voices wise,
Within them you find your own.
Some of them,
Come in bellowing big bouncing boulders,
Down mountainsides,
And pouncing tidal waves,
That echo after death through the graves.
Some of them,
Are seeped into sea shells
And wishing wells,
And whisper,
Along the wind of weeping willows,
And float in the dreams on our pillows.
And others,
Are giggled from the swing sets
And jungle gyms,
Or the horse stalls and pig pens,
And desert sands,
Some voices are animal; some man.
But all of them,
Can be heard if we listen,
If we sit in the silence,
Our own voice expands
And dances in these spaces.
Our knowledge rises, breath raises,
And heart races.
Knowledge rises.
Breath raises.
Heart races.
Things change.
Then the cycle begins.
To find your voice, you have to listen.
Oct 10, 2025
Oct 10, 2025 at 5:44 AM UTC
I once thought a crow
Had pecked through my trash bags.
But it was just you,
You scattering all the bad things
I’ve never done.
Just for fun,
To run my name through banana peels
And gum.
The trees weep with weary limbs
Looking at the cobwebs in the grass.
The crow, too craven,
The raven, too slow.
I wouldn’t guess you weak willed,
I wouldn’t have known
The way this would go.
The crow, too craven,
The raven, too slow.
Oct 10, 2025
Oct 10, 2025 at 5:29 AM UTC
Our souls in an oscillating trance,
A fated dance
Awaiting the exit sign.
If we remind ourselves of the time left
While others wept,
We can skip a spot in line while they cry.
If we stop to wipe their eyes,
We may miss the door as it swings.
And I know,
We don’t choose the time,
But we choose how we live,
In the face of death.
In this.
Oct 10, 2025
Oct 10, 2025 at 5:25 AM UTC
Lips parted to speak, but vomited.
Throws seed in trash. Still grows.
The lie he told came true.
Sep 30, 2025
Sep 30, 2025 at 10:38 AM UTC
Blind, bound, but walking.
Wandering, if not with dusty feet,
Then with fleeting thoughts;
A quick mind.
When age has written pages of his book
And wrinkled the spine,
He flies on the inside.
A cane in his hand,
Sand is like his skin,
Brittle like autumn leaves beneath footsteps
And thin, grim, grotesque,
But not within.
His mind: his treasure chest.
Sep 30, 2025
Sep 30, 2025 at 10:21 AM UTC
Your topography.
Your body and its geography.
Lavish to lick,
Sensual, slick,
Fantastic.
I indulge with my hands and my mouth
As our hips, caught in a dance
Lift me into a trance,
And all I see is you,
And the star-speckled black.
Our aura outshines them all.
I tip-tap finger tips on your back,
And your breath,
And sighs
Whisper sweet-nothings to the skies
And all the gods watch in awe
As we crumble temples in our path,
And reach levels higher than Olympus
Decibels higher than the thunderous clap,
Anchored down by nothing
But a metal clasp
And hidden by nothing but a mask.
But these are no obstructions
To our naked odyssey,
We wander in wanderlust.
In lust, in love.
In you,
In me.
Jul 10, 2024
Jul 10, 2024 at 7:34 PM UTC
My soul alight,
When the sweet melody
Of kindred spirit’s song
Fills my fingers and toes.
When the divine,
Connects me with another,
When I find my brothers.
When Mother Earth
Collides me with my like-minded,
And we travel
To parallels and spirit realms.
I love them,
Those of my soul pods,
And born of stars,
And those with scars like mine,
And deep, other-worldly minds
And chosen-kin,
Who are more than our bones,
And our skin.
We are home when within,
And when together again.
We are cosmos.
We are love.
We are one.
Jun 15, 2024
Jun 15, 2024 at 9:38 AM UTC
Our graveyard;
It beckons,
It bellows.
The crows call.
The raindrops crawl down our coffins.
But I believe in you and me.
Our funeral is a mockery.
They’ll pick up the debris
Of our bones.
But little do they know,
Our devotion is feisty.
Our love is indelible; undying.
So I’ll ask politely.
While you’re clenching cloth napkins
And sighing in strife,
Ready your eyes
For a death
That can come back to life.
May 30, 2024
May 30, 2024 at 1:42 PM UTC
Caricature of a truth.
I lay down my wheat and fire iron.
In smoky mirrors, I spread my tail feathers
Alongside the peacock.
When will time be fated to wrist restraints;
When will the Milky Way dance?
If we pick the leaves of the blueberry bush,
Should we ask how she feels of it?
I will dress her in new garb
Before the rooster crows,
If she so wishes.
Why must we play riddles with the unknown?
We poke fun at the things we should practice.
We don’t know the invisible barricade
Unless we paint it.
If we paint it.
Will we paint it?
And when eyes fall,
Of royal silk red,
And swords collide,
Will all be sought?
Have we learned already as people?
Have we forgotten?
Sharpened knife,
And quarterstaff.
The dermis artist before you,
Decorticating all who disobey.
All who fall astray,
Or choose a better tree to climb.
How do we not see?
How do we not see that we are blind?
And when will we learn?
When will we be taught?
Will we ever know,
Will we ever know of what is true and right?
Will we ever know,
The things that we should change,
The things that we should fight,
The things that don’t belong?
The rooster crows.
The rooster’s song is sad,
Because the rooster knows what’s wrong.
Mar 27, 2024
Mar 27, 2024 at 2:09 PM UTC
Friend.
Until clouds part and world’s end.
I know this.
I know you.
Friend.
Pick-pocket.
And you pick the troubles you pocket.
You thieve me.
You thieve you.
Pick-pocket.
Mar 27, 2024
Mar 27, 2024 at 1:53 PM UTC