Like forests after a fire, reduced to char and ash,
yet teem with new life beneath glistening rain,
you too, my love, can be born again.
Like the silent canary that mourns a lost love,
yet resumes singing in Spring as hope replaces pain,
you too, my love, can be whole again.
So let the chains of your burdens dissolve into feathers,
feel the winds of change gently ruffle your wings,
and soar like a bluebird, free of your tethers
into a horizon of wonderful things.
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 6:51 PM UTC
The starlight sings to the dead of night
crimson lullabies from times long gone,
stories of sorrow, love and might
that keep the dark entranced til the break of dawn.
Though the sun rises, outshining the stars
their shimmering voices can still be heard,
their silver tongues weave tales of Mars
the great God of War and the battles he spurred.
They croon of the lovely Venus, goddess of love
whose body beguiled the lustful soul of man,
whose beauty enchanted realms below as above
and inspired tomes of poetry as only woman can.
As the sun grows weary and his brilliance fades,
and the cotton candy sky gives way to ebony,
as the phantom moon begins her promenade,
the stars reemerge and resume their symphony.
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 7:49 PM UTC
The night is soft and billowy,
Beckoning me deeper into her velvet embrace.
The dark air caresses me,
Like a smooth, silken hand stroking my face.
The breeze carries with it the scent of autumn;
decaying leaves, campfire smoke, pumpkin spice and pine needles.
A heady cocktail that rouses something in me that no other season can.
This, is my favourite time of year.
The bare trees, colourful leaves and crisp breeze soothe my mind.
The long nights of candlelight and incense soothe my soul.
Draped in moonlight and watched over by the stars,
I drink the wine of ancient Roman nights,
of sacred pagan rites,
of owls' sleepless flights,
of lustful lovers' bites,
That dark and warm midwinter wine.
And it is here
As I lie naked beneath the gentle gaze of the moon,
Vulnerable and exposed,
Innocent and joyful,
With child-like wonder at the beauty that surrounds and encompasses me,
Sipping the crimson nectar of the gods,
That I feel whole.
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 3:15 PM UTC
You are caressed by moonlight
and kissed by the sun.
You are made of nectar
and salty waves
and magical herbs
that grow as wild as your heart.
You are the Vessel of Life,
a goddess on earth.
You are a healer, a witch
and a gypsy queen,
in tune with the cycles
and quivers of the world.
You are made of milk and honey
and the crisp winds of autumn live in your hair.
Your spirit is rose petals
and burning embers,
sweet spring water
and nightshade berries.
Your body is in sync with the Moon
that rules the ebb and flow of the ocean.
Your eyes reflect the calm of a glassy lake
and the ferocity of a storm.
Your tears are the drops of dew
on blades of grass at dusk
and your laughter makes flowers bloom.
You are the product of billions of years
of colliding planets,
dying stars,
swirling galaxies
and perfect chaos.
You have the terrifying immensity
of the universe encompassed
in your beautiful body—
How can you sit here with a straight face
and tell me you feel empty?
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 3:25 PM UTC
He sits down near the roaring fire
Wild shadows dance across his face,
A dark room scented with burning briar
Pairs with storytelling like a warm embrace.
Glancing around at those who have gathered
To hear him weave stories with his silver tongue,
Shining eyes meet his gaze and you can bet no chatter
Will be heard amongst them ’til the tale is done.
With a twinkle in his eye he begins to narrate
The saddest story that has ever been told,
The tale of a maiden with such a cruel fate
That would make the hottest tea within earshot, cold.
It’s a story of love and abandonment, of malice and spite,
A comedy and a drama that’ll make you laugh and cry.
A tale of joy and loss, of hatred and fright
And a heartache so strong. Everything goes awry!
The audience chuckles and the audience wails,
His words build them up and his words tear them down.
He holds them entranced, as though under a veil,
Like a skilled hypnotist, keeps them spellbound.
A narrative so sublime the very moon strains to hear
And stars fall to their knees, weeping silver tears
As they listen to the tragic beauty of his rhymes
Softly ringing in the breeze before dissolving in a dark, velvet sky.
Concluding the tale, he gets up to retire
Leaving them incredulous, sitting by the fire.
Their astounded expressions make the storyteller laugh,
There’s truly no doubt he’s **** good at his craft!
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 12:01 PM UTC
Their fur is like silk
Their paws soft as moss,
Their pupils dilate and
Chase things that are tossed.
Once worshipped as gods
Now they're merely our pets,
Though they wear a facade
That says "Cats don't forget."
They still think that they're sacred
And mankind is their slave,
So they walk like they're royalty and
Take the act to their grave.
Some people despise them
Say they're cold and ungrateful
They look like rats, they cause mayhem
And they're just not playful!
I see something different
When I look in a cat's eyes,
I feel an ancient wisdom
Behind their jaded guise
I am transported back
To scorching Egyptian nights
And see within their pupils, black
The starless desert skies.
An intelligent being stares back at me
In unblinking contemplation,
My soul laid bare before two orbs
The color of amused satisfaction.
So next time you see one lazily
Sunbathing on its side,
Close your eyes and feel
the ancient spirits that
It carries deep inside.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 7:00 AM UTC
to feel joy instead of envy
for someone else’s success
is a very loving and noble thing
that is not always easy to do
to be able to rejoice
in a fortune that
is not one’s own
to genuinely delight
in the triumph
of others
it takes a certain kind of selflessness
to be able to detach yourself
of your own reality and find
sincere happiness
immersed in someone else’s,
if only for a little while
the Moon was never as happy
as when she made way
for the Sun
and beaming with pride
she smiled
at her lover from afar
watching as he lit up
the world with his radiance
in a way
she knew she never could
but admired nonetheless
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 1:10 PM UTC
If I should die tonight
I will go in peace
Though I’ve lived but twenty years
I know that life won’t cease.
It will go on and they’ll move on,
My pets and friends and family
Happiness will find them once again
And I’ll be a fond memory.
If I should die tonight
I will not put up a fight
For I have loved and have been loved
And my life was rather bright.
I did not accomplish much
In my brief time here on Earth
I did not learn to dance or sing and I never wrote a book
But achievement is subjective and I lived my life with mirth.
If I should die tonight
I will not die in vain
For I brought laughter to those around me
And to a few I eased some pain.
Mind at rest and soul in peace
I’ll be lying in my bed
Dreaming dreams full of magic
Long after I’m dead.
I’ll roll over one last time
With a faint smile on my face
I’ll exhale my final breath, at last,
And my God I will embrace.
Before it is my time to go
One thing I’ll leave in ink:
If you have some friends and a family that loves you
You are richer than you think.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 7:59 PM UTC
There’s something about campfire;
The scent of wood burning
And smoke rising higher…
I close my eyes.
I blink open and I’m back
With our ancestors of hunters
And dwellers of caves,
Sitting by the flames,
Watching the fire cast
Shadows upon stone.
Mixing water and mud
With an old, cracked bone
In a futile attempt to
Capture on cave walls
The fearsome beauty
Of the blaze that could
Consume us all.
I close my eyes.
Squint open to find myself
In the Rockies on a full moon night
In a circle ‘round a fire, with drums
Pounding and voices raised
In a chorus with the wolves,
Howling praises to the Mother
Of the good, green Earth.
*The Elder Chief takes the peace pipe
Inhales the harsh tobacco
And passes it around.*
Exhaling smoke, he begins
To recount stories and folklore
Of wise turtles and great Eagles
And earth spirits come and gone.
The young listen to the wise;
Imaginations taking flight
The fire dances in their eyes,
Wide and shining in delight.
I close my eyes.
In the early hours of the morning
When everyone is sleeping sound,
And the blaze, no longer burning,
Is reduced to embers on the ground,
I open my eyes.
Thin wisps of smoke still rise;
Ethereal fingers reaching high,
But disappear in wistful sighs
Before reaching the dawning sky.
I smell the scent of campfire
And something primal stirs;
I am the stoic hunter
From days of caves and furs.
I am a Native in the snowy mountains
Beneath a sky full of stars by the thousands.
And in the silence of the night,
A crackling fire burns in the woods
And under the swirl of the Northern Lights,
You’ll hear me howling with the wolves.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 8:41 PM UTC
When the sun sinks slowly out of sight on the horizon, taking with him all the buzz of daytime in a happy sigh, the moon begins her climb up into the sky and it’s in this moment that magic is nigh. With the sunlight now vanished from the heavens, the sleepy town is draped in a veil of grey. The stars twinkle in fixed constellations that have watched over the Earth since the beginning of time.
Darkness blankets the forests and hills where nocturnal activity begins to stir; a steady heart beating in the dead of the night, as creatures from the shadows begin to emerge.
The bats and owls, the scorpions and snakes, blink open sleepy eyes from a long day of rest. Pupils dilate, taking in the moonlight that helps their night vision as the hunt begins. In the heart of the forest a drumming is heard and a soft hum of singing and laughter and fun. A closer look reveals faeries dancing in circles, bouncing atop mushrooms, flowers and stones. Ethereal bodies spellbound by the music move and flow freely to the pounding of drums. These glowing creatures sing songs of ancient lore; of Avalon mists and dragons of Old. Songs of witchcraft and magic forbidden to man, so unearthly and sweet beyond human conception. Their silvery voices in cadence and rhyme rise in child-like revelry to the firmament above.
Perched on an old oak, branches crooked with age, sits a lone raven in stoic contemplation. Its beady eyes shine with unnerving cunning and its back is hunched from the burden of knowing events that have not yet transpired. A sudden gust of wind ruffles its feathers, sending one flying up into the air. It twirls and dances in the gentle breeze, glistening a midnight blue under the pale moonlight. It glides silently, suspended above the ground as the raven caws the witching hour. The feather lands gingerly in a bubbling stream where a river nymph surfaces and fishes it out of the sparkling waters. She sits on a stone on the edge of the brook and weaves the black feather into her shimmering hair. Then after admiring her beauty in a pool of still water, she makes her sweet way back to the river. Wading into the currents she knows oh so well, she dreamily sings to herself as she immerses herself completely into the dark depths below.
In the distance a fire appears to be burning, below a large cauldron that is smoking and bubbling. Above it, a maiden in a black velvet cloak busies herself stirring and flipping through a large, dusty book. She stirs and she stirs and adds herbs here and there, making a brew of protection made more powerful by the waning moon. In rhyme she chants her incantation; weaving her magic of darkness and light. She invokes the elements and her Goddess and God, under whose proud gaze her spell has been cast. Removing her cloak, she prances around the fire, sky-clad and mirthful in the eyes of the Mother.
Nighttime is laden with magic and mystery for those who’ve retained their childlike wonder. The death of day gives rise to enchantment and the world becomes filled with wonder in the eyes of those who choose to see the incredible in the ordinary.
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC