riding the shadowless night
in search of his darkest day
more or less there's Hell to pay
and this is the way of The Wanderer

rocky is the path of mossless stones
and where it leads is less than known
nevertheless 'tis where he roams
and this is the way of The Wanderer

much pity there should not be
as he has visited much pain upon others
passing like a wraith through their friendly hearts
leaving nothing real or true in his wake

nothing could be so bold as a lost soul
unafraid of what is unknown
afoot the rocky path of mossless stones
all alone

and this is the way of i
i am The Wanderer

Sleeping on the edge of a cliff
  facing Northwest
I moved the sun
Now I can wake to its golden bloon
bathe me in the fresh air of daylight
           Caressing the nine minute old streamline
Pulling it closer
Like time does to me
              And I become ash

I wake today
with the strength of heaven
at my bedside
with the light of the sunrise
tapping my window
and shattering out to colors
the dance of dusk and dawn
I wake with the pulse of nature
at my toes
Earth begins to soften
and seed begins to stir

My body is the depth of sea
heavy, steady and rooted
This fragile creation
a matriarch thrown
my gentle bed
Steadiness of soil
wet grass and burning leaves
over naked flesh
like spider webs on fish bones
The solidity of rock
where I lay my head
anchored and grounded

Outside the beast and the chattering crow
both alive with song
The spirits of the mountains
their roots are deep
I pierce the air
and watch them dance
from flat to peak
to a red and purple sunset
let my tired eyes seak

I arise today
Through God’s strength to fuel me
God’s wisdom to guide me
God’s hand to guard me
Alone or in a multitude
an armor to shield me from injury


"May Queen"
(c) Mar 17, 2008, Bellabloom
and its affiliates and assigns and licensors
All rights reserved

Take me to a miracle
I asked of "no one in particular."

Give me a philharmonic in the sky
And a blazing talking bush.

Let me see a ******’s ghost
and a lame man dance a jig.

I’d like to catch the show just once
before I flee this vale of fears!

Then no one in particular chided me
called me “vanity’s clown.”

Still, I tried to call him out
in the realm where words are born.

I thought that if I could crack the code of
how a vision breaks the void.

or how a proud and callous tongue
can raise a sanguine humor

or how a toddler breaks the silence
with his first astounding word,

then I'd topple “no one in particular”
from his lofty station!

But alas I failed to own the source
of a solitary thought or word

or what it means to care or conjure
or why I came to seek a miracle.

A hidden voice from nowhere in particular
gently slaked my feeble pride,

“Surrender to each dawn and dusk;
they're all the miracles you need.”

*December, 2007