The Moon hangs low on the Eastern sky
And beams with a gleam pale and eerie.
The stars still perched high, emitting airy light,
With a silver hum blanket the sea.

A sailboat sways to the Moon’s lonesome tune
Whose glow coats the deck in white wine.
A ghostly show that is gone all too soon;
A blink of an eye in a moment in time.

There on a rock jutting out near the dock,
Sits a creature who’s scarce e’er seen;
Her gaze of dark moss with your own stare does lock,
And entranced you take in the scene.

You blink your eyes once and like an exhale she's gone,
Only opalescent scales left behind testify she was there.
You inhale the night breeze, not anticipating dawn,
Breathing in an elixir that strips your soul bare.

The mysteries of the Universe often reveal themselves
To us 'neath an ethereal Moon draped over the sea.
So if the timing is right  and in your heart know it’s real,
A glimmer of magic, my darling, you’ll see.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

solitude
is a wonderful
and curious thing

when i am alone
for much too long
and my own company
is all i’ve kept

my sense of self
expands beyond
the boundaries of my body

and in that moment
i do not know
where i begin or where i end

i am one with the fabric
of the universe

that stitches the stars together
in bewitching constellations

in that moment
i am infinite



what an equally
breathtaking and terrifying
thought.

Life is change
It is in constant motion
It flows and it ebbs
Like the waves of the ocean

The people within it
Your friends and your foes
Like the passing of seasons
They’ll come and they’ll go

One person, however,
Remains at your side
Wherever you wander
They follow in stride

Through times good and bad
They never desert you
Though you may not notice
They’re always there for you.

It is your Higher Self
As pure as the dawn
That when all goes to Hell
It whispers, “Hold on!

Be brave and keep going
Though you may feel disheartened
Chin up, take a deep breath
Remember, you’re guarded.

You’re loved and protected
You’ve nothing to fear.
If you’re ever lonely
You have me right here.

I’m the voice in your head
That tells you you’re being
Too ******* yourself
For never quite seeing


Your beauty and light,
You have so much to give!
So unburden yourself
Let go and forgive.

Human life is ephemeral;
It burns bright and fast,
And it falls unto you
To make this time last.

Stop looking for Happiness
Outside of your soul,
Focus on self-improvement
And make yourself whole.

Meditate and be grateful
Learn to breathe and sit still,
And above all love yourself
‘Cause if you don’t then who will?”

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.

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!

In the precious heads of children,
Is a forest deep and vast.
A sprawling land called Imagination
That begins to vanish as time goes past.

The years go by and the child has grown,
The majestic woods now reduced to a garden.
Creative suppression imposed by the world,
Has caused the man’s heart to harden.

An adult now in the corporate world,
His thoughts are dominated by logic and reason.
Any trace of the magic he once saw around him,
Has become a faint shadow fading more by the season.

There are some exceptions, however, some wonderful souls,
Whose forests remain wild and untamed.
In their minds roam the faeries and dragons of Old,
In their minds the magic of life is sustained.

They see enchantment in things most take for granted;
How the owl sweeps and glides or how the moon rules the tide.
In their hearts they hold close a most beautiful treasure,
For in them resides the young child that survived.

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.