“A writer is someone who has taught his mind to misbehave.”

― Oscar Wilde
"What people are ashamed of usually makes a good story."

- F. Scott Fitzgerald

“I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge – myth is more potent than history – dreams are more powerful than facts – hope always triumphs over experience – laughter is the cure for grief – love is stronger than death” . — Léon Bloy

A writer never has a vacation. To a writer life consists of writing and thinking about writing." - Anonymous.

“Knowing exactly where he is is as important to a writer as it is to a blind man.”–Ross

'Twas not normal,
To see children born without wings,
"O cruel sins!"
The brittle women sings.
Mother's hid their wingless children,
Tucked them away,
Ignored their wheezes from dusty, old corners,
Prayed to heaven for a growth spurt,
In the meanwhile,
Wondering how much it would hurt.
                                                           ­       -**Firefly

You may be old, but you are not governed by fear,
Death comes and you welcome it,
You laugh at the few who cry,
Your heart still wanting to be alone,
I want to be just like you,
But is that wise, Old Man?
You hate the wind,
Is it because you can't be free like the winged?
You think love is a foul word,
You embrace resentment,
I want to be just like you,
But is that wise, Old Man?
Have you ever had a friend?
I bet you don't need one,
I bet you never had your heart broken,
I wonder if you have one,
I want to be just like you,
But is that wise, Old Man?
                                              -**Firefly

Necklace of rope around your neck,
Cold sparkled your tears,
Mingling in our kisses,
Drawing out fears.
Blood crows' broken beak,
Moonlight mourning the free.
Your glimm'ring eyes,
'Ere eve of death,
Last thing mine heart aches to see.
Strange things happen here,
Under the Hanging Tree.
"String me up!
Lest apartheid influence separation,
String me up love!
Sing me songs of silence, kiss away segregation!"
My voice unwavered,
Decaying church bell tolling twelve,
Cold, cracked fingers fumbling rope.
Moon lighting the way,
The wind whispering,"hopeless,"
Frigid lies hope.
Shuffling of feet in the woods,
Edge of moonlight creatures stood,
Watching the Hanging tree,
Where the dead told his love to flee.
                                                           ­       -**Firefly

Tread softly my dear,
Embrace the shadows,
Snicker at crumbling fear.
Follow I, for I've seen it all,
Yet it still happens now.
They have your love by the Hanging Tree,
He may be dead before the hour after midnight.
Look for the signs,
No need for the light.
His flickering life shall burn like a comet over Earth,
It will burn away,
Come!
Or you'll have to look for bones in the bay.
There they are!
Ready to string him up,
What shall you do?
Leave or you'll hang too,
Remember,
For I've seen it all.
Now is when you decide,
For I shall never believe you are to live alone,
Not live, but then you should die.
Leave or you'll hang too.
Trod the path of life,
Or you can die with your beloved,
Under the glimm'ring moon,
Here under the Hanging Tree,
What shall it be?
I know already,
For I've seen it all,
Remember.
                      -**Firefly

"Leave me be."
Scrawled in blood these words,
Red Blood, now brown,
How long ago has he occupied these stone walls?
Tearing at his veins to form three words.
Three mysterious words,
That hath grappled my heart,
'O the unspeakable thing!
This hill taken over by crows,
A dreary place that held my love.
I ran as fast as I can.
This place, envisioned by me, as a clasp over my heart,
Land I can see for miles,
With only the wind whispering
A barrier to strangle all light.
Unbidden tears fell now.
Fear I, that I've come too late.
"Leave me be." Reverberating echoes.
I am daydreaming
"Beware the air"
So clear!
Fell to my knees,
My tears grew towards the mud-caked ground

Five Days

Hallowed his eyes,
He walks in the woods,
Blind but feeling.
Then on rock and sand he stood.
Encased in dementia.....fear,
So lovely his mask,
Blue-black with tears.
On the verge of corrupted task.
Moonlight whipping his silver hair.
Blood playing on the waves,
He heard wind echoing through *****' lairs,
Rocky beach, site of death's crave

She hurried past trees,
Making her way by moonlight,
Hellfire at her heels.
Images clouding her mind, the dark closing in on him,
Lo thick night!
Bound by his clasp on her heart,
Making her melt, out of breath.
Eve of his death pushing tears,
Blinding and hot,
Conceiving fears.
She saw him,
Taking a step unto empty air,
A daydreamer, never here.
She pulled him back.
Embracing lips, spell-broken,
Once whole,
The darkness rolled away,
Like a wagon over a bridge.
                                                  -**Firefly

He begs to die bathed in moonlight,
Dry heaves, blood,
"Murrain of feeling," he says,
His eyes looking dire.
Convulsions, white-hot pain,
Wandering to death's end,
Can't trod off the path.
A final kiss,
Heated desire.
Spreading pain,
Pleasure Disease's lovely rain.

I swat away flies,
Knee-deep in swamp mud,
Gore covered grass.
I beg to die with him,
Mingle our blood! Take two,
"Put me through hell again-"
Wavering voice, eyes met,
"-I miss the fire."
**** me too, let us both die.
Both refusing to live without the other.
Wish granted.
Lovers' gnarled limbs,
Entwined, dried blood,
Severed bonds,
Wing's cracked.
                             -**Firefly

Shadows of blood pooling below,
Echoed in his eyes, far above,
Fears lay on the land, blue-black crows.
He takes in mem'ries of the feelings of men,
His unfortunate creations, conceivers of sin,
Breeders of the evil, breathers, 'o lungs broken!
Hot tears on his golden cheek,
So many fell, the evil grows,
He cries for the fallen, the robin's broken beak.
In this time of the rise of the fear,
Uplifted evil, earth-thick dark,
Clashing cries of sorrows, no silence to hear.
Blood seeps from the earth,
The mother weeps,
Black pits' mirth.
Unholy the heart's abode, smoke-fire,
Brimstone ripping the skies,
Broken, ******, decaying bodies,
Lo the wolves of dire!
Carrion, Fear's black teeth imbibing flesh,
His eyes clouded over,
Black dawn, unconcealed gore.
                                                          -­**Firefly

The lonely path I have known,
No comfort sought,
No compassion,
Scorned pity.
O'er the darkened hill,
Patches of darker blood,
To this pen they are drawn,
My heart controls my hand,
Absence of mind.
The draining bond.
Great mountains remember me,
I wound around you for miles,
After where the sycamore grows,
I sat down right there and stretched my bones.
Listening to the wind, lo the whispering flows.
I'm still searching for myself,
I lost I on the morn of darkest day,
Worries about the morrow.
Searching for something to strangle the sorrows,
That something for myself,
To chase away the shadows
                                                   -**Firefly