He thought that he had been evicted like a raucous Irishman, late once again on the rent, his belongings and furniture strewn on the lawn
His cold, deadly stare and ruffled red, said the same, with haughty indignation written all over him
As could be expected with any eviction, belongings strewn to the street, it started to rain; large splattering drops falling from the sky with an audible impact, adding insult to the injury
But he was just a child, set free and off to learn on his own, his perch and roost along with his chair, moved to his new home
He had outgrown the large screen porch, which was such a ridiculous place for an Owl anyway
Wood and glen gone, surrounded by girder and screen, locked into the realm of old peoples coffee and cigarettes
Tucked up into the eaves ignominiously, or sitting on the lamp, grooming flesh from his over large and taloned  feet
He would sit silhouetted by the dim red glow of the bulb, relaxing, until a noise would spin his head and he would become hooded and glaring death
The lamp added a glow to his eyes, which already burned with a raptors fire and he would become the personification of evil to the world of prey
Low and crouched, wings slightly spread; he would become the terrifying story that small warm animals tell their children at night to keep them in line and safe
But now he has been moved outside and all of his familiar belongings with him, or most anyways
Now he perches outside, either on the rough, twisted branches near his roost, or his favorite chair, and contemplates late into the night
But it seems that he prefers the comfort of his living room and he rests on the arm of the chair, quiet and pensive in the still and humid darkness
He stares at me while I smoke; the white plumes drifting like iridescent fog into the moonlight, while I observe him from his former home, illuminated by the dim lamp light
His saffron eyes gleam in the darkness, his dark form robed in that of the raptor, wings held down, with the tips outstretched like fingers
He stares at the lamp, standing like a pedestal against the wall and I wonder to myself
Does he want his ****** lamp moved out there too?

Then Ulysses tore off his rags, and sprang on to the broad
pavement with his bow and his quiver full of arrows. He shed the
arrows on to the ground at his feet and said, “The mighty contest is
at an end. I will now see whether Apollo will vouchsafe it to me to
hit another mark which no man has yet hit.”
  On this he aimed a deadly arrow at Antinous, who was about to take
up a two-handled gold cup to drink his wine and already had it in
his hands. He had no thought of death—who amongst all the revellers
would think that one man, however brave, would stand alone among so
many and **** him? The arrow struck Antinous in the throat, and the
point went clean through his neck, so that he fell over and the cup
dropped from his hand, while a thick stream of blood gushed from his
nostrils. He kicked the table from him and upset the things on it,
so that the bread and roasted meats were all soiled as they fell
over on to the ground. The suitors were in an uproar when they saw
that a man had been hit; they sprang in dismay one and all of them
from their seats and looked everywhere towards the walls, but there
was neither shield nor spear, and they rebuked Ulysses very angrily.
“Stranger,” said they, “you shall pay for shooting people in this way:
om yi you shall see no other contest; you are a doomed man; he whom
you have slain was the foremost youth in Ithaca, and the vultures
shall devour you for having killed him.”
  Thus they spoke, for they thought that he had killed Antinous by
mistake, and did not perceive that death was hanging over the head
of every one of them. But Ulysses glared at them and said:
  “Dogs, did you think that I should not come back from Troy? You have
wasted my substance, have forced my women servants to lie with you,
and have wooed my wife while I was still living. You have feared
neither Cod nor man, and now you shall die.”
  They turned pale with fear as he spoke, and every man looked round
about to see whither he might fly for safety, but Eurymachus alone
spoke.
  “If you are Ulysses,” said he, “then what you have said is just.
We have done much wrong on your lands and in your house. But
Antinous who was the head and front of the offending lies low already.
It was all his doing. It was not that he wanted to marry Penelope;
he did not so much care about that; what he wanted was something quite
different, and Jove has not vouchsafed it to him; he wanted to ****
your son and to be chief man in Ithaca. Now, therefore, that he has
met the death which was his due, spare the lives of your people. We
will make everything good among ourselves, and pay you in full for all
that we have eaten and drunk. Each one of us shall pay you a fine
worth twenty oxen, and we will keep on giving you gold and bronze till
your heart is softened. Until we have done this no one can complain of
your being enraged against us.”
  Ulysses again glared at him and said, “Though you should give me all
that you have in the world both now and all that you ever shall
have, I will not stay my hand till I have paid all of you in full. You
must fight, or fly for your lives; and fly, not a man of you shall.”
  Their hearts sank as they heard him, but Eurymachus again spoke
saying:
  “My friends, this man will give us no quarter. He will stand where
he is and shoot us down till he has killed every man among us. Let
us then show fight; draw your swords, and hold up the tables to shield
you from his arrows. Let us have at him with a rush, to drive him from
the pavement and doorway: we can then get through into the town, and
raise such an alarm as shall soon stay his shooting.”
  As he spoke he drew his keen blade of bronze, sharpened on both
sides, and with a loud cry sprang towards Ulysses, but Ulysses
instantly shot an arrow into his breast that caught him by the
****** and fixed itself in his liver. He dropped his sword and fell
doubled up over his table. The cup and all the meats went over on to
the ground as he smote the earth with his forehead in the agonies of
death, and he kicked the stool with his feet until his eyes were
closed in darkness.
  Then Amphinomus drew his sword and made straight at Ulysses to try
and get him away from the door; but Telemachus was too quick for
him, and struck him from behind; the spear caught him between the
shoulders and went right through his chest, so that he fell heavily to
the ground and struck the earth with his forehead. Then Telemachus
sprang away from him, leaving his spear still in the body, for he
feared that if he stayed to draw it out, some one of the Achaeans
might come up and hack at him with his sword, or knock him down, so he
set off at a run, and immediately was at his father’s side. Then he
said:
  “Father, let me bring you a shield, two spears, and a brass helmet
for your temples. I will arm myself as well, and will bring other
armour for the swineherd and the stockman, for we had better be
armed.”
  “Run and fetch them,” answered Ulysses, “while my arrows hold out,
or when I am alone they may get me away from the door.”
  Telemachus did as his father said, and went off to the store room
where the armour was kept. He chose four shields, eight spears, and
four brass helmets with horse-hair plumes. He brought them with all
speed to his father, and armed himself first, while the stockman and
the swineherd also put on their armour, and took their places near
Ulysses. Meanwhile Ulysses, as long as his arrows lasted, had been
shooting the suitors one by one, and they fell thick on one another:
when his arrows gave out, he set the bow to stand against the end wall
of the house by the door post, and hung a shield four hides thick
about his shoulders; on his comely head he set his helmet, well
wrought with a crest of horse-hair that nodded menacingly above it,
and he grasped two redoubtable bronze-shod spears.
  Now there was a trap door on the wall, while at one end of the
pavement there was an exit leading to a narrow passage, and this
exit was closed by a well-made door. Ulysses told Philoetius to
stand by this door and guard it, for only one person could attack it
at a time. But Agelaus shouted out, “Cannot some one go up to the trap
door and tell the people what is going on? Help would come at once,
and we should soon make an end of this man and his shooting.”
  “This may not be, Agelaus,” answered Melanthius, “the mouth of the
narrow passage is dangerously near the entrance to the outer court.
One brave man could prevent any number from getting in. But I know
what I will do, I will bring you arms from the store room, for I am
sure it is there that Ulysses and his son have put them.”
  On this the goatherd Melanthius went by back passages to the store
room of Ulysses, house. There he chose twelve shields, with as many
helmets and spears, and brought them back as fast as he could to
give them to the suitors. Ulysses’ heart began to fail him when he saw
the suitors putting on their armour and brandishing their spears. He
saw the greatness of the danger, and said to Telemachus, “Some one
of the women inside is helping the suitors against us, or it may be
Melanthius.”
  Telemachus answered, “The fault, father, is mine, and mine only; I
left the store room door open, and they have kept a sharper look out
than I have. Go, Eumaeus, put the door to, and see whether it is one
of the women who is doing this, or whether, as I suspect, it is
Melanthius the son of Dolius.”
  Thus did they converse. Meanwhile Melanthius was again going to
the store room to fetch more armour, but the swineherd saw him and
said to Ulysses who was beside him, “Ulysses, noble son of Laertes, it
is that scoundrel Melanthius, just as we suspected, who is going to
the store room. Say, shall I **** him, if I can get the better of him,
or shall I bring him here that you may take your own revenge for all
the many wrongs that he has done in your house?”
  Ulysses answered, “Telemachus and I will hold these suitors in
check, no matter what they do; go back both of you and bind
Melanthius’ hands and feet behind him. Throw him into the store room
and make the door fast behind you; then fasten a noose about his body,
and string him close up to the rafters from a high bearing-post,
that he may linger on in an agony.”
  Thus did he speak, and they did even as he had said; they went to
the store room, which they entered before Melanthius saw them, for
he was busy searching for arms in the innermost part of the room, so
the two took their stand on either side of the door and waited. By and
by Melanthius came out with a helmet in one hand, and an old
dry-rotted shield in the other, which had been borne by Laertes when
he was young, but which had been long since thrown aside, and the
straps had become unsewn; on this the two seized him, dragged him back
by the hair, and threw him struggling to the ground. They bent his
hands and feet well behind his back, and bound them tight with a
painful bond as Ulysses had told them; then they fastened a noose
about his body and strung him up from a high pillar till he was
close up to the rafters, and over him did you then vaunt, O
swineherd Eumaeus, saying, “Melanthius, you will pass the night on a
soft bed as you deserve. You will know very well when morning comes
from the streams of Oceanus, and it is time for you to be driving in
your goats for the suitors to feast on.”
  There, then, they left him in very cruel *******, and having put
on their armour they closed the door behind them and went back to take
their places by the side of Ulysses; whereon the four men stood in the
cloister, fierce and full of fury; nevertheless, those who were in the
body of the court were still both brave and many. Then Jove’s daughter
Minerva came up to them, having assumed the voice and form of
Mentor. Ulysses was glad when he saw her and said, “Mentor, lend me
your help, and forget not your old comrade, nor the many good turns he
has done you. Besides, you are my age-mate.”
  But all the time he felt sure it was Minerva, and the suitors from
the other side raised an uproar when they saw her. Agelaus was the
first to reproach her. “Mentor,” he cried, “do not let Ulysses beguile
you into siding with him and fighting the suitors. This is what we
will do: when we have killed these people, father and son, we will
**** you too. You shall pay for it with your head, and when we have
killed you, we will take all you have, in doors or out, and bring it
into hotch-*** with Ulysses’ property; we will not let your sons
live in your house, nor your daughters, nor shall your widow
continue to live in the city of Ithaca.”
  This made Minerva still more furious, so she scolded Ulysses very
angrily. “Ulysses,” said she, “your strength and prowess are no longer
what they were when you fought for nine long years among the Trojans
about the noble lady Helen. You killed many a man in those days, and
it was through your stratagem that Priam’s city was taken. How comes
it that you are so lamentably less valiant now that you are on your
own ground, face to face with the suitors in your own house? Come
on, my good fellow, stand by my side and see how Mentor, son of
Alcinous shall fight your foes and requite your kindnesses conferred
upon him.”
  But she would not give him full victory as yet, for she wished still
further to prove his own prowess and that of his brave son, so she
flew up to one of the rafters in the roof of the cloister and sat upon
it in the form of a swallow.
  Meanwhile Agelaus son of Damastor, Eurynomus, Amphimedon,
Demoptolemus, Pisander, and Polybus son of Polyctor bore the brunt
of the fight upon the suitors’ side; of all those who were still
fighting for their lives they were by far the most valiant, for the
others had already fallen under the arrows of Ulysses. Agelaus shouted
to them and said, “My friends, he will soon have to leave off, for
Mentor has gone away after having done nothing for him but brag.
They are standing at the doors unsupported. Do not aim at him all at
once, but six of you throw your spears first, and see if you cannot
cover yourselves with glory by killing him. When he has fallen we need
not be uneasy about the others.”
  They threw their spears as he bade them, but Minerva made them all
of no effect. One hit the door post; another went against the door;
the pointed shaft of another struck the wall; and as soon as they
had avoided all the spears of the suitors Ulysses said to his own men,
“My friends, I should say we too had better let drive into the
middle of them, or they will crown all the harm they have done us by
us outright.”
  They therefore aimed straight in front of them and threw their
spears. Ulysses killed Demoptolemus, Telemachus Euryades, Eumaeus
Elatus, while the stockman killed Pisander. These all bit the dust,
and as the others drew back into a corner Ulysses and his men rushed
forward and regained their spears by drawing them from the bodies of
the dead.
  The suitors now aimed a second time, but again Minerva made their
weapons for the most part without effect. One hit a bearing-post of
the cloister; another went against the door; while the pointed shaft
of another struck the wall. Still, Amphimedon just took a piece of the
top skin from off Telemachus’s wrist, and Ctesippus managed to graze
Eumaeus’s shoulder above his shield; but the spear went on and fell to
the ground. Then Ulysses and his men let drive into the crowd of
suitors. Ulysses hit Eurydamas, Telemachus Amphimedon, and Eumaeus
Polybus. After this the stockman hit Ctesippus in the breast, and
taunted him saying, “Foul-mouthed son of Polytherses, do not be so
foolish as to talk wickedly another time, but let heaven direct your
speech, for the gods are far stronger than men. I make you a present
of this advice to repay you for the foot which you gave Ulysses when
he was begging about in his own house.”
  Thus spoke the stockman, and Ulysses struck the son of Damastor with
a spear in close fight, while Telemachus hit Leocritus son of Evenor
in the belly, and the dart went clean through him, so that he fell
forward full on his face upon the ground. Then Minerva from her seat
on the rafter held up her deadly aegis, and the hearts of the
suitors quailed. They fled to the other end of the court like a herd
of cattle maddened by the gadfly in early summer when the days are
at their longest. As eagle-beaked, crook-taloned vultures from the
mountains swoop down on the smaller birds that cower in flocks upon
the ground, and **** them, for they cannot either fight or fly, and
lookers on enjoy the sport—even so did Ulysses and his men fall
upon the suitors and smite them on every side. They made a horrible
groaning as their brains were being battered in, and the ground
seethed with their blood.
  Leiodes then caught the knees of Ulysses and said, “Ulysses I
beseech you have mercy upon me and spare me. I never wronged any of
the women in your house either in word or deed, and I tried to stop
the others. I saw them, but they would not listen, and now they are
paying for their folly. I was their sacrificing priest; if you ****
me, I shall die without having done anything to deserve it, and
shall have got no thanks for all the good that I did.”
  Ulysses looked sternly at him and answered, “If you were their
sacrificing priest, you must have prayed many a time that it might
be long before I got home again, and that you might marry my wife
and have children by her. Therefore you shall die.”
  With these words he picked up the sword that Agelaus had dropped
when he was being killed, and which was lying upon the ground. Then he
struck Leiodes on the back of his neck, so that his head fell
rolling in the dust while he was yet speaking.
  The minstrel Phemius son of Terpes—he who had been forced by the
suitors to sing to them—now tried to save his life. He was standing
near towards the trap door, and held his lyre in his hand. He did
not know whether to fly out of the cloister and sit down by the
altar of Jove that was in the outer court, and on which both Laertes

Storms are raging, lightning striking all around.
Ugly faceless beasts, rising up out of nowhere.
All want a piece of me.
I fight alone, I cannot fail, I cannot concede.
I have to fight, the alternative is too… everything.

These are no beasts from a work of fiction.
They’re incorporeal but they are very much alive.
Only I can see them, but I can’t.
I know they’re there.

Anxiety, the first, scratching away at the nape of my neck,
Almost like some taloned spectre,
Cold and slick.
Wants me to scratch,
Wants me to give in.

The Low, the negative, the constant.
Not sadness but the absence of joy,
Nothing has relevance.
Devoid of rational thought,
The Low has won today.

Hopelessness, the last, like a warm duvet on a cold day,
Inviting me to lay down under it,
Inviting me hide my head under the cover and forget all else,
Too easy, there is still life outside the head.

Embrace the chaos,
Storm straight into the fire again,
I refuse to burn; I refuse to lie down,
I refuse to let it win.

This is a good fight and it’s worth fighting.
Too many have lost the fight,
Gave into the pill or the water,
My anchors are in the hearts of my loved ones.

I will survive to fight again tomorrow.
;

With eyes of black obsidian
And eagle's beak of nose
Black turban of the Taliban
Worn everywhere he goes,
Warrior of God's mountainside
Mujaheddin, known by name,
Pashto is his verbal tongue
And Allah's quest, his fame.

Razored knife in braided belt
Long"Jezail"musket points to sky,
A gimlet glint to garnet gaze
One thoughtless move , you die.
Gliding fast from rock to rock
Gazelle like in his easy grace,
Silent as an adder's strike
Assassin black with turbaned face.

For centuries invaders came
To vanquish this stark land,
Persians,Romans, Russians
And British redcoats tried their hand.
And recently the Yankees
Came with automated war,
To find themselves engulfed
And fleeing for the exit door.

Inexorable Afghanistan
Has bleached their bones as one
Vendetta for the insult
While there's air to breath and gun.
Like Shah Massoud, the warlords
Descend from mountain cave
To slaughter all who venture
Be they terrified or brave.

Tribally disconnected
From Islamabad to Kabul,
Tajik versus Pashtun
Versus Koranic Islam's rule.
No prisoners are taken,
The women always use their knives
And ravines echo shockingly
As tortured slowly lose their lives.

But the sunsets are glorious
Valley mists by morning rise
And row by row of fractured peaks
Rise in grandeur to blue skies.
And the children croon to goat herds
As they graze high meadow's green
And above the taloned goshawk glides
Ever watchful and unseen.

Hulks of Russian gun ships
Litter valleys and the plain
And the ghosts of many nations
Walk these dusty roads of shame.
For the legacy of the Afghans
Is a ****** litany of war
And the road to their tomorrow
Is paved with promises of more.

Marshalg
Wanganui
30 December 2009.
www.worthyofpublishing.com
www.hellopoetry.com

When eagles fly lambs bleat,
Taloned shadows circle.
Plunge streak,
Grounding impermanence;
Life, death,
Impersonal but personal.

GOD is a white guy in his 30’s. GOD wears a royal blue Petsmart hat.  GOD has on a grey, short-sleeve button down shirt with a clip-on i.d. badge. GOD’s i.d. badge contains no letters or numbers, just a picture of GOD wearing an i.d. badge with a picture of GOD wearing an i.d. badge on it, and so on into infinity. GOD has cold sores on the corners of his mouth. GOD wears stone-washed jeans. They’re too short, but they have an elastic waist which is really comfortable, so it kinda makes up for the whole “too short” thing. GOD needs really thick “George H. W. Bush” glasses so he can open the rodent cages at work. GOD grew a mustache to hide the scarring from years of using old crusty disposable razors. GOD wears high-tops from 1998. They’re rather worn, but remarkably clean. GOD knows what to do with his hands, but not so much his fingers. GOD is in her 20’s. GOD is sad sometimes and she doesn’t know why. GOD nods. GOD once proved that the country of France does not exist. The fact that the country of France actually does exist makes the accomplishment that much more astounding! GOD is the dark and terrible Dragoyle! The first and last of his kind! GOD is a vicious, taloned beast born of the boiling pits of Borok-‘Tor! His reptilian wings expand across all of space and time and, with even the most gentle twitch, stir up a dense shear of molten flame scalding the skin of all Creation! GOD’s ancient black-diamond eyes, forged from eons of wrath and pain blast-melted in the great furnace that is his heavy heart, peer only inward, leaving him an uncompromising and limitlessly powerful but ultimately humiliating and repulsively weepy creature! GOD is All and All is king of all of All and all of He! GOD is the Unmirror. GOD is the final mathematic tragedy of what happens when we only ever try. GOD is the ghost of a dead thing that never was. GOD is the shattered, petrified shell of Pandora’s box cast down to the crackled crust of Pan’s windless desert. GOD loves you more than himself because GOD knows you are real. GOD farts on books! GOD sips on soup! GOD is a very serious actor in full make-up and costume doing an intense and superbly crafted representation of God, getting to the heart, the true reality of what it is to be God, the essence of Goddom, but in the end fears losing control and holds back, resulting in not genius but blasphemy! GOD masturbates to the Salt-n-Pepa 'Shoop' video! GOD caught you ******* to the Salt-n-Pepa 'Shoop' video! One time GOD got so drunk he forgot you were in the room! GOD invited you to the event “Max’s Karaoke Birthday Bash”! GOD knows you, but isn’t in know with you! GOD is 8,9,12,5,9,4! GOD is . . . ! -hha-hha- GOD is heard breathing. GOD breathes like you do when you’re asleep. At the start of each breath there is a very poignant yet very subtle lip-smack sound. The breathing is steady, never changing pace. Like that of Darth Vader only intentionally ridiculous. Like that of a ticking metronome only . . .  lifeful, which is a brand new word.

My fears
are a flock of blackbirds,
that swarm
the extremities of tree limbs,
but by your grace they dissolve into the sky,
their low caws dispersed by the brushing of the wind.

and there,
in a house finally my own,
no longer supporting there taloned feet:
i am thankful.

How sick and green it creeps inside,
and brings dark thoughts and fears beside,
a beginning so pure and new,
that no true reason could eschew,
the envy that epitomes,
the horrid beast called jealousy.

It grasps with darkened tendrils black,
and seeks in fevered mind to wrack,
all semblance of humility,
and give to greed stability.
To clutch the heart in taloned paw,
and feed all hope unto its maw.

Such anxiety that has me bound.
So tight I can’t breathe.

Dispel this fear that I’m nurturing.
These thoughts that have my lungs
in its taloned clutch.

Let not its grip tighten more.
Let not the flame be extinguished.
Let not the last dregs of my strength flee.

Grant me the courage to once again
triumph over the siege that has me...

All bent misshapen and twisted in knots.

Lucifer was my first lover,
Now I have a twisted fantasy seeping darkness into my head.

I can no longer grow brain cells but I can now grow horns.
Splitting out ot my skull like thorns from a branch.
There's dried blood dripping down the crown of forehead again.

Dancing with the devil is child's play.
He's wrapped a chain around my neck.
Belts upon my arms, ties around my legs.
I'm fully undressed and unholy.

Light the circular fire while I become my purest form.
Lay me on dirt while the embers silhouette around me.
I'm burning like amber, illuminating the nights sky.
This is a ritual, I can take it. I'm not human, I'm reborn.

Mephistopheles' forked tongue spits gasoline over pale skin.
Imp's are beating on drums as the ceremony begins.
Sacrifice me, I am the chosen one.
Beat me until I believe.
Face down in damp soil I'm a mural against the green.
The mausoleum next to me will guide my spirit where it needs to be.

Lily-livered eyes cremate excervasion into my flesh.
Taloned hands drag my body to the crypt.

Bathe me in others as unfortunate as me,
Then dress me in Ivy so those in the underworld can see:  
I'm the "Purest Form Of Innocence."
The one who was once "Me" has finally become "We."

The Archfiend tells me to kneel and I obey his every command.
Falexn eyes control me to undress myself once again.
" Filia Diaboli" He calls me as he places his hands on my head.

I feel my body ascend through the dirt I used to lay.
And when I open my fawn eyes, I'm in the real world once again.

The moon bled, deep red reflections on the water
Yesterday's eve, where madness was only rumors
Maybe two streets down, or the cobbler's son
Before the priests, before the cross came down

Before the fires, which burned cold
Frost clawed from oceans depths, undying rise
Creatures of horrors, and blight
Ripping forth from within, tearing hosts

Something formed then, in my father's pride
It crept out, changing organs flesh to else
Growing within, stretching changing physiology
Ready to burst, I can feel it soon

Creatures lash about the night, creening
Violence against nature, a gift from elder gods
A virus, illness budding out of Bon Homme
Couldn't what be birthed, stay home?

But I could feel it, strengthening
Memories of someone else, mother's child
Flashes of night, gods falling from the sky
Swallowed by the sea, drunken until mad

My toes touched, webbing cool
I drifted, floating my eyes
Clear, studied sky, breath choking
Taste the water, breathe the sea

Back to the sea, back to the sea
A bakers wife, bread no taste for me
Husband slaughtered, black priests to see
Worship the Sea God, turn or die

To me, I found them torn
Protecting mine, I cleaved them all
My husband's eyes, between taloned nails
Drunkened, blood drugged and mad

Oh! But I wasn't alone, chaos ruled the eve
Worshippers in ****** haze, gore filled the streets
Flashing in and out, my mind sane and not
Acts became memory, desire fuel

All those that fled, unpursued
Driven by fear, only half crazed
While we devoured the town, each other
But dawn found me cowering, changed

Now my mind grows, a shadow of my lord
My body turns, gills for my lips reach
Drinking the salty sea, breathing deep
Cleansed and born, anew

When nights grow long and lights fall dim
The pale moonlight casts a fine shadow
‘Cross the pathways in front of the grand cathedral
And behind the tree in Helen’s Meadow
To set our scene anew once more

Mothers and fathers draw children close,
Gathered before the friendly fire
The Tale bubbles forth from long-worn thoughts,
Words strung and sung to the oft-plucked lyre
Wise words from rough tongues to desperate ears

Just one warm home sees silence then
Its riches a veil to hide bleak sorrow
For The Tale long told holds secrets dear
To the hearts of yesterday and tomorrow
And pierces today's with a vice-like grip

The daughter of Walter stares into the fire
Its crackling embers a restless reminder
Of Grandfather Friedrich, the gods-fearing Knight
And Grandmother Helen - his quest to find her
And doom-laden journey it turned out to be

The rumours of dragons had plagued Olde Vorlund
For decades before the armies marched in
Their crests aflame with glorious colours,
Their fanfare a growing, melodious din,
A cacophany borne of love and blood

Atop his throne, bedecked in red robes
The mighty King Halred announced loud and clear
“Behold! A call to all men of Vorlund
“Hear this, mighty warriors from far and from near
“This offer, unique in its time, is for you.”

The men of Olde Vorlund gathered around
Their listening ears silenced anxious hearts
King Halred drew breath, his standard raised high
Anticipation and fear in equal parts
As he opened his mouth to speak

“Our kingdom’s treasure,” his voice rang true
“Is stolen by bandits from the Northern Wastes
“I call on our bravest to arm themselves
“And travel abroad to that cursed place
“To retrieve what is rightfully ours.”

The eyes of the gathered remained fixed on Halred
Not daring to dart to the left or the right
The danger, now felt here, of bloodthirsty pagans
Made fully grown men crave for fear of the night
Or torture in dungeons at home

REWARD, read the image hung from the Great Hall
Finding the treasure not only for glory
The warrior who would restore Vorlund’s wealth
Would inherit a title, lands and a story
Sung by bards at home and abroad

Eight men approached Halred, on bended knee
Offering service to the gods’ chosen leader
Armed and armoured by the best in the land
And gifted a horse from Vorlund’s finest *******
To take them far north and away from home

The names of The Eight are remembered in legend:
Grimwold and Stafn, the brothers in white
Falki, the trickster, determined to conquer
Friedrich, as calm as a cool autumn night
And Bekan, the selfish and greedy hunchback

Olde Vorlund women grieved as Bolli left town
While Dyri and Kali told jokes to each other
The Eight dressed and ready set north all together
While sweet lilting songs caught the ears of the mother
Of each man, a dirge drifting into the night

The Eight crossed countryside fair and rough
Young Kali was first to meet his end;
A bear thought nothing of gripping his head
And ripping his life away from his friend
And Dyri lost hope on the road soon after

The next whose clock struck was beautiful Bolli
A one-handed brute beat his head with a club
After Bolli took single-armed’s wife to his bed
Then cared not to carefully tidy his mess up
Bolli’s bed now has been made in the ground

The Five now remaining approached the Wastes
Expectant to loot and return Halred’s treasure
Bekan crept onward to rob from the robbers
The length of his life met the end of its measure
And Four woke that day without knowledge of how

Grimwold and Stafn, the brave pair of brothers
Led Friedrich and Falki towards Bandit Town
Atop a near ridge they hollered their war cry
Fear entered the village as they bellowed down
One half of the bandits retreated that day

The battle that followed was swift, fierce and ******
Six hundred the number that met death that night
Among them was Falki, whose creeping and sneaking
Worked wonders until he tripped into a fight
And lost both of his hands before losing his life

The brothers in white and Friedrich the younger
Cared not to stop fighting while the sun did not shine
By morning the sight of the town was burnt crimson
The blood of the bandits caught up with spilt wine
And burned-out log cabins in every direction

The treasure was gone, like it never existed
An empty town holding now one lonely crone
Who said that the treasure had passed three days’ north
Ulred the barbarian’s treasure hoard grown
Stolen again by that fearful monster

The Three from Olde Vorlund resolved to continue
Tracking the man with his ill-gotten hoard
Across barren plains and through thick forests
They followed him, tugging his faintly-laid cord
Closing to grasp at the glory ahead

After one noon they discovered a strong trail
Signs of a scuffle there clear on the path
Excited, the Three embraced and moved onward
Ready to face the Barbarian’s wrath
And eager to grasp what was stolen at first

The opening glimpse of their quarry shook the Three
The lone-acting Ulred was less than alone
A lady in chains paced in time by his side
A beautiful maiden he’d made for his own
A desperate soul for the Three to redeem

The brothers in white found it hard to resist
They leapt out at Ulred, their swords in their hands
His legend stood firm as his axe found its mark
And both fell at once, their blood feeding the land
The Barbarian roared in a victory scream

And Friedrich, alone, hid behind a grey boulder
Showing no fear as he planned what to do
Gathering his wits, he took one final look
And paused as his eyes opened wide as a flue
For his sight was not filled with Ulred alone

The great dragon landed, the ground gave a shudder
Brave Ulred stood firm, caught with no chance to choose
As Friedrich looked on, the grand lizard attacked
In minutes the strong man lay bleeding and bruised
And a firm stamping foot ended one more great saga

The dragon, distracted by the screaming girl
Ignored the great treasure hoard piled on the cart
In one taloned claw he grabbed hold of his prey
And flapped his wings gracefully, using his art
And leaving young Friedrich to claim what was sought

But Friedrich cared not for the infinite bounty
For what can great wealth be when won at such cost?
He mounted his steed and stared straight at the dragon
They started at speed before the trail was lost
And Friedrich prepared himself to die that day

The dragon swooped low as they approached the sea
Protecting its prisoner by skirting the cliffs
Diving away, it took stock of the cliffside
And headed directly past massive sand drifts
Into a cave set below a large rock

Friedrich dismounted and leapt down the cliffside
Bare hand by bare hand he descended bravely
Arriving at the cave mouth within minutes
He paused for a moment, considering gravely
How he could save his dream lady at last

Grabbing dark moss from the base of the white cliffs
He covered himself, dressing up as a bush
He crept into the dark, every movement so dainty
Each step requiring his body to push
And holding his breath to protect his fair maiden

The cave was so deep and the tunnels so winding
Lost in the dark, blindly following the trail
At long last he saw her, ******* in the corner
The dragon had left her in his self-made gaol
And Friedrich strode up to her, one aim in mind

He released her so quickly, she collapsed in his arms
“My saviour!” she whispered in gratitude and love
In great need of rest, she pulled Friedrich close
And one night of passion settled from above
And Friedrich and Helen became one that night

As morning drew near, Friedrich woke with a start
The dragon was back and was roaring with rage
He woke up dear Helen, took her onto his back
And ran back to sunlight to take centre stage
To face down this great beast who threatened his wife

He pushed Helen upwards and onto his horse
Determined to fight off the awesome monster
From the top of the cliff he saw only one option
As the dragon looked upward
Friedrich looked down
And he brandished his axes
And leapt off the cliff
And struck true through the dragon
Saving his Helen
And plunging to death

Helen stared at the scene that unfolded below her
Distraught at the death of her only true love
Then she picked herself up and resolved to complete
The mission her Friedrich had finished part of
And she started her mount towards Ulred’s grave

She returned to the spot where the dragon had grabbed her
And looked at the treasure that Friedrich had sought
She picked up an apple and carefully planted
A tree to remember him of whom she thought
He who gave up his life so that she might live

The Tree of Friedrich still stands to this day
In Helen’s Meadow, not far from the sea
And their memory remains in tales and song
But words are not all of this couple we see
For that passionate night led to more than one seed

Helen took all the treasure and raised up an army
Who stormed Olde Vorlund for all it was worth
Then as Queen, nine months later, a new son was born
And the bloodline of Friedrich continues each birth
Ruling the people with justice and mercy

So here ends our tale of sorrow and hope
Of a brave young man who gave up his life
And as children today think of all that he did
They forget everything that they feel causes strife
And remember that love, faith and hope rule the day

To fly or not to fly, that is my burden
For who can run my mile or test my trail
Here draws my grief, true cries so clearly sudden
Will I lift myself on crows wings? Vile.
Nay, my soles must prove their purpose their self
Sand slithers through glass domes leaving traces
My dusty bootstraps be taken off shelf
A timely sojourn to the waves that call
Love awaits me in caved lemon groves
Salty waters I must wander to fall
Into your arms to live once again in that trove
Feet must carry me for new wings to soar
Trust makes them mine, your tired eyes glisten
Dragon’s scales and tales of forgotten lore
Float above your strong shoulders, I listen
For the sound of smoke rings breaking away
From your lips as you loft those wings so high
Fear eludes me, as wind frightens the day
I bask in their shadow, as they do try
To bear the weight of my draining presence
Reaching up to feel your reptiled jaw
Nose fills with namesake blood incense
A monster they cry: breaking natural law
Four taloned feet make mine seem so small
My lovely creature, I see your true beauty
Gems call to me, so into your nest I crawl
Feeling safe, your cave a new home for me
The wings I own are so fragile and weak
Lift me farther from the seventh circle
Take me with you to the highest of peaks
Strap me onto your back with gold buckles
I beg you to fly me away and save
Me from this horribly lucid dank fate
Steal my body from this forgotten grave
Wait til night time seeps through the sky, though late,
On your wings pull me to the stars above
Take me with you on the grandest of flights
Let me show you tales of true life and love
Take me with you to a place of great heights

Being eaten alive cannot be
that terrible. It was a tempting idea,
as I thought on the vultures
that wait there upon the fence.
As I thought on the beaks
snapping at my ventricles, claws
grasping with taloned ferocity deep
into the pit of my stomach.
It cannot be so bad.
Inside the bar, I sip
on scotch and soda
I was out with a woman;
an older beaut that led me
in magnificent circles
of conversation till
I found myself drunk and
without a word to say. Slightly
later in the evening I
ran into an old flame that
I never wished had gone
out. --Yet as they do,
so did she--
This vulture was stunning
in the lamplight of the
plaza, asking me over a drink
how I came to have this woman out,
in all this time without one.
Boredom was my only answer.
Its tendency to draw me in,
with an excusable neglect to
realize the futility of such sport.
She knew, merely in the look she
gave me. She knew the ***** secret of the
skin that grasps and yearns for that almighty friction.
She knew, for indeed she played the
game well enough. Many men have found
her since me, and many more would
seek her out and find her, until I was
merely a tally on the mark. But she
knew that moment, over scotch and soda,
how bad the vultures had me, she
knew that moment, sitting there upon the fence,
that she led the charge.
She never said a word, finished her drink,
took a dance with a man I'll never know.
The woman I came with stormed home,
enraged over something I'll never know,
and the world danced around me to
a tune of which I'll never know.
Instead, I sat over another scotch and soda
and wondered how
bad it could possibly be
to be eaten alive.

Silent she slips in
Resolute the new day
Steps of eiderdown
Path rendered muted echoes
As sparkled snow sugars tongues of lovers
A petaled hand extended
Fragrant cherry blossoms
The blush
The rush
Will cupids lacquered eros wax
When the breeze of romance
Roars ferocious
Lions prowl on taloned claws frigid
Before the frail Paschal lambs
New birth awaits the cadence of spring rain
And jonquiled mornings pregnant with dew
Little girls skip minuets
Plait the maypole
Festive in buttered eyelet, whispered taffeta and crisp dotted swiss
Dreaming of castles and gilt armor
Bind this heart of mine in gold and champagne roses
Love and gunfire burst on the palette of the night sky
Sonic color settles shrieking freedom
The haze of summer days
The wind warm, your breath warmer
She languishes heavy lidded
Pine pitch fragrant in her hair and sweet strawberries in her mouth
Fireflies flit teasing
Tepid water waits for stain glass wings to grace the surface
Taut the day holds her breath
As rumbling thunder promises the cool monsoon
Chase away the dog days when the atmosphere clings heavy
Sleepless nights of croaking toads and the drone of mosquitoes
Breathless for the heady patter of rain
Herald the skies of burning blue
Above a cacophony of color
Cottonwoods in petticoats sunflower yellow
Crimson maple and dusted ash
Dance beneath the harvest moon
Thankful
Life is a gift to be unwrapped
Surprise exquisite
Like the first star sparkling on your horizon
At the end of the day.
TL Boehm
02/01/10

Broken, I crawl to you, dragging sins and shackles over barren ground
Offering nothing but putrid flesh and blood to satiate the hungry grave
No strength to raise my tear streaked face to Heaven
The wreckage of my life crumbling in your weathered hands
You could crush the shattered remnants of my soul
Beyond salvation, I lie lifeless waiting for your Sacred Breath
How long have you sorrowed as I wasted precious breath
Aspirations dropped like autumn leaves scattered on cold ground
My skin screaming curses and lies to fracture my temporary soul
Clawing the earth ferociously, I dig my shallow grave
Precious flesh and bone you’ve woven shredded in my taloned hands
I am lost forever falling far from your Heaven.
Yet in solitary moments you called to me from Heaven
My spirit cried out, I strained to hear your whispered breath
You broke my fall and sheltered me in your mighty hands
Dropping hope into my heart like seeds on fertile ground
You rescued me from my self made grave
You erased my shame and restored my soul
You remember the divinity within my soul
Reminding me I am a resident of Heaven
Never intended for eternal death in a shallow grave
You give me the spark of life with your Holy Breath
I am strong in you and planted on solid ground
You dress me in bridal white and cleanse this blood from my hands
And I will glorify You with every work of my hands
You are the mighty Protector of my soul
No longer condemned, I stand for you on solid ground
Sending sweet songs of adoration to Your Heaven
And I will praise You for your love with precious breath
You set me free from torment, from the grave
You remove the sins and shackles of a permanent grave
Remove the residue left by the ***** ground
And I will love you as you love me with every breath
I carry your Divinity in the center of my soul
Your precious sacrifice prepares a place with you in Heaven
My spirit soars no longer sentenced to return to barren ground
Your precious breath sets me free from the grave
Uplifted from the ground by your strong hands
The grave doesn’t claim my soul, I am yours in Heaven.

From the Vault of lost poems circa 2007/2008
TL Boehm

Look in to the mirror
Only a little light is lost
But that light isn't lost

It's caged, imprisoned
Sandwiched between
The silver and glass
It claws out, etching
Long black scratches
On a mirror walled
Never moved, hanging

In the dark, late at night
A thump, dark noises
Under the bed, the closet
Behind the closed door
It's not all in your mind

It's that bit of light
Turned insane, trapped
So long in the abyss

That, I see as I gaze
That not light staring
Back at me
A pool of not darkness
Ethereal flesh, claws
Of light, scratching
Like a chalkboard
But on glass

That noise in the night
Reaching from the glass
Out, against the wall

It makes sense, of a sort
To reach out, break the glass
But the wall, it stops
Leaving only a scratch
Only, of course,
During the day

Dust of a hundred mirrors
Not reflecting night
Bumps and thumps
Slamming shut
And jumping
You from bed

But the light is trapped
Imprisoned, locked in
To a flesh not its own
Testing, flexing it's taloned hands
Grasping, lingering
On a silvered surface
Screams caught
Etched on the surface
Of our minds

I have winnowed words from red earth
Birthed mad poetry in silence
Rumbled under sullen skies
Cast my cries to the birds of the air
The cadence of  mind
Blind expectations
Venerations
The ache of angels and soliloquied
Mantras of savants and idol fools
I’ve plated my thoughts with bits of
Sugared glaze to coat the rendered
Offering dolloped in the sickened
Fawning
My voracious ego tasteless
Vinegar on the palette
The sweat of my brow spat out
In a shallow glass
The circumstance of banality
Nothing more than the dull ache
At the base of your spine
You dismiss me by degrees
Inconsistencies
Secrets grow fangs and
Spider themselves webbed
Close to the bone
Crunched underfoot
Weary words spin in the thin air
Senseless surrendered chattel
Trace my petty dreams in the dust
Of the space between
You and me and we
Will never grasp the significance
Of a blade of grass
Or the depthless black ocean
Where your terrors luminesce
On the cusp of a pirate moon
You breathe the algorithms
Temporal
And I have lost my taloned grip
On your poet soul
TL Boehm
04/2013

How difficult it is to quit being
God in this dangerous swirling world
Called life which arises from the ego
State with conscious and preconscious thought
Realms that rapidly flow from moment to brief
Moment presenting a false linear
Image of perception perceiver and
Perceived as three distinct intermingling
Entities where in truth only a oneness
Does exist here and now but quit i must
To loose the hold of bone deep taloned fears
Which are a cause and caused resultant in
This present mind of dreamer and the dream

Literary critics don’t always like
The poetry what I do do,
They say it should all be recycled;
Flushed down the nearest loo ...
They say they cannot find a metre;
Although one works for the Water Board,
They dance all over my dignity;
My self-confidence they have floored,
They say me grammar is somewhat bad,
I think the word they used was appalling,
Their taloned claws, grip sharpened knives,
They give me quite a mauling.

But kind, gentle reader (grovel),
I’m sure that at least you understand;
That my thoughts are erratic explosions,
Not controlled, orderly or planned.

As long as my simple poems
Make you ponder, weep, or smile
I’ll carri-on regardless,
For it would all have been worthwhile.

iridescent inkblot
splats across
sapphire skies

raucously roving
empty and
eroding earth

barren branch
territory and
taloned toes

warily watching
canyon and
cracked clay

once, there was a bird inside my house
blue tailed and yellow bellied  
not big enough to be much of anything at all  
i had to hold it in my hands to let it out
it was so light i couldn’t feel anything but its taloned feet
digging softly into my palms
and perhaps the sharpest parts of ourselves
make the only impression that lasts.

There were red berry trees, with their marmalade skies
I saw gossamer green with my color-blind eyes.
And the roads which spiraled this way and that
Spun a yellow brick road for that silver-haired cat.
But despite all the blue and the green and the red
There's a high tiding chance that I wished I was dead.
Dr. Seuss in his study, dreaming down to his toes,
Was the black and the white that I read into prose.
And that poetry book that was cracking and old,
Held the brick-heavy grief stuck way in its fold.
And the tears which fell like clear droplets of rain,
From my cheeks only soared further into the pain.
"I don't want to hurt you, you're the one I adore...
But hurt you I must, can't you see that I'm bored?"
And down by the river near the colony bees,
Happened a thing that struck even the Queen.
In between mud fights and bruises from stones,
Came the black-taloned secrets and their bellyful moans.
And even among the bristled red berry trees,
and the yellow brick road and the colony bees,
and all the roads which curved this way and that,
and the cellophane green and the silver-haired cat,
There was Death with his smile atoned in faux-white
and medicators to push their manipulated plight.
And even besides the mud fights and blue skin,
There was always a bathroom for us to "play" in.
Slowly I realized, with a chagrin so great,
That this victim of circumstance had a five-letter name.
Thus the only thing waiting for nameless to do,
was to fast disappear in the green and the blue.
Those wilted berry trees, with the glassy grey skies
and the fake plastic green with the shy-away eyes,
and the roads which all spiraled out of control,
and the broken brick road for the cat on the stroll,
all these things might suffice with the brain in your head
but not on the days that you wished you were dead.