Wolf Love


The night settled in
an old comfortable friend
blanketing everything
Wolfs course hair kept him warm
from October air and winter storms
but he felt no urge to sing

His yellow eyes glinted
from the flat black
entrance of his den.
He knew that he would return
but he hadn't planned on when

Wolf was accustomed to the worn path
where he often liked to tread
He stepped beyond his concealed home
but did not raise his head


He began his journey through the trees
knowing where his paws would lead
but wolf was not the same...
No puffy chested bachelor any more!
He had met a dame...
A ***** they say

He snorted.
Steam trailed back along his face
like a train from much older days.
There was no trot, no bounce
no lively spring
to his tired pace.
Wolf simply made his quiet way
to a secret private place.
Something was wrong inside his heart
where once it had been content,
now he found a space.

She'd ran with him,
on mountain slopes
of green and shades of grey
scraping the very sky it seemed
in the fullness of the day.

He remembered how their voices echoed
cutting through the night.
They'd rolled entwined in fallen leaves.
They'd grabbed each others necks to please
such friendly, trusting bites

He was no fool and understood
the space he had inside.
His heart had moved, making room
for another one beside

Wolf was heading for that perch
where for a while they'd sang.
"Maybe I am obsessed." He thought
doing everything he could
to ignore the pain
this love had wrought.

Still his paws kept closing distance
in his heart was no resistance
heading for that place,
they liked to play

His tight stomach growled and turned
another thought inside him burned
He could have gone a different way
into the vale and to that farm
to eat that rooster who liked to crow,
greetings
at the start of every day

Wolf didn't even turn his head
he was off for higher ground.
He tested the air for her scent
but not a single hint was found.

Wolf hoped perhaps the wind was wrong
and tuned his ears to hear her song
then for higher ground he went
up and up, and on

He spotted prints they'd left
on warmer nights before
and for a while he walked with them
searching for even more.
Impressions in the earth

His mind was fixed on She Wolf
and the days when they had played.
Deer were near Wolf did not care
and continued on his way.

He longed to hear her howls again
rising up with his.
In the still night air free of care
that's where his heart
at first had lived

Lonely aching desperation
urged him up and on,
traversing slopes of rolling foothills
to the mountain just beyond.

He thought about their deep night love
and not the narrowing trail.
Up and up and on and on
all rubble and shale
soft earth was gone.
Wolfs feet were sure
and would not fail
up he went, and on

Now Wolf could smell her,
where she'd scraped a single birch
leaving her
She Wolf fur.
He took a breath
and savoured her scent,
like the finest wine
from the finest vine.
He left his mark in the dark,
recollected
then on he went

Obsessive desire drove him on
the need to find her
and fill his heart
with more than just the haunted dreams
that tainted all his memories.

He knew now that it wasn't far
over a spur into a vale,
then up the incline just beyond.
Beneath the stars he made his way
listening for her eerie song.

Wolf bent his concentration
wanting for his destination,
thought about her She Wolf love
and broke into a hungry run.
Panting and panting
running and panting,
ever closer to that place
where his heart had moved for her
and left for her a space.

Then there it was,
above.
Their stage!
That naked outcrop where they'd sang
and their love engaged.

Wolfs heart pined and ached.
They'd loved beneath this sky
but She Wolf did not take the stage.
His head hung low once again
Wolf exhaled and let out a sigh,
where summer love had once been made.

Defeated,
Wolf sought his comfort
from the shoulder of the mountain side,
beneath an overhang of sorts,
that sill would let him hide.

Sleep is all he wanted now.
Sleep until he died.
There was nothing Wolf could do.
He could not lie.
His heart had moved,
making room
for She Wolfs right beside.

Slowly and with dark despair
he sought that overhang,
to sleep where they once had paired
on summer nights and sang

Then...like windy thoughts
the wind itself had changed.
Wolf raised his head,
now intent.
Wind had told him everything
and to that bed he went!
Howling! Howling!
Howling to the moon!
Knowing that his love was there
and that he would be there soon.

and so they met
with bites on necks
and mingled yips and yipes.
There his heart had moved for love
and there they spent the night.

On mountain side he met his bride,
perched above the world below.
There they danced loves sweet dance
staging for their night romance,
where only they would know.

Moons melting yellow light
touched everything with them.
She Wolf He Wolf sang in turn,
and then they loved again.
Loving love and making love
a true love to the end.

Wolf knew that his heart had moved
but hers had moved as well
and now they danced forever,
where both their hearts could dwell.

and all should howl
their hearts desire.
Find your love and love.
Shine with that internal fire,
out past the stars and so much higher.
Life is short.
the wolves cavort.
Howl at the moon!!!

Roosty!!

AWAKENING

Sleep and slumber, dreams of wonder... weaving,
morning’s vacuum broke the spell
Pitted pillow, note of parting... leaving,
“from your friend, a fond farewell”
Sunrise throbbing, twilight aching... grieving,
daydreams, flashbacks, nightmares knell
Pale phantasms, visions sneaking... thieving,
plot to fill the empty shell

12 DELIRIA

1st Delirium: COLLAPSES

Fractured sky bolts, billows bursting... rumbling,
heavens tighten, turn the vise
Horsemen saddle shafts of lightning... tumbling,
jagged highways must suffice
Ruptured skyways, hailstones crackling... crumbling,
naked pearls of paradise
Toxic tongues of laughter stinging... stumbling,
ocean buckets choked with ice
Droplets drumming, thunder muzzled... mumbling,
washed out whispers pay the price
Smothered blazes, cinders smoking... humbling,
ashes shaped in sacrifice

2nd Delirium: DESCENTS

Asphalt alleys, ashen faces... frowning,
blowing bubbles, chewing gum
Drinking ale from tavern tankards... downing,
moonlit beads of painted ***
Stony stars and sea misshapen... drowning,
humble rivers’ rhythms hum
Apparitions aspirating... clowning,
diamonds dying , minstrels strum
Incandescent candles conquered... crowning,
vacant vapours, cold and numb

3rd Delirium: FATES

Tempest turmoil, tapered turrets... holding,
dungeons, dragons, chains and racks
Wheels of fortune, Tarot temptress... molding,
Hangmen, Towers, One Eyed Jacks
Sand dune castles, cryptic candles... folding,
warping walls of liquid wax
Idols colder, combed and coddled... scolding,
hide in fissures, peek through cracks

4th Delirium: LOST SOULS

Sunken cities, pilgrims peering... gawking,
squinting eyeballs, blazing sun
Janus facing, shepherds chasing... stalking,
friends embrace before they shun
Tearooms steaming, tumult teeming... talking,
lovers listen, poets pun
Broken stones unanchored, quaking... rocking,
slipping, falling, one by one
Beaten pathways, footsteps marking... mocking,
wedged in webs which spiders spun
Circus shelters, big tops tumbling... locking,
people pacing, soon they’re none
Numbered exits, zeros numbing... knocking,
midnight daylight’s days undone
Moon blood shackles, shivers shaming... shocking,
starlight striders streaking, stun
Hushed but harried hermits waiting... walking,
restless rainbows on the run
Pixies, elves, and echoes bouncing... balking,
fading fast when dawn’s begun
Bantum butterflies are flitting... flocking
sometimes conquered, overrun
Hocus pokus, seers focus... squawking,
voodoo wavered, witchcraft won

5th Delirium: INTROSPECTION

Sundown furnace, fires fading... coughing,
dusky dew drops drain the air
Empty chalice, sipped in silence... quaffing,
thirsting shadows unaware
Looking glass and lattice scorning... scoffing,
local loser gapes and stares
Faces covered, dancing naked... doffing,
peering inside, hope despairs

6th Delirium: THE VOID

Tales of taboos, mystic mythos... missing,
windows shuttered, bolted door
Kindled candles, tongues and anvils... hissing,
heavy hammers, echoes roar
Dark deceivers, raven charmers... kissing,
draging demons from the shore
Hopeless hollows filled with doubters... dissing
standing empty - nevermore

7th Delirium: SEARCHING

Martyred monks haunt runic ruins ... waiting,
banging broken bells below
Vaulted hallways, voided voices... grating,
churning Chinese chimes aglow
Granite graveyards, spectres spooking... skating,
blackened bushes, roses grow
****** dwarfs seek mutant migrants... mating,
packing parcels, ice and snow

8th Delirium: NIGHTTIME

Throbbing drumheads, fingers blazing... steaming,
coins of copper, beggars plea
Rusty residues of resin... streaming,
opal amber filigree
Orphan shades in shallow shadows... teeming,
steeping twigs in twilight tea
Cloister doorsteps, Prophets gaming... scheming,
tracing tracks of destiny
Blacksmiths blanching, horseshoes glowing... gleaming,
partially sheathed in black debris
Phantoms feigning, nightmares scathing... screaming,
dusty dreamers drifting free

9th Delerium: EMPTYNESS

Water wheels in wastelands... turning,
drowning relics in the slum
Rumpled rags of fashioned burlap... burning,
lit by bandits blind and dumb
Pastured prisons, ponies bridled ... yearning,
forest fairies under thumb
Sounds inside of cauldrons coughing... churning,
blaring bugles, tattooed drum

10th Delirium: ALIENATION

Rain unravelling, wistfully weeping... falling,
treacle trickling, fickle sky
Mushrooms sprinkled, visions sprouting... sprawling,
seagulls drowning, dolphins die
Rabble gasping, spirits broken... crawling,
lonely lonesome swallows cry
Babbling brooks and breakers ebbing... bawling
puppies paddle, puppets sigh
People passing ripple past me... calling,
rainbow colours, collars high
Chaos seething, lepers looting... stalling,
stealing stallions on the sly
Pencils pausing, scholars scrambling... scrawling,
scratching scribbles, asking why

11th Delirium: JETSAM

Silver sails sway pallid pirates... prowling,
Jolly Rogers, wind and sound
Parrots perching, tattered feathers... fouling,
tethered talons, tied and bound
Shipwrecked foghorns, trumpets stranded... howling,
spiral springs of time unwound
Magic moonlight, shimmers shaking... scowling,
burnt out matchsticks washed aground
Prairie wolfs, coyotes calling... yowling,
witching hours, midnight hounds
Tightrope walkers, grizzlies grunting... growling,
seeking islands, lost and found

12th Delirium: RELIEF

Slumber shattered, vapours captive... haunting,
chained in mirrors, breaking free
Scarlet skylines, daylight dawning... daunting,
rivers rushing to the sea
Silence softens, sandmen whisper... wanting,
piercing rafters, turning keys
Shadows shudder, notions fluster... flaunting,
moonbeam bullets meant for me
Mind in migraine, meadows trembling... taunting,
sparrows speak in harmony

REAWAKENING

Pitter patter, teardrops paling... pearling,
salting scarves in secret drawers
Mist amongst us, smoke rings rising... curling,
climbing from the ocean floors
See-saw circles, senses swerving... swirling,
swept away with silver oars
Courtyard jesters, sceptres twisting... twirling,
push the past to foreign shores
Passing pangs of passions heaving... hurling,
burning bridges, closing doors
Roses wither, icons waning... whirling,
time decays and time restores

A cruel Jack Frost blows icy floss
          (in front of spring a’ burstin’)
while shiftin’ sheaves of withered leaves
          near freezin’ streams a’ thirstin’.
A pack reviled runs roamin’ wild,
          the alpha wolf wakes howlin’
then scents a lean and lonesome scene
          while on the lurk a’ prowlin’.

A cloud revolts with spangled bolts,
          and starry skies start closin’
as wild geese soar beyond death’s door
          neath naked moon a’ posin’.
Electric shafts, like fractured rafts,
          sail night’s cathedral caldrons –
their cracking curse makes herds disperse
          in random splayed and sprawled runs.

A she-wolf sighs with hungry eyes;
          the ancient wolf waits, bayin’ -
with weary back, he’s lost the track,
          his bandied legs betrayin’.
The brood’s somewhere in shrouded lair
          with mama left to mind ’em -
the wolf, a’ drag with empty swag,
          is on his way to find ’em.

The pack rejoins with weary ***** -
          perhaps its days are numbered.
In evening’s night, he’s feeling tight,
          with aches and pains encumbered.
As morning nears, with shaggy ears
          (one droopin’ down, hung over)
he’ll set the course with renewed force,
          for, yes, he’s still the rover.

When snow enshrines the timberlines
          and skies are ripped asunder
though young, lupine, they’ll stifle whines,
          as gullies fill with thunder;
mid echoes in the mouth o’ death,
          they bid farewell the lair
while panting puffs o’ crystal breath
          float, hanging in the air.

Their path is black (they can’t look back
          for herds long gone a’ missin’)
as dusk profanes the snow-bound plains
          the sinkin’ sun was kissin’.
Neath northern lights, with barks and bites,
          he keeps ’em all in motion –
the speckled scars of fallin’ stars
          display the night’s devotion.

The sky’s a’ blushin’ in the east,
          and hollow wind’s are sighin’
while buzzards freeze in gallows trees,
          a’ roostin’, rapt and eyein’.
These ghouls of prey, they’re spooked away,
          like tumbleweeds a’ blowin’,
by tilted head, white fangs tipped red,
          and warnin’ wail’s a’ growin’.

With snout upturned the moon’s discerned
          as well as wafts a wendin’
and muzzled growls and shriekin’ howls
          mark wolves in quests unendin’.
With fragrant hint, the wolf’s a’ sprint,
          the pack begins t’ rally –
in swift descent they’ve seized a scent,
          that’s flowin’ down the valley.

The wolf moves on behind the dawn
          and shades the pale horizon
as she-wolfs vet his silhouette
          each time they lay their eyes on.
With trek discreet, a trail is beat
          across a river frozen –
when day’s complete, just mice to eat,
          a choice despised, but chosen.

A stillness jeers the shaggy ears
          (one droopin’ down, hung over),
while caribou, with much ado,
          drift, seekin’ blades o’ clover;
the wearied pack picks up their track
          (with stony stomachs pangin’)
through endless seas of barren trees
          with ice like daggers hangin’.

The wolf invades forgotten glades,
          the pack stays close behind ’im;
the caribou, in his purview,
          seem far too far to mind ’im.
Above, a baleful moonbeam wails,
          “oh god he’s gonna’ catch ’em”;
the scene is grim, the Reaper dim,
          the night has gone to fetch ’im.

A moanin’ mynah’s crying loud
          as birds of prey are preachin’
to cravin’ ravens prayin’ proud
          and wide-eyed owls a’ screechin’.
The wolf, unrushed, is breathin’ hushed,
          his hollow eyes a’ narrowin’
and focused hard in fixed regard
          on herds they'll soon be harrowin’.

The morning breeze is ill at ease,  
          a surge brings sudden silence –
then haggard swarms launch poundin’ storms
          and hurricanes of vi’lence;
the herd’s surprised and paralyzed
          all over hell’s half acre –
the leadin’ buck’s run out of luck,
          he’s soon to meet his maker.

The old wolf creeps, the old wolf leaps
          on prey he’s been a’ trackin’ –
a deer adorned with branchin’ horns
          is torn by beasts attackin’.
The morning quakes, a shadow shakes,
          tined antlers left a’ lyin’,
and spattered spots and scarlet clots
          repaint the point o’ dyin’.

A magpie flies with frightened eyes
          (on ebon wings a’ wavin’),
spies wolfin’ jaws and sated maws
          of wolves no longer cravin’.
The snowdrift clears, a cool wind veers,
          a dying breath, moreover –
a wraith appears, with shaggy ears,
          (one droopin’ down, hung over).

Dawn’s sunbeams crowd, ignite a cloud,
          its threaded strands a’ weavin’.
The pack awakes and twists and shakes,
          for soon it’s time for leavin’;
it’s bleak, it chills on shallow hills,
          as she-wolfs come a’ nuzzlin’,
but north winds scold, the wolf lies cold,
          the pack stands back a’ puzzlin’.

On crimson snows neath perchin’ crows,
          the pack abides a’ guardin’;
while nights are tight with Harpy kites,
          the she-wolves wait an’ harden,
until a groanin’ blizzard stones
          the barren forest stowin’
his shaggy ears beneath the weirs,
          with icy hails ’a blowin’.

The storm abates and terminates,
          the glacial wind’s subsidin’;
the past is past or passin’ fast
          and life goes on abidin’.
The herds, today, roam far away,
          not thinkin’ of the dyin’;
the pack’ll stray from day to day,
          ’a stalkin’ hard and tryin’.

As spring sneaks forth upon the north,
          they’re lean without their leader.
A she-wolf (bound with belly round)
          strains neath a budding cedar.
Upon the morn a whelp is born
           (the future forest drover)
in new frontiers, with shaggy ears
          (one droopin’ down, hung over).

jars are full
peaches and apples
smiles are seen
laughs of the children
then like a knife cutting through the wind
silence in the trees
not even a mouse scurries
the wolfs are hungry
the wolfs are angry
the wolfs will feast
on the children's  
bones and blood
the wolfs don't care about the summer
the one they planed
the wolfs care of only one thing
and that's there stomachs
that rumble hungrily

What might the heights of the minds eyes see while the spirit is in motion of the purest emotion of intent and expression of love?


Is it such a state where false has awards and evening gowns picked out for the awards show?

Is it so fake that one might find it difficult to understand real from false?

Or might the fact that when a human being can truly  walk the line of life with grace and demanding ******* while gently caressing the absolutely overwhelming truth that love has ravaged the soul ,

Ravaged this soul,

*****, held, ravaged, run through, righted and scorned in the deepest of waters a soul has yet to express to the world for two thousand years, and all while  the captive ....... Soul,         is critiqued on the devastation wrot in such completeness that is is even to this day savoured as a prized  fetish even unto the sad would self.

Dare I ask simple a question of wondering curious eyes of windowed souls to cast a view into the dew of the greatness of being of truth and grace while respecting the very heart from which such torture pours from?

dare a truth be asked that such a human being be of a dignity in company with the child timid in him self torn, dashed , bruised, named and bolder than the soul that resides in you?

Dare a tasked truth be ever revealed of contemptuous  acts of ***** souls and privacy of ones tiny castles in the  oh so damaged and bitter sands. Of the wombs of mind that we all venture to frontier the very limit of the souls endurance, prestige while being undignified by the raw violence of the act of continued ****, or is a dared truth to harsh a fact for timidness of my self to have swallowed whole as the soul of mine self and mine eyes and mine teeth from which the vengeance did pour a pounding to seek, all to be driving back by the broken and horrorably disfigured child of me that many find more womanly.   For this Ugly Boy of me, this sad sot silly and ***** smaller to the vastness of the fridgidness of ******* through lies and manipulations while taking in the raw ******* of the common God's child , virus this not what we all are the now newly in question not so rarely ***** and sold like ****** in a new church for the dastardly and bastarded ******* that we have come to call complacency of decency?  

Any, how foolish, yes my dear friend , you are indeed a wiser worrier  wafareing wondering wizard of vast skills and frightful  ways and means to tame the beast of such hateful things , so costic as to reach deep into them and quiver their tiny tethers and frail feathers all a mockingly  to the tones and notes left after we vacated the dead crypts of self deprivation and hate as we all found the truth of the emotion as it poured through us when realizing this damaged, torn and frightened child , a man holding the depth of winter killing fields at bay, a man kindly swaying the stars to play a tune so as to grace all who broke his heart a stay of pain for each and every attempted and timidly bold and brazen sway and slanted ****** love or raw truth and powerful motions from which we all find the fancy to ****** the  tool as the goofiest  **** **** as hell fool we all choose to allowed the absolute grace and magesty to ******* Rule our Hearts for even just a fraction of a moment in this prayer of endless time, yet hold with the dared scary and walking naked and alone into the lions den while the wolfs and beasts all gathered their finest clothes, weapons and gold, silver, trinkites and shiny of the shiniest of the things they boldly and brashly slash all with as to command the fear to reside in the human spirit.

As this silly little hill Billy with a **** nice *** *****, were wolf feet and all called out to the proudest and loudest of the tiny little spouts and softly said " what is all you foolish fuss about?"
"Have you lost you most precious toys, only to find victim the Dickson of my sorry and sad state of dieing from the oath and lashing of what you helped  rip from what can only be many peoples and communities and even many families?"

Dare a truth to truth this dare my dearest cud of a bear for a true beast of welcome verosity I be all the while giggling and prancing all about like a happy *** skipping fairy, and of this I most truly rather be for don't you know? , did no one tell you the news?  The horror is scaring but the truth is so amazing, turns out scar gardens are the softest things God has ever created, scar gardens are the hardest element that break far stronger , bold creatures of far fasters tested , cleeted, bust a mother up than most man has ever know to exist.
Scar gardens are the very  spouts from which the truth and grace of the living love of God pours fourth into this majestic ******, animal ,spiritual ,sacred, holy and magnificent place , a place that the very bashing of the flowers that dance you delight even in the pity, plight, laughter , and slight  has done nothing but cast us all from it loving embrace, yet, dear cub of a Billy bad *** nub of a cubbed couger in the final leaps to catch this timid and playful prey of me that you so think you will devour you see,  we, the ones whom truly felt and opened and dare that **** scary *** chance to dance with this devil in the pale moon light have found that they no longer must live in fright, that this very garden is theirs and none to own but to flourish and grow, thrive if you must, but lest get nasty for a real minute, animal to animal ,it ma thrive , sure but it will **** , love ,fight, rise , Smit , right the wrongs that have tortured us far to ******* long and in that moment of exstacy the human race may just finally realize ***, love, caring, kindness and truth of self are the face of God starting through your eyes experiencing all f his loving songs creations and getting ******* goose bumps and he'll yes this Billy Jack goofy *** bad  kat all **** knuckled with bad habits and a lust for loving full ******* spectrum and a lesbian trapped in this fugly *** mans body all crazy *** triple run *** marks the spot moon shine devil of mine were wolf feet and all does truth and whole love the Real Girl and is ,,,,, and most mother ******* who are real and real down with the truth that God is love and loves even your silly but as God loves mine silly *** and the rest of this star studded cast of human **** ups simply attempting to pass and go the **** home at the end of the school bell.


HUA,    I do love the Real artist  you speak of, she knows it, and may just know that I know she is not the one laying **** the silly hill Billy with a rather bad *** wi,,,,,,,, um sorry.     Where were we. Oh yes. Um. Only those who care to let go and allow the truest of flows and are true to self and the love that one finds in the being of anothers breath, thoughts , actions , decisions, and mistakes and graces to right ones self after horrors that tear us and embarrass us, these know the truth ,and my dear friend i love you too, but not like the love i expressed to you in hopes you to feel the love i share to her with out pushing it on her, so that what is rightfully hers to reject or except i gave it all away to all even those whom used it to fuel hate in mine own shape , form and name.  And i have done all of this and a dillion years of pouring stars into the hearts of that goofy *** girl by way of dancing crying and **** it dieing through the very core of you,  yes i got you high, horney, got you off, many times , i gave you memories of sparks you know, i gave you worlds of wonder and ways to flurish and grow, i gave you what you , well many of you , did not even deserve for it was truy meant to be for her, but i felt that the most good it could do and the best love i could show her is i can love all of you and even rock hear heart all the very same ways i moved you , and not loose one silly little drop of the tears in her pain, yet sip them and drip them into her so she may choose to live again, as she has done for me.....do you now see? For I C C I said this goofy eyed going man who has done all this in his true and real names,  For I Love You So.


And didn't even eat my wheaties wink , smile I a not mad at ya, just being me, and some times we all have a tax bit of  werewolfand badger **** in us , sorry to offend, smile in the end, we all just might be ,,,,, sort f friends..

I believe that fairy tales are just that: fairy tales.
Magic doesn't exist, and of course imagination is just that: imagination.

Something not real, an internalised, idealised creation.
Happy ever afters,
and Prince Charming hero's,
are just a lovers fantasy notions.

But we are there,
You know,
at that stage where Romeo is madly in love with...Rosaline.

Those evil family relations surround us and a wicked stepmother who overrules.
Girls everywhere are obsessed with being the fairest of them all,
Eagerly anticipating a dark and handsome: Mr. Tall.

Waiting on that fairy godmother to appear,
but its already too late because the wolfs already had his dinner,
and a sleeping beauty has yet to be kissed out of her nightmare.

A dark wolf
With claws of crimson
Fur as dark as midnight

He is a prince
Ruling all
Under his mighty father
He will rise
Strong

Armor made of steel
Sword made of bone
From wolves teeth

Through he be human
He has a wolf spirit

The true wolves his friends
He hunts with them
They with him

Change he does
From man to beast

By black rose
Date: 9-15-2014

The breeziness of gentle winds, leafs rustle as trees sway
Sunlight rays a partial light, that shine across the bay
Summers warmth an evening sky, are setting on the day
Dusk approaches through the trees, as the daylight goes away

Flowered tracks along the gorge, a gentle mountain breeze
Dusty valleys lead the way, past the old oak trees
Down to flowing waterfalls, the beauty that one sees
Flowered tracks floating beside, are following with ease

Deep inside the canyon walls, the water hits the stream
Shimmers from the waters edge, upon a golden gleam
The beauty of a secret place, waters merged with a sun beam
Is this a true reality, or flowered tracks last dream

Between the hills on golden ponds, lies colours of tracks flowers
Where the rocky crescent forms, and where the sunlight cowers
Moon light shadows visible, only after sunlight hours
The beauty of a litten dusk, the light the moon devours

A wolf howls above the rocks, high upon the glade
One heart beat I can hear, I am feeling so afraid
Full moons light upon my soul, the wolfs cursed life is paid
Wolf's blood bite on flowered tracks, a glistened moonlight trade

Wolfs eyes glare standing alone, no hunters and no packs
Were wolfs fangs on shadows moon, blood seeping through the cracks
A man once stood is now transformed, his humanity life lacks
The werewolf curse is fulfilled, complete on flowered tracks

Glistening, glimmering in the night
you make me feel so beautifuly bright
flouting in the dark for the world to embrace
but all i can see is your smiling face

You stand on the hill top tall
howling form be above all
your fur so soft an warm
your heart so calm even in this storm

As the moon, my rays kiss your cheek
giving you the comfort you seek
i whisper in wind i am always here for you
for Wolf and  Moons love is eternally true

As i was viewing the channel,
my eyes suddenly turned blank
i found myself in a deserted place
all i felt the place was haunted


As i looked around,
i found a crow sitting on a tree
i wondered where i was

As i was walking by,
to found out my way
i sensed something following me
i was so afraid even to turn back&
i kept on moving

Suddenly i felt my back was touch by someone,
but this time i took a dare to turn back
and to my wonder i saw a wolf
it roared at me,

Again another sound,
forced me to look around
and all i saw the two handsome vampires
"The salvatore brothers"

My eyes became still
My breath was hold
My body turned cold
i became pause
and i wonder are the wolf
"Klaus or tyler"

All i could see,
the vampires & wolfs fights
vampires protecting me from their fights

My dream to meet vampires,
My imagination
My hope
all was coming out to be real

Only my wish to became vampire was to be fulfilled,
i asked them to turned me up into a vampire,
i imagined myself being a vampire
my hot look
my vampire  teeth
my craving for blood
my fights with the wolf
all i could see my dreams in reality


But suddenly i was hit from bck "ouch"
and to my wonder it was my dad
everything vanished,no one was out there
it was just a dream ??
my wish only remained a wish


"Wish i could be vampire"

The oceans’ froth betrothed to lunatic scoff
The sublunary elegance of a subdued earthen cough
Infectious pulchritude conjures snow-globe turpitude
Defiant humility professes to know the rudeness of the crude
Distilled casually in a leery trance
Terpsichorean choreography of a hallowed prance
Callow scowls affix the hebetude of anger to the sauciness of banter
Gallant cavalries court the cult of she and enamor and enchant her
Foretold calamities proceed like clockwork from God’s destructive jaundice
Death deployed as a sententious homily of wraiths that taunt us
At every turn fatidic inspirations work to cement a known outcome
Averted gaze away from rampant gays and fire-and-brimstone bunkum
We cherish a world where the stodgy and outmoded monopolize choice considerations
Where hedonism abreast of asceticism are internecine intimidations
Suffer like Christ and buffer like tenacious poverty sustained by rice
Dare to glower with menacing insistence at the known outcome of errant dice
Soothsayers soothe prayers but cataclysm still dares
To pulverize innocent insouciance and become the cynosure of trepidation and stares
Heaven blares a deafening “obey” while hell stays silent to lure the prey
Hobnob with hobgoblins and expect opprobrium to park and stay
Gentility and class-divisions orchestrate a frozen system of tenacious prisons
Stalking the lifeblood of mainlined ecstasies and surgical incisions
Minority Report within the grasp of the majority uproar
Dalliance with a self-fulfilling time means there will always be a bout between Bush and Gore
Lecherous eyes prize a hedged bush and irascible lies seek copious gore
But because the bush ensconces the ****** in bed with China the twin towers imploded for common core
Mondegreens serenade a mistaken flirtation with a time traversed and mastered
Swelling tides hearken the moon to make a hypothetical bonanza out of disaster
Enumerated infinity within esoteric grasp and pandered sequester
Bedazzled of foreknowledge  it charters the uncharted exploitation faster and faster
Burgeoning funds entertain a mind cloistered by infamy and oppressed by indecency
Burbling puns ecstatic about the perpetuity of guns hector the province of a token leniency
Squander the day and indulge the night by knowing exactly the demise of every shooting star
Knowing the origin and legacy of every single scar
Knowing the path creates the path known
Every single stock you know you should with alacrity own
Prosperous kinship and insubordinate brinksmanship win the prejudiced award
Fencing with lethal intent the specter of death devolves into irenic accord
Envy the impregnable corporate machine and its unassailable pipe dream
Hunt the Wolfs of Wall Street until panic evolves into cacophony of screams
Democratization of prophecy will cue the most titanic robbery
Shills looking for upstart thrills will pretend an unwarranted snobbery
Paradox is impossible because every moment elapsed is indelible and irrevocable
Every frisson of love is fertile and impregnable
So rejoice that the masters of the clock invest in select stocks
And hope that parcels of secrecy tumble from the 1919 White Sox
Emerald Street knows When the Music ‘s Over
Brandished crumbs adorned with sportive panache clothed in a lucky clover
Deprived of snide tithes and the confessions of millions protest a catholic cabal of universalism draped in quaint overalls
Mock the hegemony of the sailing class and their brisk and copious squalls
Opulent scions vouch for the failsafe prerogatives of Zion
Sleeping awake we indulge the oneiromancies of Orion
Cinematic wonders regale glorified eavesdropped blunders
Until the secrecy of the machine is so conspicuously in sight it tears the elected pantheon asunder
A master race of an intelligent nepotism in denial of its own disgrace
Exploits the argosy of secrets of the flying-disked race
But one day a challenger like a rooster will orient the demotic vogue towards the treasure trove
And pirates will prosper in burgeoning droves
Myths foisted will debunk themselves as eternity preens its chosen wealth
Even the most furtive endeavors will have to equip even more stealth
That day will prompt an arms race and a worms race
To burrow beneath the chasms of malcontent and adopt and insular embrace
They billow now with toxicity and malignancy
Even death will have alternative contingencies
The resplendent future will capture the common heart
For the accumulated wisdom of words will make us infinitely more smart

there was a lonely poet
who bled his sonets to the imaginary Muse
he had never met
and gave it read to the  outcast
he met hanging on the streets and some bars..
once he met there a goddess-like looking femme
wholy destitute, he imediatly felt in love
love to the marvelous *******
it was love from first glance

yes, she was a harlot
who is usually  short on time
he somehow managed
to afford her time
in motel
with blind windows
he came
and said her he want just
drink with her wine
on what, she wanted to throw him away
but he trembled by every nerv
and she said ok,
I will meet you after work
we will drink tea
she denied the hand reaching her money
and in two hours they met again

the man shined radiant
like he catched blue bird
she was tired she asked him
what do you want?
He tell, I want paint you in words
Not for you give me a kiss
Nor for you answer on my instant love
I love you just because I dont know you yet...
she laughed...
well, ok..
you wish to know me
out to touch me?
say, why are you so afraid?
He tald,   Oh, no, I afraid nothing,
since i have nothing to loose..
but in this life I feel the immerse grief..
my mother will never love me
in the way I need
said he, and tear shed on his cheek..
the mistress looked full of intimidation on him..
she seems never sow the man tears..
and he cried suddenly so bitter that she
fehlt eerie,
this big child touched the long forgotten string of her
heart and she also began to cry..
so they cried together  quite long time
poet took her hand
and they tenderly interwined the fingers..
she said, I didnt cried for eternity,
I thought all my feelings are dead.
My mother never loved me too
but because of this i never cried or fehlt any regret...
you are so vulnerable, my stranger..
you awaking me feel something beside
my only fact, that  I am luxurious toy for the spity men
let me show you my very ****..
you will perhaps recognise that I cant be your girl...
I didnt deserve this tender tears
I am Alaska, I am numb, cold, yet I am ok with that.

No, please, dont speak bad of yourself,
I will write for you funny poems
about wolfs, sheeps, dogs and cats..
your heart will slowly melt and mend,
you will again feel and may be one day
you will let you be my lovely concubine...
I joke, he added..

but howeverwhy.. god works on mysterious ways..

since that day poet find his true muse
and she, with her wanton delight, find a waiter for her sleeping heart
this is of cause just a fairytale, but somewhere near or far away
somewhere may be it happened in real life.

And the sun will rise with you in morns
Tulips would dance through your way
The birds would sing their best tunes
The blue ocean, your aisle today!

Highlands would bend and kiss your feet
Vineyards would grow when you lay
I can see how the nights fall for you
they silently conspire that you to stay

My pretty darling ,trust me when I say ,
Everything would be pretty on a wrong way
Trust the woods ,all dark and lone
Let’s be rebels for once today.

Between the fear of wolfs and ghosts
Across the rainbows of tears and smiles,
If you don’t see any footsteps ahead,
I’m sure there your treasure awaits.

Now tell me pretty darling,
Aren’t you in love with the stretched ray of dusk?

Under the palest moonlight,
the wolf does howl and cry,
“I am alone! I am alone”
to which others far off reply,
“So am I”,
“me too”,
and he wasn’t alone in being alone.

How are you here?
when you were just over there,
How and why, would you come back to me.
wearing what they gave you
How? You? What? betray. now,
My don't thoughts make sense anymore,
and neither do your motives...

Get lost

30 seconds.
The translucent window of dreams gets blown open by the quivering baseline, that echo’s throughout this Technicolor city. The distant horizon of reality, depression and cracked council estate morals are long forgotten. The piercing taste of alcohol stings the back of my neck but melts my stomach and helps free the tormented thoughts that plague an overworked mind. Smoke another joint, dance another dance; my feet emulate feelings that cannot be described. ***** sits heavy in my mind, delaying my reactions and isolating my judgment. An old friend who takes the **** dances pasts with a former lover that once kept my heart safely locked up beside hers. Even though the blood of that love dried months ago, the scars are still visible beneath my skin and they scream across my truthful eyes. I decide to let myself drop further into the ever deepening baseline of the city; I feel my eyes plummet into the empty space of my head. The beat of my heart has been removed and replaced by the pulsing nerve of the city. The blinding lights dazzle my imagination and urge me to forget the grey concrete that surrounds this city, the music pumps and drives life’s blood around my clogged veins and the vibrations shake my fragile frame.

I pull another slightly crushed cigarette to my cracked lips, and let the cold night begin the battle against the warm tobacco that flows into my once pure lungs. Poisonous substances help me feel the sweet taste of life, of love, of music. Realism is forgotten about, the boundaries of life are melting in the bottom of a pit somewhere, let them dissolve and never return. Sober problems twist their ankles and fall into the **** soaked gutter, whilst I let myself drown in a moment of sweet nothing. There is no time to be thinking about girls or love, there is no time for idle conversation under the glare of the moon. For a brief moment I watch packs of men move like wolfs circling on the innocence of girls, buy them another drink, crush them another pill. I stumble back into this disillusioned factory that was once a foundation of an honest wage and the reliable structure of a family dinner. Now it is falling to pieces, unable to cope with this tormenting beat that is shaking through my body.  This place is like a time warp, hours feel like minutes yet seconds feel like days.

The first step is admitting defeat; the second is allowing the ******* to begin. I allow the liquor to not only caress but baptize my tongue. I am a puppet to the baseline, a slave being held by strings that are attached to the stars. These stars rise higher than any city skyline can imagine they refuse to be beaten by man; they stay a part of our superstition, a character in our dreams.  In the corners of intoxication the weak fall, unable to cope with the choice of freedom. They recline into a murky puddle of sweat and fear. Their eyes vibrate subconsciously and their legs twitch to the ever changing beat. For me there is no murky puddle, I am lost at sea rolling between the waves, letting the current take me where it pleases. The breeze caresses my consciousness and tickles my sedation.

Without hesitation my feet start moving again, finding a groove that my mind didn’t even know existed, I feel myself slip into a new unknown level, finally even the strings attached to the stars snap from the tension. My mind is free; it is no longer a hundred mile-an-hour switchboard that is overrun by lights and flashes. Frozen fireworks that were once subdued by the oppression of reality, become lukewarm and vibrate on the verge of ecstasy, I feel them take off into the night, one after another, throwing images into the dark sky. Like 1940 they blitz the city and people run for cover shouting screaming for their loved ones.  Yet the nightly residence of this factory remain unworried and free. We are the last of the human race not to flee into our suburbia homes, so listen to this erratic baseline and forget about the yellow hooded figures that patrol the streets, let the night lurch you into a sudden paradox where nobody belongs yet everybody searches for. This is true euphoria.

My mother  grew  up  in the sand
among wolfs and sheeps
The herd  was  her family
She was a nomad
And the first to flee in her generation
She  ran with her family
when  the  bullets  hit our home
My mother carried all of her children
in her arms
Through landscapes she
Saw lions and elephants running
She saw the fear   in their eyes
Our paradise   had been sold to the devil
and  everything with a soul was leaving
When the sky turned dark
she  climbed over spike fences
and crossed the border
There wore   her brothers awaiting
and their eyes glowed in the
dark 
Greeting her to safety
My mother  built a house with her hands.
Only to witness it being torn down
My mother   is a warrior,
she  survived  the worst
and gave me the best
a future.

I can’t get to sleep at night for fear of what I see,
There is definitely something strange happening to me.
I see Demons in my bedroom dancing round my bed-
Devils on my inner lids poisoning my head.
Beelzebub is running riot driving me insane,
Demons just won’t let me rest-they’re causing grief and pain.

I’ve tried taking tablets; I’ve tried counting sheep
But nothing ever seems to work I still can’t get to sleep.
‘Cause there’s Demons in my bedroom, screaming and a prancing.
Every time I close my eyes I see the Devil dancing.

Weir wolfs howling all night through, Old Nick running riot.
Perhaps it is the food I eat, I’ll have to change my diet.
Sometimes I sneak to bed real late and try to be unheard
But in the cupboards they must wait, I know it sounds absurd.
As soon as I turn off the light and snuggle down to sleep
I get the most enormous fright when out they start to creep.

They just won’t keep from out my head-
Moonlight wakes the living dead.
Demons dance and weir wolf’s scream;
I know that it’s not just a dream,
‘Cause I can’t get to sleep at all
Sometimes it drives me up the wall.
I toss and turn and scream and shout,
The neighbours ask what it’s about.

But I’m afraid to ever say
They’ll think I’m mental straight away,
What normal person sees this sight?
When off to bed they go at night?
I don’t know, I can’t explain,
I know it’s driving me insane.
I’ll ask the vicar round for tea,
Then ask him if he’ll stay with me
To exorcise these hellish visions;
He’s sure to make the right decisions.
He shouldn’t ask or be judgemental
Even if he thinks I’m mental.
Surely there must be some hope,
If there’s not I just can’t cope.
I ask, could you sleep safe and sound
To know your bed has Demons round?
Answers truthfully, please don’t lie.
No You Couldn’t!  Nor can I.

The razors of sabers
Will the wool make my blood thin
Calmly and unconsciously zip up my skin
The sheep don't know the wolf is with them

Sing louder my family,
For all wolves to hear!
Howl your heart full,
Of joy and war.

Prideful Wolves,
Singing gallantly strong.
Sing my family,
Howl..
Under the soft spoken moon.

Claim thy territory,
Marks of war torn.
Soldiers stand ready,
To fight our rival.

So Howl my wolves,
Sing your taunting songs.
Claim our mountain home,
*Teach enemies to sing along.

And have I forgotten how to love or how to be loved.
Or am I just drowning except i can see everyone around me still breathing.

And as I lay there and stare into the darkness,
they whisper in my ear "you better fear me dear for I am death"
And then I wonder what kind of darkness is needed to see the stars.

Was I taken and torn apart just to be thrown in the middle of a pack of wolfs,
and attempt to fight for my life.

And then I think to myself that I should give up,
so that the wolfs can tear my skin up.
At least then I wont have to do it myself.

So when people ask about the scars on my arm,
I dont have to say self harm.
I can say I survived a battle,
and they wont laugh.

My pain is greater than anyone will ever know.
To bad no one can see my soul,'
then maybe I would have some hope.

Once upon a time in the days of old
There lived a very ugly troll
But her heart was made of gold

Her body was round and lumpy
Her brow furrowed and grumpy
She always stood all slumpy

She was abandoned as soon as she was born
For her mother had looked upon her with scorn
For with beauty she was not adorned

She was wrapped in a towel and placed under a bridge
Right up there on that little ridge
She was nothing then but a little smidge

The forest creatures insteed of eating her up
Raised her as a cub
They even shared with her their grub

The wolf taught of graces
The vultures, patience
The skunk, fragrances

The mouse taught of need
The crow, greed
The fox, speed

She lived in an ugly house of mud
Just like her the outside was a dud
But wow the inside of that hut could warm your blood

Late one night came a knock on her door
It was a knight in shining armor complete with sword
Battle weary, and badly gourd

She took him in and sewed up he's wounds
He looked longingly in her eyes, she thought loved had bloomed
But in reality she unknowingly sealed her doom

For he had seen her heart of gold
Please excuse me, this is where the tale turns cold
For this knight was not so nice, he had a heart of mold

Late that same darkened night
He unsheathed his sharpest knife
And plunged in the troll's chest just right

With a wailing mournful cry
Right there in her hut she would die
In that fleeting moment that sparkle left her eye

That knight cut out that gloden heart
It was so huge he had to put it on a cart
He didn't feel bad, what an ugly troll was he's only thought

The animals came to see what was that screaming sound
The wolfs smelled around
Nose to the ground
Off to hunt that evil knight down

The vultures did what they do, and ate her remains
The crows joined in and did the same
The mice and the fox just ran around all insane

The moral to this story is an ugly body can hold a heart of gold
But this world is very, very cold
So be very careful with your heart and to who it is you show

I know I am not really lying on the beach
Eyes facing up towards the sky
Where I really am is in Vienna
In a small classroom filled with fourth graders
Sitting in a circle in a room
That was decorated in glow in the dark stars
And a fake camp fire next to a cardboard cutout of a wolf
I remember learning about the Oregon Trail
And how cowboys would campout underneath stars
Guns close by so other dangerous creators wouldn’t be
And looking at the fake stars in that room
I was in another world, a realer world
Where the cosmos didn’t make stars
Bullets did
Silver bullets meant to hit werewolves
Who were so compelled to howl at the moon
They forwent the odds of being gunned down
And so easily they could be when the moon
Lit perfectly their silhouette  
Naked in plain view
All the stars were silver bullets
One that never met their target and flew
Past the wolfs and up into the black sky
Where they pierced the world’s barrio
The bullet holes became not stars
But un-mendable scars
From men who wanting to mutilate
The sky’s beauty with weapons
There to remind me
When the lights turned on in that classroom
The glowing little stars melted into the white popcorn ceiling
And as we, the fourth graders, disconnected our circle on the floor
The reality of the origin of stars I had just come to know
Never left me and the stars I see at night now
Are not as real as the ones I saw that day.

Chapter Three



Déjà vu- poem by Muse


My life, sometimes I ponder,

God.....did he fashion my hands and skin from another?

Am I just a recovered tired vessel,

refurbished lung and breath, reassembled, to be something fragile?

My fears and defects I feel are not my own,

borrowed and rented maybe, from someone once known.

Your voice just a proverbial song.

It feels ancient, but like an undercurrent, it carries me along.

My story perhaps is a plagiarism of you,

a reincarnation of what I might answer, and what I might do.

With every deliberate ill-mannered step,

someone before me, has already passed, lingered, and slept.

My soul, has it lived before?

It seems to be the same narrow path, but a different revolving door.

Seeking answers in restorative dreams,

this body, however temporary, is not what it seems.

My thumbprint a reminder of her,

your girlish vision, a familiar relic, with a haunting blur.

Is this a case of refuted Deja vu?

Or just maybe, she's a vicarious spirit, that has been there too.



I.... felt as If  I was dropped into the middle of the park like a tornado touched down and regurgitated my entirety into the dirt.

Siting and looking around I thought to recover my senses from the last years worth of experiences and the seemingly odd and recurring ???types of things. A kind of Déjà vu of someone elses life.They must have been a mystic because they seemed to see…I seemed to see…as thru a proverbial glass darkly.

I found that peoples thoughts and memories were easily seen and felt in their presence and that their entire life histories were… Mine ..just for the looking or rather thinking of the thought to trigger their inner most secrets. The intricacies of their lives and the interrelated woven tapestry of their Dharmas and Karmas were unfolded to my mind and knowings as one continuous scroll of life.

Invigorating and compelling to be part and parcel to the workings of Life , but confusing and tiring keeping up and interacting as a vocation.I was supposed to be a Home Design specialist with a hobby of -White Lite WICCA….Hobby of the weekend I chuckled to myself.

Well ,now I was fully awake and centered again ..and as I rose from my place in the dirt I noticed I had been sitting as was far too familiar as of late and pondering the strangeness of my life…in the middle of a strange place , not remembering how I got there or why. Well so much the bother ,I was here now and I believe my calendar says I have , oh yes an appointment I’m late for already. Up I get and brushing myself off,I head out in the direction for my Meeting with a small company of Artists decorating their loft and space for exhibiting their recent works. Clover- Wolf was the odd name of their business.

Well maybe a quick design idea there…wolfs head over a four leaf clover…hmm well maybe not, Lame at best.







prev chapter


© 2011 Eclipsing Moon-blood red

If poems were but manifestations
Of the same tune,
Never changing,
Words would be bland shadows.
We must escape our bonds
And try shades that are different,
So not to be a sheep in a pack of wolfs..

Your screams always cut the deepest.
Like a hand scolded under the hottest of water.
Cold to the touch as it tricks the nerve into believing--
A sheep in the wolfs clothing as it drifts into searing.
The watery message relays the misery.
The detail all there lain before my eyes.
My skin battered and marred--
Torn asunder with merely your voice.
Thick with rage, smoldering with pride.

Words intended to be used as a weapon, will always wound the feeble.

From sleeping in streets to walking miles alone I have come to a direction the page just cannot follow my friends .
I have chased the bottom of a glass since I was fifteen and that was to far to be anything more than a blurred memory.

And to the times that seemed to matter.
Now only to those who haven't lived my existence a lone wolf knows no true  direction just simply howls to let the others know he does still exist.

Are words betray us and then eventually it all fades .
I'm not the act I'm the delusion that fueled a ego now left to wither a dead tree in a forest of many .

None will recall but far to many will simply use ******* when facts get in there way of a good story .

Tonight I sat under a full moon and howled as the wolves often do.

There was only silence that followed the eco .

Even the lost know there is no hope for the madness .
When your words betray you and only a dead tree remains.

Maybe another time the stars will find me in good favor .
And like those around tonight will listen and only stay silent to the lone wolfs howl.