The Rose

Inside every person is a rose
Ensconced on a shelf covered in glass
And every day the soul stops to gaze at it
To watch the petals as they fall one by one

Every day the soul gazing at that rose asks the same question
Am I a beast or a man?
Am I cruel and heartless or kind and full of love?
And every day that soul seeks a mirror they cannot find

I gaze at my own rose as the petals fall and wonder who I am
And I decide to ignore the rose with its ominous petals
I am not a beast, nor a rose covered in glass
I am only myself

And So They March Along

And so they march, three in a row
following to, following fro
the umbrella takes the lead
and they bob their heads in time
in uniform, they march along
trying to find where the rest have gone
girls come from far and wide
to see their passage on the green
and so they march right off following their lead
and in forestlands to find the rest

Hunters of Antioch

Antioch, glorious city of Roman rule
Six hundred years gone
But still, your huntsmen ply their trade

They roam through the fruit strewn forests
And hunt the wild beasts on the tiled floor
They know not that they have moved thousands of miles

No longer ensconced in Syria under the eyes of Zeus
Instead, they rest in a museum of art
Where they will forever rest under the eyes of man

Volcano

Sparks arch into the air
Fire in the sky
The ground is shaking
Not a star can be seen

A cloud of ash
The roaring sound
Magma coursing
People running in the streets

City on fire
The sky is aflame
Sails of ships struck through with holes
The harbor in chaos

A silent city
People walk the streets
Among ruins and murals of yore
Pompeii and Herculaneum

Broken Light

Sun filters through the rain

Light scatters, fractured, broken

Trying to hold it in my hand

Longing to catch it, to hold it

Colors made from nothing

Shining on my hands

They float away

They can’t be caught

Broken light can’t be held

It won’t be chained in

Bent light can’t be controlled

L’Havre de Foret

Haven in the Forest
The moon looking down, she watches

Bows are strung, armor donned

But these are not the soldiers

They are not made for war

Peace cries for them but they have only these trees
In the forest, they can live

Against the darkness, they will fight

From all corners, far and near

This place, their new home

A beacon, a bastion
Hope

Astride a Fire

O’ for a muse of fireFor that spark of energy

The flickering inspiration that guided the caveman

They left the darkness, emboldened by their discovery

Now we, astride our own flames, strike out for the stars

For those great and distant balls of fire

Which is the true inspiration?

The true muse?

The flames we ride or the flames we seek.

The Kiss

lips touch in fiery passion
hands clasp, hands grasp
clinging in darkness
never let go
passions aflame
just playing a game
the widow’s kiss
he falls

Foursquare

bOingggg SLAP
bOingggg SLAP

the ball the ground the hand

bOingggg SLAP
bOingggg SLAP

You’re out!

a shrill whistle blows
llllllllooooooonnnnnnggggggg and LOUD

bOingggg
bOinggg
bOingg

 

bOing

 

boing

I’ve Seen Nary a One

Watching the skies
hoping to see
the tiniest glimmer
of scale or of wing
they ride the winds high
over forest and dell
hunting on the breeze
for treasures of yore
never have I seen them
but ever do I try

In the forests there exists
another of long ago
a great beast of legend
whose might well you know
the horn shines bright
on a moonless night
to guide lovers lost
their hooves knell like bells
as they step light on forest paths
but never have I heard the sound

In sylvan holds
live those who know
the magic of song and dance
the ones who weave their art in trees
and guide the plants aloft
the sylvan folk once traveled out
but nary does now

in cavern hold lives
those who know
the song of metal’s chime
life in the forge fire
hammer’s metronome
to sing with steel and iron
armor forged and blades cast
in a cavern underground
once found their way to markets ours
but nary anymore