who knows the dream of the solo captain
night surveyor
ocean drifter
following his heart to the center of the Sun
riding consciousness  past stars
where darkness is true
sailing his soul onto shores
where only he has tread

come with me my love
and you will know beauty
only glimpsed at the edge of thought
only wished at the pinnacle of ecstasy
only cried for at the moment of death
it waits for us
here in the crosswalk of our imagination
where dreams collide

I made my way
finally
to Point Pleasant
I crossed the Silver Bridge
and walked the blood soaked fields
where the Battle of Kanawha took place
I walked the streets and absorbed the energy
that hovered like unseen clouds
I approached an older woman walking her dog. She was very sweet and made me think of my Mom, God rest her soul. I knew there would be no harsh words or anger from this gentle lady.
I asked her with a friendly smile if she had a story of the Mothman she might share.
'Not the Mothman, she said...but I do have a story.
One from childhood that I've yet to tell anyone, not even my parents. I was maybe 11 or 12 and walking home after playing and it was getting late. I caught something out of the corner of my eye. When I looked, I saw a large plane losing altitude. It just came closer and closer until it leveled out and passed by very close. So close that I could see the passengers in their seats looking straight ahead, silhouetted against the light behind them. I could see their faces. It went by and then gained altitude again. The strangest thing is that I never heard a sound.
I'm not sure why I told you that story. I always felt that people would think I'm crazy. I suppose I can see that you are truly interested. So there you have it.'

I saw the museum, the ammo bunkers and TNT plant and went back to the hotel. I awoke the next morning to find two odd looking drops of blood on my pillow...still fresh. It startled me and I got up to see if it may have come from my ear. As I headed to the bathroom, I noticed more blood on the foot of the bed. In the bathroom there were 2 spots of fresh blood on the floor. I checked the mirror and found no blood in my ears. No nicks from shaving. No nicks on my arms, shoulders, neck or head. I have no idea whatsoever where that blood originated. And here's what really spooked me. They look like 2 very strange faces.

There were no phone calls from Indrid Cold. No prophecies of planes crashing or bridges collapsing, but I left Point Pleasant, West Virginia with a distinct and clear sense that I had tapped into an energy, peeked behind the curtain of Oz and maybe, just maybe I got their attention.

Lips move silent to treated voice
technically altered in a vacant room
smiling clueless to clueless drones
their thoughts suppressed since mother's womb
manufactured superstars
dressed and fed by faceless greed
their lives a myth
a stagnant dream
without a truth on which to feed
resist with me
this vacuous realm
lifeless words and endless trite
follow closer to the heart
on vapor trails of tear's twilight

the days seem shorter
as I draw near the end of those scheduled for me
these 9 to 5's
few surprises await as the routine becomes routine
fewer goodbyes
fewer laughs
fewer cries
and fewer smiles
funny how you notice what the children do not
that they are drifting into their lives
further from yours
but this is the pattern
the destiny of the aging soul

to bed early
comedies aren't as funny
baseball seems less relevant
the aches are more and the heart is growing cold
wrapped in the pain of indifference
I will miss the sound of that alarm
and the need to move
but I shall always have the Sun
and the Sea
to harvest a few words now and again

they beckon me
they whisper as I sleep
touch my shoulder
with unseen fingers
sending waves of dead static through my soul
the after
the in-between
the remaining energy
reaching for some connection
to their mortal coil
they find solace in my belief
a ground for their whispering pulse
the remnants of a soul once lived
the static that refuses to leave
completely

I sense a distance
almost imperceptible
but there
like the silent breath
of a ghost
or the cry of a dying star

something has left your smile
your touch
a second split into timeless truth
your hesitant kiss
sends a thousand shards of ice through my heart
the light that once flickered
is gone from your eyes

hush now hush now
don't you speak
Sammy's gonna' make sure
it don't leak
quiet now quiet now
don't you chat
snap your pretty neck
you ***** little rat
go to sleep go to sleep
what's your line
shoulda' made copies
for the news at nine
hit the road hit the road
my sweet little rose
no one ever listens
to dancers and **'s
knock em' dead knock em' dead
one two three
leave it all to Lyndon, Edgar and me

they are only flashes
yet they hold the power to bring me to tears
or laughter
I see faces in them
moments that are burned in my soul
fifty four years ago
looking for something to do on a hot July afternoon
I would peak out the window to make sure
Mrs. Mabolis (she was a portly gal) was on her porch
drinkin' her tea
prop the front door open  
go to the edge of the kitchen
and run full speed down the hallway
out the front door
across the porch
hitting the top of the stairs
and launching myself out far enough
to clear the 10 steps
land on the concrete sidewalk
perform a fake roll to make it look
more death defying than it actually was
and look up to see Mrs. Mabolis
grab her chest in terror
poor Mrs. Mabolis
the day I nearly got run over by a 55' Chevy
playing 'Hide & Seek'
likely took 10 years off her time on this planet
I'm sorry Mrs. Mabolis, I truly am
but you were my go to!

fell out of a tree once
truly should have killed me
but opened a **** on my forehead
that changed the front of my bright white t-shirt
to candy apple red
snuck up on Mom through the back porch door
waited for her to turn around and see me
while she was frying chicken
when she finally did
the fried chicken took flight from the frying pan
to the dining room
sorry Mom!
luckily, Mrs. Mabolis wasn't on the porch for that one

there
in the pause
somewhere between sleep and awake
between night and dawn
the shadows move
and the voices begin
is it in my head
or just another reality
am I home or just visiting
what is real and what is imagination

I drop like a sack
off the back of a truck
and hit the mattress
felt like a dream
had me hypnotized

(RIP: Bob Welch)

It was at the 7th bridge
that I decided to jump
perhaps the cold night added incentive
or the fact that I had lost my favorite letter from you that day
the last one you wrote
before you found your own bridge
or perhaps 7 is just my lucky number
I was after all
the 7th child born
though my mum was told not to have more children
so you see
all my time here was cake anyway
I'm not tossing anything away
I'm just making things right

what is it about life that makes it so
difficult?
perhaps it's the inability for some of us
to store our baggage in a proper place

Solemn faces hold their wrath
forewarned the day would come
silent fell their thoughts of fear
no match for hearts turned numb
they walk together this final day
as one a stoic mass
no smiles, no hope, no words to say
tears lip blades of grass
in the hills they settle
the hour draws near
time to tell children they are loved
a faint breeze is blowing
the Sun shining clear
birds swoop and chatter above
there are moments of reflection
before it is done
eyes towards the heavens do peer
a thud in the distance
a cloud chokes the Sun
it is only the silence they hear
hands are joined and heads are hung
to pray for their rebirth
spirits seek the light of God
in their final day on earth

and in these bleakest of nights
when my self analysis
third person psychobabble
holds minimal sway
i run from the dark
into the black
into the pitch
where i am safe
from all light
all thought
until the passing
the silent storm that rages
will end only with time
or submission

Onward cried the empath
whisperer of ghosts
through a maze of darkness
through layers of time
and static thought
his mind open and protected
by the belief of his followers
onward through the blind prejudice
of the unmoved and unwilling
into the realm of calm
into a sea of silent dreams
until at last the path is clear
the droves of disbelievers
turned away
by the powers of pristine consciousness
here
past the walls of centuries built by doubt
the words of a kindred spirit
the response of a lost soul searching for light
"I hear You"

loan me a dime
said the poet to the rhyme
dropped like dice
from vanilla ice
the Gods of poetry
spittin words like flem
cause they notice
when you notice them
up in here up in here
shout it like you got no fear
turn that smokin' room around
light her up and buy a round
lines that bring em to their knees
ask Edgar, William
even Socrates
this one is yours
number one on the chart
like a rhyme on a dime
to the beat of her heart

the Brickhouse is where you'll find them
it was here long before the school
it is where Jane lived
and where she died tragically
poor Jane
locked in the attic like a dangerous animal
and her only crime was that her mind slipped
so the story goes

and find them I did
I could not hear or see them until I viewed
what I had on film
there I found them dancing about
up and down the stairs like children playing
I made my way to the attic door
but could not go in
the weight of sadness filled the air like dense fog
I knew Jane was here

on film I hear their voices
distant...
sometimes it is children laughing
sometimes they mock me
''He knows Persley'' a gentleman sarcastically states
after my reciting the first line of
'Roses are Red'
at least one did not appreciate my being there
"Get Out" she demanded
and then the sad voice pleading as if lost in the wood
"I Hear You" she cried
"I Hear You"
is it Jane?
I will return
to hopefully gain trust in those that reside here
for I must know
more

I lurk beneath the Sea
and hide among the sharks
when storms are fierce
and batter all who swim
against the waves
the blanket of the night
is home to my seclusion
fuel for my illusion
where I awake
when others pale
where I thrive
when others fail
to see the beauty
in silence

the rain beats endlessly
upon the ears
it snakes it's way inside this house
wrapping itself around the grief
and drenches us with sadness
the Sun resides in a far off place
where smiles await
where joy finds refuge
in time
the storm will remain here
will darken these rooms
and blur the days ahead
what light finds it's way
will only serve to cast shadows
i will understand her grief
i will wait beside her for the cloud to unwrap itself
for she is her father's daughter
and i know so well
this storm

and when the last of the shadows climbed into his bucket
the little boy that no-one knew
whispered something to them and carried the bucket to the ocean's edge
he was seen by several setting the bucket in the water as a wave approached
then turning towards the other children along the beach
and motioning them to come
which they did, some 60 or 70 of them
suddenly drawn to this boy that no-one knew
he looked back to the sea
at the crest of the horizon
a dome shaped craft that dwarfed any vessel known to man
emerged from beneath the waves
suddenly hovered silently above the beach
darkening the skies
it was there but a moment
and was gone
when the astonished crowd turned their gaze towards the young boy
he was gone
as was their own
December 22nd, 2112
seventeen minutes and 21 seconds before the Sun died

A garden grows this darkened wood
shade by ancient Oak
clouds be thick
dirt be moist
where breath of Sunlight choke
plentiful the plant does grow
in pitch of night it feed
on onion root and wayward toad
this plant of human seed
cloned and honed to grow as wheat
what science has begun
hide away these darkened wood
should mother's soldiers run
with fires racing cross the open
seizures of this land
our dna from yesterday
shall rise from death of man

her voice danced on the Summer breeze
carried over the garden
and graced the stillness of the catfish pond
"Suppers' ready"
one more fish, I thought
just one more
but I could almost smell the beef stew
and the apple pie Mama had coolin'
fish can wait
sometimes the best part of fishin'
is gettin' hungry
and no one in Clarke County
cooked a finer meal than Mom
I closed my eyes as I walked toward the house
reminding myself to save room for pie and vanilla ice cream
Dad's gonna be proud of the 4 sizeable cats I caught
a strong breeze and the sound of window blinds slappin'
brought me home again
a storm was comin'

why is it that the best dreams are always interrupted?
sliding the window shut, I can still smell that apple pie

Sorrow casts a lazy eye
through a passing cloud above
remorse has found a place to rest
longside my one true love
bitterness whispers
then fades gently
into the 'sea of truth be known'
she gave her soul to one unwilling
and fed that love alone
the color of the dream she knew
whilst I slept deep and blind
kept hampered by a governed heart
afraid to beat in kind
yet in the waking hour she shines
enduring light through great despair
I'd gladly trade the days I've left
to kiss her honey hair

Spoiled centerpiece at table's edge
red apples turned a dull brown
grapes withered and wrinkled
like the hand that lay motionless
sprinkled with drywall dust
tv screams in neutral static
the only surviving kitten suckles it's lifeless mother's ****** in vain
the burning corn fields crackle and snap
the skies turn a smokey haze
before the Sun disappears on schedule
somewhere along the road
Grandpop and Joe are in the truck
with melted ice cream
they were bringing back from town

I've grown weary of this madness
weak from all this pain
should I turn from the truth I've seen
or revel in the rain

I've grown old from all this sadness
long before my time
they stole my youth and innocence
neutralized my prime

I've grown feeble in my anger
bitter in my grief
the truth is there for all to see
yet we turn in disbelief

The innocent are shunned upon
the guilty walk away
'I'm just a patsy' is our plea
since that bleak November day

How beautiful she is in fires light
flames dance sparks off black marble eyes
lips red and dripping sighs
draw me to bosoms salted taste
we lay first locked in passions moan
inferno of sweet lovers heat
she whispers her undying love
bites flesh
rakes nails along back's skin
I swim in swirling shadows
fall dizzy into the altered state
breathless in the bloodied rapture
the addiction that is she

Dreary eyed old man dreams of days past
his youth
he looks with a distant sadness through the window
perhaps to a spot where he once played as a child
a spot now made of concrete and steel
perhaps to a tree no longer there
under which he first kissed his lady
his only lady
who left him suddenly so many years ago
perhaps to a field now littered with progress
a field he worked for thirty years
he can almost taste the sweat on his lips
'Oh, to be young again' he thought

'Here's your change, Pops!'
said the purple haired, nose ring clad cashier,
unwittingly
'Perhaps not' the old man muttered to himself
as he shuffled into the Sunlight

voice calls gently in the night
dreams awaken lucid flight
gazing from Orion's shore
Angels open Heaven's door
shadows cross the face of Mars
lovers count the falling stars
Sun evokes a gentle breath
to mark another twilight's death
awaken dreamer to morning's light
dreams rest silent til birth of night

and what shall we do
when it is discovered that we are merely
fragments of imagination
pieces of one giant cosmic thought
one universal idea generated
in the absence of time
and expanding without check
by the false boundaries conceived
within the prison we place ourselves

what shall we do
when it is discovered that we are not
the only entities in existence
but one of billions, trillions
that co-exist
some in their infancy
some light years ahead of us
who smile at our naivety
long for our innocence
and capacity to love

when we find that we are not alone
even here on our own sacred Earth
when our history and myths are shattered
when our thoughts and perceptions are
forced to reboot
and we face an undeniable truth beyond our
scope of imagination
what shall we do

we shall love each other

There are times in our lives when challenges may come
in the form of phenomenon
a remarkable word
for in definition it is; 'something that can be observed or perceived; a rare occurrence'
I believe most of us experience at least one phenomenon in our lifetime
It can be a life altering event or it can be immediately forgotten
as phenomenon raises questions, and questions raise inquiry and inquiry takes time
and most are simply too busy to delegate time to such frivolous things
I have lived a very mundane and ordinary life
yet I have witnessed more than my share of phenomenon
as a child I watched what I first believed to be a blimp
glide across the night sky without a sound
a strange light pulsating from within
it reached its closest point to me
then disappeared from my sight within seconds
in the blink of an eye
more recently I experienced a visitor in my home
for several weeks I could not see or speak to this visitor
but I knew the day he arrived and the night he left,
the most frightening night of my life
I've seen phenomenon in the form of coincidence that defy logic
not once but many times
and I watched a person who had passed to the other side
return to life

When it appears before you...embrace it
absorb and remember it
for it is real

it settles in like powder after an eruption
a radical beginning
ending in quiet ashen snow
reducing all color of landscape
to a blurry black and white snapshot
all plants, waterways and wind of change
to wretched silence
the coming of age
death shows itself in our faces
and our relevancy is reduced to nostalgia
biding time
hanging on to thoughts of young days and old ideas
pretending we have fended off
the coming of the gray

You've reached your pinnacle, Roy
here in the rain
your tears lost
the prodigal son
will leave his maker
and meet no-one in the after
Rebel in your time
replicated emotion
but emotion just the same
perhaps the most human application
was one unintended
that thought is pure
in death