My father was carved from a mountain,
his features were etched from the stone,
but like all mountains my father will crumble,
he was in need of an heir to his throne.
My brother was forged of hot iron,
no straighter a path could he walk,
he draws all his strength from the mountain,
his veins run deep through the rock.
My brother was grown in the forest,
so vivid, alive and in sync,
he draws all his strength from the ocean,
his roots thrive on the water they drink.
My mother was born of the ocean,
like a flower she bloomed from the sea,
but when the tide overcame the mountain,
all that remained on the shore was me.
I was born of my father and mother,
I crawled from the ocean and stone,
and when my father finally crumbles,
his two heirs will inherit his throne.
I will travel to nations of bloodshed,
I will not let my death go to waste,
I will lay down my life in the desert,
to keep my fathers throne safe.

I see emerald faces
in the wind
Following us
with their good graces
Soft hands
pass by
within a sand storm
Caressing us
Telling us,
do not linger
or mourn
Grey smiles
reach me through the rain
under the silken skies
I can see
their soaking frame
Driving spirits
whip up leaves
Showing me
a soulful dance
Under the trees
All this action
has caused an
eternal reaction
That has brought me
to my knees

Dream


That is all I could do
Accepting
no longer will I stand
on candlelight through
to weathered crow
morning cry vigil
with you
Though those times are gone
And the angels weep
of things to come
Cause your heart
could not hear
my silent soliloquy
Myself demanding
Of you the key
Unfortunately thinking
of only me

How poetically I write your name,
How strange reality becomes as the wind whispers the same.
I never thought I'd genuinely be fooled by something so obviously deranged
until the day arrived and I slowly watched you slip out of frame.
Heart slain, once again, in vain.

All you leave me with is my reflection,
reminding me that you
don't
feel
the same.

(I wonder how deep she goes)

PS- you stole my zippo, *****.

Out in the woods I sit,
waiting.
Waiting on the wind to
blow leaves off my path.
Waiting for enough branches
to clear.
So I can see my way.

My head looks to the sun
that burns
my back, and my
hands,
they feel the gnarled nub
of a stump that my
body clings to.

I pray to God,
for rain.
Enough rain to flood
this dreary wood.
To wipe it out
like in Noah's
day.
To wipe it
clear and clean
from my
memory.

I was six when I first saw kittens drown.
Dan Taggart pitched them, 'the scraggy wee *****',
Into a bucket; a frail metal sound,

Soft paws scraping like mad. But their tiny din
Was soon ******. They were slung on the snout
Of the pump and the water pumped in.

'Sure, isn't it better for them now?' Dan said.
Like wet gloves they bobbed and shone till he sluiced
Them out on the dunghill, glossy and dead.

Suddenly frightened, for days I sadly hung
Round the yard, watching the three sogged remains
Turn mealy and crisp as old summer dung

Until I forgot them. But the fear came back
When Dan trapped big rats, snared rabbits, shot crows
Or, with a sickening tug, pulled old hens' necks.

Still, living displaces false sentiments
And now, when shrill pups are prodded to drown
I just shrug, '****** pups'. It makes sense:

'Prevention of cruelty' talk cuts ice in town
Where they consider death unnatural
But on well-run farms pests have to be kept down.

Midnight creeps into view and the fog weighs heavily on my eyes,
Walking in the last sacred place that has not been tainted,
Divine in its authenticity and designs of reserved grandeur,
The barren surroundings and decrepit structures painted,
The snow begins to fall onto the branches of the willow tree,
The night calls out to me and the wilderness stirs with sentience,
The wolves begin their descent from the mountains approaching,
Encircling me waiting for my integral compliance,
I fear them; with their feral eyes and primal rituals,
I fall to my knees grasping at the soil in sincere repentance,
My eyes reflect those of an innocent pure soul,
They beckon me to the edge of the dense tree line in diligence,
I follow hesitantly through the darkness of the forest,
The wolves gather in a clearing around a beautiful brown fawn,
Heads bowed in apology at having to steal a life in its prime,
The night grows further from the forest and so breaks a new dawn.