Night spreads its dark wings
on a faint path upwards.
Steps climb toward the dark.
The secret cave of the heart
reveals its magic to the dreamer.
Its sapphire mist veils the fikir’s
lamp within.

Along the path the ancient oak’s
strudy branches remain still.
This mountain is a place of silence
where worldly sounds fade to
ghostly whispers.

Here one enters the mist alone
far from the stirring of moonlit
wings. Searching among a thousand
clouds in the half-lightof the unanswered
question : where is eternity along the path
unknown and the courage to search
beyond reality ?

How do you come to hate,
The ones you loved?
You don't.
They tend to turn on you,
Either that,
Or they weren't real at all.
I forsake any shard of regret I had,
From leaving you,
I regret any feeling I had,
From loving you.
If anyone lost here,
It was you.
Because you'll fall back into emptiness,
Trying to replace it with people,
But I, I will not.
I'll continue to cradle my own light,
Which you came so close to taking.
I'm done sacrificing pieces of me,
In order to receive nothing.

"Remember, remember,
The 𝘍𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘩 of November:
Gunpowder, treason, plot.

For there is a reason
Why gunpowder & treason
Should ne'er be forgot."

Aye.
Drop all the bawny
And read it right:
One will notice
The exclusion in remembrance
Of plot proper.

What drivel, what rot.

A nursery rhyme,
Meant to lull asleep a populace.
You hear the story
That they were religious nuts,
That was projection.

Not a soul on our side
Was for balmy superstition.

We who was folks of science & virtue,
Philosophy proper was our standard -
What that had been & is corrupt.

Remember the Fifth
And remember his brother;
Two blonde youths,
Two tawny royal lads,
And one whom they slaughtered.

We fought for the expansion of freedoms,
Civil liberties & such.
For the likes of social programs now widely enjoyed -
Schooling, healthcare, and the like.
For not a soul among us to know hunger,
That they might have daily - bread
And the like.

A son named
After a king usurped -
Woodville, or Wideville;
For it is a large world,
But really quite navigable.

And a King who took a new name
In honor of his slain uncle,
D̲i̲c̲c̲o̲n̲ C̲l̲a̲r̲k̲e̲

Once more, where moored,
The only survivor.
Might is nary ever really right.
They too saw that
On the Isle Wight.

This line;
Long & tried,
Persecuted & replanted.
Forevermore,
As it had been before
And doubtless shall be again,
Wearing the verdant festoon.

In Old World, like New;
Truth is always the fashion,
Justice is always the passion.

'OH...I SAY!"
( for Harry  Owen )

"I bagged this one
out in In-dee-A!"

...the braggart's boast.

"It's a very rare
( these days)ALGERNON!"

And indeed, an Algernon
bares his teeth

above the roaring fire's
mantlepiece.

He looks startled as
he has been shot just -  that second.

"The head is splendidly mounted
complete with handlebar moustache

...& monocle!"

One feels that one could
pop next door and there

would be ha ha...the rest of
Algernon

sticking out the other side.

The glint in the eye
the sneer just so

...right.

"And to the right of the Algernon
is a genuine Cuthbert.

Again from 1901 or there or
thereabouts."

"It is indeed a perfect specimen of
the good old chap..."

The white rhino brags yet again
of what he calls his baggings.

White Rhino's
collection of colonials

is the envy of
all the other animals.

"Some more hot *** old chum?"

But the White Tiger
puts a paw over his glass.

Declines.

The fire's flickering
leaping up the wall.

The shadows making
the humans almost

come alive

as if the Cuthbert
could turn to the Algernon

and say
"OH...I SAY!

AHHHH PEACE AT LAST!

the goat
is in
the kitchen

the chicken
is in
the living room

the dog
is in
the bedroom

the cat
is on
the mat

the cow is
mooing
in the window

the humans are out
visiting
other humans

in the next village
if one
could call it that

the landscape
is asleep
in the sun

the animals
have the house
to themselves

*

First ever Greek holiday....always remember to lock the door. The goat was the ringleader who butted into our private space and of course the others followed...guess they must have read ANIMAL FARM.

I have only time and dreams. I do not know how much more time I have, but I do know that the time I shall have is, pardoxically, timeless, as are dreams. I shall use the time I have left to continue to dream--to dream not about the impossible, but about the inevitable. I shall dream about caring instead of uncaring, of helping instead of hurting, of loving instead of hating. I shall dream of a world of peace, a world on which all the billions of human beings come inexorably to realize their innate worth, their inviolate sacred spirit, a moment in the not too distant future when all will not only join hands, but also join hearts, a spiritual ecology that will complement a climate ecology. Instead of self-aggrandizing, we all will be accruing love--of self, and therefore ineluctably, of all other creations on Earth. At this moment, our world is turned inside out. Our "values" are convoluted, contorted, twisted. The world is presently controlled by inimical forces that bring torture and terror to Earth, that think weapons and wars are their their sole prerogative. But Earth's destiny negates this notion. This is not just my time and dreams, but the time and dreams of all. And sooner than later, the time will be now and the dreams will be manifest.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

“perhaps the sun is a teacup, spilled by a girl in a skyhouse who laughs in polka dots–”

You wrote like someone
who had been listening
long before speaking,
each poem a hush,
each repost a gentle offering.

This space once held you,
your words, your calm curation,
a gentle steadiness
in a shifting field of voices.

take this small goodbye
not as an end,
but as a door left open,
just in case
you return with your light.

Until then,
may strength find you
in soft moments,
and peace arrive
never needing to be earned.