Love's Hallows All...

In the cold November night
She had given us a fright
So we ran arm-in-arm away
Running towards forgotten days
And the sorrow of that
    woe-begotten light

We had told her what we'd done
And she'd said I'm not her son
Then we'd bolted out the door
Left your bootprints on the floor
And were gone before she'd
    leveled out the gun

The shots rang high and loud
And I swear that we were proud
To have made the Beast so pissed
To be the Devils atop her list
Of all the evil Hell hath spat
    on this gray shroud
  
Into the Night we ran and played
For we had met our Judgement Day
Burned it down with light and love
Killed the monster, came the dove
And forever on we knew
    we'd have our say

There's no one could tell us "No"
If our Way wound to or fro
Our life at last was ours to live
And Death our gift to give
So we'd return for her at sign
    of year's first snow

And return for her we did
Deep in the cellar where she'd hid
Her thrusting cross and sobbing loud
"In Jesus' name I cast you out!"
For all the good that useless
    trinket never did

She wept and screamed and prayed
Hoping she'd at last be saved
From this night that wouldn't end
And her faith that wouldn't bend
And these children with their teeth
    like razor blades

We ripped and tore and fed
While she cried and shat and bled
Until her flesh began to cool
Her life now just a crimson pool
Puddled under her like Satan's
    marriage bed

We left her there on that stone floor
Behind us closed and locked the door
Our mother's blood across your face
Looked to me a veil of lace
In all our endless life I've never
    loved you more

We Become Merlin, Lord Of The Geeks...

the Man is no longer a Man
in this day and age
he is a strange Middle-Aged Boy
an Aging Adolescent
hair going grey
with the hours whittled away
on Xbox video games

the Man that is a Man
is of a bygone age
The Real Man in the films of old
Age-ed Anachronism
strong and proud and brave
standing tall to face the day
and keep the wolves at bay

that I am a Man-who-is-not-a-Man
a product of this modern age
has vexed my Heart and Soul
my Arrested Ascension
how can I always play
when a Real Man works all day
but really who's to say?

the Boy is also a Man
in our culture at this stage
in truth both young and old
Advancing Adolescence
we get to play our lives away
yet still have bills to pay
the balance of the middle way

I am a Boy and I am a Man
by internal and external age
work only to play is my road
an Admirable Aspiration
that I get to live My Way
a little boyhood every day
is the great gift of this age

Fuck it
I'll be okay

Lost Summerisle's Longing...

make your Gift
to The Queen of the May
let the blood run brilliant hot

a boiling Gift
of life-made-death
to bring Light for a New Year to come

sharpen your blade
and polish the stone
for The Queen and Her Kingdom of Sun

let the fires burn bright
three stories high
heat Her throne in the heavens above

drink of Her wine
down to your bones
let the Wild come into you freely

dance naked your Joy
come loud to the stars
Her pleasure move through you completely

drown in the flesh
of lovers all 'round
get lost in Abandon's display

and bathe in the blood
of a Life now re-born
All Hail The Queen of the May

Summer Smoke...

dreaming of drinking and grinding up smoke
laid-back and laughing while having a toke
summernight fireflies flash through my head
while i doze through delirium snug in my bed
with summer's lost loves and old friends gathered 'round
we play and we love as the stars settle down
the night sky above paints a portrait of grace
and we lie on our backs and we soar into space
we fly free, we are young, we have nothing to fear
and our latest new love whispers red in our ear
those words we've been waiting forever to hear
and we are back on the earth with our dearest held near
the world's just right now, in our favorite arms
as fingers trace skin, weaving delicate charms
to love and to lust in the grass under sky
open wide to the world and to gods passing by
we sing out our paeans to pleasure and loss
we have yet our whole lives still left to exhaust
and there's nothing for us in this world but our need
each for the other in word and in deed
we roll in the grass and we burn up our hearts
'til we're lost in each other and coming apart
one in the other we dance in our sins
and the juice of all summers drips sweet down our chins
awake in my bed, i was them, now i'm me
and that mythical summer i'm longing to see
now forever is gone, but these visions remain
of a dream of lost love sought forever in vain

Exercise #2...

Let me in
Let me inside
I need to get inside of you
It hurts so much out here
Feels too much out here
Outside of you
Inside of myself
All by myself
Everything would be okay again
And I would know my place again
If you would just let me in
Let me inside of you
Let me sleep inside of you
Let me dream inside of you
Let me lose myself
And find myself
And remake myself inside of you
Where everything is warm
And everything is Love
Where all I am is gone
And all we are is one
Where everything began
And all my futures end
Where all that's broken now
Does our motion gently mend
Where we are all we need
And nothing matters more
Where all I have I give to you
And whispered wishes roar
It's not too late
Please seal my fate
My doom in you
Don't hesitate
Just let me in
Invite me in
To live and die
And forever abide
Inside
Inside

Lost Spirit...

Appalachian Alchemists
Weaving Gold from farmer's grist
Whiskey Stills
and Copper Pills
Magick Wyrm cools vapor mists

Shine down from a Whiskey Moon
Silver Gift and Nature's Boon
Corn Cob Wands
and Thumper Pots
Mountain Spells from Summers' June

Lightning flash in jar of White
Burning Soul, distilled delight
Mountain Streams
yield Moonshine Beams
Corn-fed Wizards, dark of night

Wisdom cast in Silver hues
Blessing born of Mountain Dews
Love's Desire
from Smoke and Fire
Ancient kin-folk's hidden brews

Inspiration Distillate
Poet's Draught, inebriate
Charcoal Casks
and Secret Flasks
Of this Spirit, Celebrate

**editor's note - the first stanza popped into my head as I was trying to fall asleep last night, and it's been on my mind ever since for some reason, despite my best efforts to forget it.  The rest of the poem built from there.  I guess I miss whiskey more than I realized.

White...

my favorite thing 

about Winter

the reason I Love it

and the only reason 

I even like it at all

is Snow

is Watching the World

Disappear

is seeing Everything I Know 

slowly become

a Field 

of Perfect White
Our World

that contains

All our Joys 

and All our Pains

All our Shit and All our Sufferings

All our Love and All our Longings

our Whispers

our Wishes

our Doubts and our Deeds

our Laughs

and our Hopes

and our Everythings

Temporarily Transformed

into Beauty

while we Watch

as we Witness

Nature's Art

falling

in fractal forms

Chaos

in the sky

and all around

Silent Yin

paints the ground

in Perfect White 

to reflect the Moon

as Winter's Light

Nothing To Say...

I want to write a poem.  I've been enjoying that a lot lately.  More than I ever have before.

I've never wanted to write poetry before.  I always wanted to write stories, or prose.  But I always suffered from a distinct lack of ideas.  And I've discovered that poetry fits perfectly with the kind of art I really want to make.  I always knew that I wanted to make art with words, and so I assumed that meant I should write stories.  And that's what I always did growing up.  But I've recently realized that I'm not a very good storyteller.  Or, rather, I'm not a very good story-creator.  If someone gives me an idea, I can write the shit out of it.  But I have trouble coming up with the ideas myself.

And I think I've come to enjoy writing poetry so much lately exactly because it isn't necessarily about telling a story.  It's purely about self-expression in lyrical word form.  And it feels good.  Figuring out what I'm feeling and then turning it over and over in my mind, looking at it this way and that; and then finding different ways to express it, finding different ways to shape it into something interesting or beautiful or potent or impactful.  It's like solving a puzzle.  Writing stories is so much a mental exercise.  But writing poetry feels like an intuitive process, letting the emotional and mental sides of myself wrestle back and forth with each other, and following the pull, the flow of the words that come from their interaction.

And I've come to really, really enjoy that feeling.  And I want to do it every day.  I want to do it now.

But I'm having an ordinary day.  I'm not feeling anything in particular; I don't have anything I need to express.  And without that fuel, I don't have anything write about.  Sometimes I get lucky, like yesterday, and a poem will come to me even though I'm not feeling anything particularly deep or important.  But I have no control over that.  And right now, I'm sitting here, and I want to write a poem.  But I've got nothing to say.  I'm having an ordinary day.

I've got nothing to say
It's an ordinary day
Nothing to write home about
No reason to stay

There's nothing going on here
No deep thoughts to feel here
I'm empty as the mirror's gaze
For all the world to see here

This is just an exercise
Performed for all your judging eyes
Written to determine who
Can wrench the Truth from all my lies

Because I have nothing to say
On this ordinary day
And the rhymes of poetry sometimes
Just get in the way

Oh.  Well, fuck.  Never mind, then.

Hermit...

The Romantic becomes The Cynic
His Heart becomes The Stone
The Poisonous Fruit
At the Tree of Life's Roots
Chills him to the Bone

The Fool no longer Dances
Seeks no Joy from those he Loved
Their Smiles seem Dour
His Mood gone Sour
He's lost his Light Above

And the Lusty Fires sputter
The Flesh turns Soft and Gray
What once was All
Helped bring The Fall
Nothing Rose can Stay

Then Passions aged to Bitters
For Reality means only Tears
The joys of Youth
Mean acrid Truths
At the End of all our Years

But who are We to Argue
And Death comes for Us All
Will you Cry at Night
Or Will you Fight
To find Your Light in Time's Black Pall

As Above, So Below...

spiderweb cracks
of bare black branch
against slab of slate gray sky

blue sun glow
blurry and lost
shrouds the world with ice

bite of cold
winter wind cuts
through flesh naked and scarred

bone white flecks
of fractals fall
to dust the red and raw

crystal'd waters
with gentlest touch
melt into seeping wounds

frost fingers roam
through veins gone cold
seeking the vaults of doom

old heart in hand
black carbon char
powdered ash blown high and free

corpse crow caw
shattering shriek
endless echoes mocking me

night at noon
and no one saw
there's nothing left to be

Twelfth Night...

Orange yellow tounges climb licking
tinder dried limbs wood eating
pine bough'd circle yearned-for grasping
explode in blazing new Sun crackling

White wisp'd winter ghosts rise gently
carried north on cold winds darkly
sacrificed spirits pyre'd burn brightly
light for a New Year to shine sublimely

Red runes round ring enchanted
holy words spoke oft-repeated
flowed wine o'er horn filled sacred
Gods' graced gifts for wishes granted