A long and twisty journey
to find me where I started
and learn I never departed at all...
Half a Page of Scribbled Lines
Stone cottage, mythical forest.
Magical fireplace flickers stories.
Giants and dwarves, quests and sorties.
Forces ancient yet virile and free.
Luminescent sprites cast nets aglow,
gently float, flit
subliminally aware of
Brain shakes with malevolent intent.
Tiny spinal fractures emit
memory, reason, the capacity to love.
I am free to wander
all the wealth of stories that
could ever be,
choose the ones
to steep in, retell myself
as sleepy morning
Psyche’s numinous doorway stands open.
Gentle blue heaven surrounds
my little house, imbues, secures.
Luscious landscape, gorgeous, bountiful.
Soft-shaded bubbles effervesce,
Initiate’s siren call
Magnificent peaks manifest,
clothed by sparkling
Aloft, alone, I gasp in awe.
Anytime you ask
I will gladly
extend pleasure with my stories.
Just outside my doorway
always eternities more.
dweller on the threshold
Mortared brick, aged,
for days that never can return.
Inspired by anger
coursing through my blood-brain barrier,
by symphonies of guilt and shame
by dismal morality tableaux
glimpsed in roving eyes,
by gagged and chained
by sacrificial warriors
who cope with more
than could be required
and the songs my silent ear demands I hear.
Collar up against bleak wind and dark.
Rising smoke creates warmth illusion.
Wrapped in sanity's delusion,
fog's memory of mist, imagined tide.
Seated here, salt-etched wall
alone between vast sand and
No one sings.
The notes, the voices
We who are silent
tongues clamped to grindstone,
throats clinched like forever grief
caught, pinned, suspended in lethal cloud.
We would cry out
send forth aureoles of potent speech
to assuage, to persuade to desist,
if voice permitted.
Abraded to dust, clinging to glints and shards,
bare breath escapes without
but for that shimmer, that subliminal