Make me swoon

Make me swoon

Till the blue moon

Must no longer be fixed

And to me it is nixed

But a missing rune

Make me swoon

Make me swoon

Thus I will hear the croon

Weaving the warmth betwixt

We, evermore affixed

Ne’er to be bestrewn

Make me swoon

Make me swoon




Dust in the Corner

Dust in the corner

But not alone.

Befriended by the excess

From other stories…

The charcoal grit

Masking the floor,

Stained black.

Pencil shavings

Concealing the tiles.

Wasted, unwanted wood.

Forgotten scratch paper

Living its life abandoned

But not alone.

It is befriended by the excess

From other stories…



Canine Inspiration Poems

The mismanaged cousins of the wolf.
Miscued is the sense of Pack, the sense of order
A loss of instinct
In place, a name on a sepia plaque
Dogs are in a glass jar-airplane
Grouped in a small space bordered
In transparency for manipulation of man
Their lives in the hands of man.
Future in the intentions of mankind.

>^.^<   >^.^<   >^.^<   >^.^<   >^.^<   >^.^<   >^.^<

Fire because war,
cellar hears aching madness
message forgotten

>^.^< >^.^< >^.^< >^.^< >^.^< >^.^< >^.^<  >^.^<

Wind against winter
Attic dreams, forgotten smoke
light in the violence

>^.^< >^.^< >^.^< >^.^< >^.^< >^.^< >^.^< >^.^<

Fire reflects the damage
Distress against solitude projected
War finished its job
A message unclear, yet in bold
To invent a remedy
Erase the fear, be it forgotten
Locked in the cellar
Fill it with smoke

>^.^< >^.^< >^.^< >^.^< >^.^< >^.^< >^.^< >^.^<

Wind reflects the damage
Distress despite solitude projected
Winter finished its job
A Gift unclear, yet in bold
To Dream a remedy
Erase the fear, be it violent
Locked in the Attic
Fill it with Peace




The weary sun leans, in seek of respite

Silhouettes longing to incite a fright

Waiting, bidding, so desperately reaching

Piquing shadows duress for unleashing

Slurring and spurring, they now wait concealed

Cursedly awaiting ‘till nothing can wield

Lurking in place for the careless, it seems

Poised to consume while you choke on your screams

Approaching unlit, the earth soon will cool

Arousing the span where darkness will rule




Tribute to Huckleberry Finn

I am orange

Color of adventure

Color of change

I am a line segment

Continually running my track

Back and forth with

No terminus

I am drawn to what is right

I am torn from what is wrong

I am a brisk moving river

Chasing ethics

Running from morals

I fear my compassion

I fear my rationality

I see right

I see left


I am bright

I am empathy

I am condemned

I am honorable

  >^.^<  >^.^<   >^.^<   >^.^<   >^.^<   >^.^< 

my real name is Callow

yesterday my name was Imaginative

tomorrow my name will be Realistic

in my dream my name was Corrupt

secretly I know my name is Honor

my name once was Huckleberry Finn

 >^.^<  >^.^<   >^.^<   >^.^<   >^.^<   >^.^<

my real name is Sincere

yesterday my name was Imprisoned

tomorrow my name will be Absconder

in my dream my name was Free

secretly I know my name is Innocent

my name once was Jim



In the Center of the House

in the center of the house

i see blue: healing, patience, happiness

in the center of the house

i hear two: together, in tandem, simultaneous

in the center of the house

i feel warmth: open, fond, anew

in the center of the house

i think fore: leading, along, through

in the center of the house

i know elision: salient, ascending, conflate

in the center of the house

i am enamor: ever, coalesce, whole



The Only Sound That Matters

Terra’s voice, the only sound that matters

Gentle zephyrs rustle the dainty leaves

Brushing the light fronds in spacious scatters

Breeze to gale, faunas hide in taiga sleeves

Unsettled ballads of the lark resounds

Roaring aloft and below, it draws nigh

Grave cloaks of shadow conceal the still grounds

Sonorous winds commence to lull and shy

Drops of rain fall from the billow above

Churning the placid slough in soft ripples

Caught in the solace of earth’s warming glove

Dew adhered to webs, a careful stipple


Evincing reverence, stilling all chatters

Nature’s choir, the only sound that matters



I Am Forgotten

I am a slate blue iris

Billowing sea smoke

A borderless shape

An unfixed figure

Ever sweeping, ever stretching

   Crawling and seeping beneath



I am the murmur of a creek

A masqued creature,

Concealed as the world wanders past

I am a mellowing hum, held in the earth’s breath

A detached, unbiased number between first and last

I am the stuttering Chevy

The dust-coated chair

The last picked berry

The soft strumming mandolin

I am soused Inverness

Dew on a web

An outstretching aspen, where

The fronds are my aura

Exposing my spirit

I am fearful of light

The sun


The night is my ally

The moon

The dark

There are words hiding behind my eyes

I am simultaneous

I am sympathy

I am remembered

I am forgotten




Listen to the whispers of the lament

Silent tears immersing forgotten words

A poisoned heart with its last breath, unmeant

Suffers hover about the swooning birds

Buried dolor detaining fate below

Strangled cries aboard on the ceaseless firth

Walking alone on the streets of sorrow

For you are trapped inside this lightless earth

Ne’er to know what one’s feat be apt ferment

A desperate reach for eternal rover

Soughing the sweet, sweet song of the lament

As blithe and spry as an unkept clover

Forever will you hear this true repent

And that, that is the sound of the lament




Floe in luminary streams

She poses her vast pate

Reveling in a fugitive fete

While wights of ream

Flit in the dream

As they await

The imminent fate

That follows her portion’s seam

Perchance the apt span

Endured evermore

Remaining to crescent

Though, desire cannot foreran

Change is the true allure

She is evanescent