Isle of Circe


If I told you I was desperate and you were in a position to make me a king

Would you make me a fool for you, and make my brethren serve you as have so many others before me?

Could you cut from divine cloth, a garment so plane so honest, as to the hide the shame of this humble beggar before you?
Would you care if I went on living without sleep, nothing more than feeling my weakness of wanting you, though my whole being cries out to end this sorcery?
How can I be free, if my brother’s only freedom is to serve you?

If I gambled for their lives, the stakes of defeat too terrible to realize
Could I trust you to do what’s most noble, and let us leave this island of iniquity now?
Or must a kill you and return the roses, now dead in the vase, and no other option foreseen?
How could we mortals reconcile this dilemma and hope to win?

If the gods favored my every action as a warrior, renowned as a leader among men, yet cast me adrift on my ponderous journey back home.
Would you lament for my desolation, my hopeless wreckage washed up, and abandon to this purgatory.

Those who have delivered my company and I, to one who drinks from souls of men
What kind bride would you have become, to make for your groom?



How can I make you understand how hard it will be to live without your presence?

Without your loving loyalty shining through all the corners of your love for me

Your adoration no matter how ill you felt that day, how you always put me first

And I can never repay for you undying devotion my loving pet

And when I was ill or agitated your eternal empathy always shone through my clouded mind

You were always there for me and give me reason to smile, to love like no other before you

You could always make me feel so happy about my life, so long as you were there for me

And through out the years we lived together I would never have turn back the page never halving knowing your sweet love

And though you only departed from me scant hours ago

I feel your presence here still tonight, and the ghost of your remnant

For months and years to come I see you and hear you all around me

Not because you haunt me, but because your friendship and love will never leave me

You will always be with me now and forever

There will never be another like you my “Angel”

The Blue Avian Orb

It is gathering dust outside the home I grew up in, and several of us are hunting small uplands game birds with shotguns.

Behind my house is a steep gullied depression that leads on down the “wagon trail” to the river below.

Where we hunters are kindred spirits, we don’t necessarily know each other, and are spread out as if in an armed man hunt.

As we descend into the smallish gorge, it is a steep decline to a rounded triangular plateau, before a further descent below.

As we climb down to the plateau, the bowl is covered in a thick fog, at which there appears to be a bright glowing, orb that can be vaguely made out at the bottom.

Apprehension grips at our senses, as we get closer to the circular disc, glowing first dimly, then more clearly as we pass through the obscuring blanket in front of us.

We stop our decent hoping time would help us discern, what truly lay beneath the fog, in time the air currents caused the sheen to lessen in obscurity, and allowed me to peer behind the veil.

What I saw next decimated my concept of reality, and shook me to my very foundation, as a tremor crippled my heart, turning it to ice.

Out my mouth came the baleful quavering of a lost and tortured soul, and I heard my own voice gasp out incredulously, “I…I can see your face”.

Two ominous shadows back lit by the radiance of the orb behind them, emerged from out of the mists that had been previously shrouding them, to reveal an entity with a terrifying larger than human, elongated shaped cranium, accompanied by an equally long protruding chin, not unlike a beak.

If this wasn’t enough to make your blood run cold, the face was without doubt the horror of it all, resembling a shriveled prune, deeply etched with jagged fissures running the length of its face in broken oblique equilateral striations.

Its eyes were wide and oblong like its head, glazed, darkened with the absence of any eye lids, nose or mouth of sort. The whole visage was completely emotionally disturbing, and unnerving, to the point of total panic.

These other world beings were extremely tall, eight feet or more, the first of which was covered in what appeared to be long blue feathers, the length of his stature, the second one with the robes of a priest or shaman.

After my initial verbal outburst of fear, it was obvious that they were aware of my presence now, and in my most horrifying moment of discovery, they immediately approached my location.

Feral panic gripped me and the flight or fight instinct caused me to try and scramble up the steep incline below my mother’s rock garden above, only to find its slope had turned to mud, as I slid down the slope to the lower plateau again.

Next the inevitable happened, as I saw the blue avian and his shaman speeding up to me, rolling like on a train track, their approach far too swift and menacing for me not to misinterpret their intention.

Again the feral fight or flight adrenaline rush consumed me, as I lashed out at the shaman who was encroaching and within striking difference, I cried out “you’re a fucking witch doctor”.

My hand met the wooden wall behind my lower bunk, and not the shaman’s beak, and I realized it was just another night terror, as my heart pounded wildly subsiding into laughter.

I realized in my mad fear and misinterpretation of an alien contact, I had robbed myself of the understanding, and maybe the making of a lasting friendship of two star brothers.


In every shadowed corner, awaits a sublime brilliance to unfold
Wrapped in a cloak that covers itself in, honesty and humility

Its radiant truth, awaits to be discovered diligently, patiently
Until called forth from the shadows, like an unseen hand

Once nurtured, and honored, now ready to shine

You are the inspiration, the glue that holds all love of words, and phases together

Like a coalescent spirit, that walks among us, unbound by time

The Changeling

A new life awakens, one that knows no adversary, only to survive
Its life is quickened, by the kindling of warmth and nurture
Its growing instinct to evolve, and be what nature intended
Part of a plan too magnanimous, beyond the mortal ken

You are like a caterpillar in its nymph like state
You awaken from the egg you were, to explore the wonders around you
The world around you struggles to exist, and being of this world, so do you
The reality of the situation is as freighting, as it is daunting
Still you summon all that you are, and shall become, as your sword and buckler

There you stand prepared for all you must overcome
Though your heart is flagging, there remains the small fire of hope
The hope that is nestled, hidden deep within your breast
The hope that you will meet this challenge, or perish trying

So you seek out somewhere, some place you can protect yourself
A place you pray you may weather the storm, to live one more day
And so you find the underside of nature’s truest refuges
A place where providence guides you to in your ignorance

The refuge and shelter of his love, in the bitter winds that blow
Where you may prepare a home for the changes to come
You know not why, only that the change is imminent
A change you are not comfortable with, but must surely come

So fate causes you to create a lair or insulation around you
A barrier between you, and the hostile world that would savage you
And when the creation is built, and now it stands between you and it
Safe and warm in its protection, you are overwhelmed with fatigue

So you sleep the sleep of the dead, as you now change innocuously
Incrementally your larval feeding state, slowly undergoes metamorphosis
Shedding its ugly wormlike form, for that of one of utter spender
And as you sleep you dream of changing into something wonderful

A dream that you may bring new beauty into the world around you
That you might bring change to the hostile, and bitter world around you
A world that only recognizes the beauty and symmetry in things that change
That world that needs to undergo the state of change itself

And then after your long lasting slumber you are awakened from within
The voice of creation stirs inside and summons you to motion again
Again you feel the constraints of nature around you, confining you
Withholding from you, all the promise of your designed destiny

And then there is felt a tremor, a chink the armor of nature
A breath of life where there was none left to breathe, within her confines
A tear in the fabric of stasis, evolving into something more pure more perfect
A new life emerges from the mundane, into the elegance of grace and beauty

Liberated now by the inspiration, and love of life, and all its wonders
You are free to spread your gossamer wings, to dry in the warmth of the sun
Testing their strength in the warm rays of dawn, you are ready now for flight
A leap of faith, and at last you are an adult, with all the privilege of the
of the skies above, limited only by the bonds of its own dominion

The Crack In The Ceiling (Except from Prose)

My first memories of conscientiousness are of being laid down in my crib for an afternoon nap, clothed only in my diaper it was so very warm

These are my feelings engendered by the separation from my mother, and a lack of visual input from the world of wonder and discovery

There was a jagged crack in the plaster ceiling above my head that was the only image I could focus on

The crack had many crooked legs, some sorter others longer leading to a central hub, the lines of striation, no real form but abstract

I kept trying to make some sort of sense, some cemetery to the crack to give it form in my imagination

Each successive time I was laid down for a nap, my mind wandered back to the crack in the ceiling

There it was again, challenging my mind to make some form of it, to give it meaning and beauty

Try as I could to make something wonderful out it, it resisted all efforts and imagination I could muster

It had become an anathema to all my efforts, like trying to make sense out of a reflection across two parallel mirrors

Then one day the riddle of the crack took on a more sinister guise, one that began to form into a threat of malevolence

In my desire to make sense out of the crack, it grew into the only shape it could assume, having no beauty or cemetery

My restless inquiring mind made its formlessness into the one thing left to my imagination, it made a void of chaos into an ugly monstrosity

As this darkness grew in my mind, so to did its threat in nature, filling me with a nameless dread

Soon I was crying my eyes out for mother reassuring arms, though its newly perceived menace seemed to loom ever larger in my mind

My mother came to my rescue eventually quelling my overactive imagination, but this will remain my first memory of consciousness

More primly though, having only known my mothers love, it was my first known notion of the emotion called fear