Mid-Earth grand trine with Neptune call the tune
Fourth day in May, cross-quarter fully blooms
Lightly we dance, toward brightness cast our eyes
Into brave chance, into Dame Future’s vast surprise
Undulation trance of gypsy minstrel choir
Movement so intensified our light bursts into fire
We worship Mother Earth, praise through rites of flame
She gives our lives hearth and home and name

Marching on

I give my wandering children
Anger to protect you from pain
Rage to ameliorate agony
Fear of what folks won’t explain
Fraught laughter to counteract tragedy
Music to move you to heal
Theater to unite what we feel
that vague sense that nothing is real …
Lost at an indistinct edge made of snow
Unsure where we’ve come from, with nowhere to go
Beggars and bullies and braggarts and whores
iron chains on our windows in rooms with no doors
Fire roams freely, unleashed by cruel wars,
feeds forever on days we will never see,
worlds we will never be

for a warm season of Peace

Beginning’s phrase sets a tone.
Scat replies build, rise to moan.
Sway and leap, dance expressly.
Rhythm’s sweeps lets us less see
arms weaponized, more flesh and bone. 
Tense days, loose nights lost in dance.
Nothing bright to hold but chance.
Release calming beat of trance.
Touch light pulse above, below.
Believe, let go, enjoy the show.
Hide beneath sodden leaves now.
Find solace under dark fall bough.
Breathe softly lest faults be found
allowing hate to break you.
Eschew tribal truths, dream anew.
Candles burn within dark halls.
Sparks of wisdom engrave walls.
Vision churned from flame enthralls.
Wander Earth, as scryer’s eyes.
Watch wonders play under charmed skies.
Journeys carry forward dreams.
Lost or found not as it seems.
No true ends, nor beginnings.
Fair or foul, both bring winnings
dependent on emerging themes.
Loving notice helps us thrive.
Hugging, twining to survive.
Human heat to beat cold air.
Communal muse strives to share
Beauty grown from times of Despair.
Sky traffic lights like fireflies.
Dwellings mellow glow below.
Colder nights, calendar slides.
Slender omens signal hope.
Shimmer of magic helps folks cope.
Reindeer, Moon dog, Snow-borne dove
tender tidings from above.
Laughing lights spell out wishes.
Shadow shows tell what bliss is,
attest truth’s essence tastes of love.
Nests abandoned for far clime.
Winter stars bold shine sublime,
searchlights toward a hopeful sign.
Each turn faces new expanse.
Which view will you choose to enhance?
Peace on Earth we seek in song.
Dear lurkers, please sing along.
Expand our voice, let all hear:
Peace is a choice, so is fear.
Bring words that challenge “right or wrong.”
Festive times remind, expand.
Music joined becomes a band.
Voices rise, soar together.
Blessed skies shine loving weather.
We move past or for land of and.
Craft absolute joy with care,
wondrous toys, laughter to share.
Pour drafts of delicious cheer.
Flow kind bright fun far and near,
music to soothe strife’s savage ear.


“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.” 
T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

Worn skin, sloughed to reveal life’s mending.
Stories explore relationship, bring us in,
expand awareness of ephemeral intimate worlds.
Where may we be, unleashed from expectations?
Which sins are nature’s?  Evolving from animal
to beast, is this our best? 
Hillock play, a school on holiday; Winter is
friendly.   Swirls of mystery invite hot drinks,
warming tales.  Theatre prevails, ritual of ascent.
Out in the pines, dreaded satire, ceremonies of
rage controlled to focus flame, to burn in shame,
to counter pain for power.
Questions.  Questing makes us wise.  Resist
hypnotized consent:  “Yes, oh great glowering
crowd, yes, Sir Mighty Educator.  Your words
stink with deceit under sweet perfumes, narcotics
draining of ability to decline.”
Each “who am I” innocent of irony, ready to
accept and be glad, secreted away for a
better day; listen.  Stories safely told safely
hold dream-hidden refugees below surface travails.
Lost in flailing, in crafts lacking integrity, cracking,
leaking, failing to protect. 
Sirens devise beauty,
inspiring, drawing upward those myths
seekers of meaning in desperation complete.


I proudly proclaim supreme racism
wholely disposed to hate human’s race
to mean extremes, crowds of insolence,
fight or flight devolved to loud chaos
of enforced fright.
Steeled against each encounter by armor
of antipathy, assumption of malintent,
only able to relent and open clenched mind’s
shining eye of acceptance to that occasional
beauty, rare and deeply layered.


At the edge of the real.
At the plummet of denial,
At the summit of all we pretend,
Re-echoing crescendo.
No forward to discover again.
Doorway into Scorpionic revelation — severe, profound,
grabs from beneath the conscious realm.
One big hurt.
Taste our pain.
Savor the flow of blood from torn veins,
wounds of idolic war, vitriolic rain,
beggars kicked into oblivion on deadened streets.
Pain, the great motivator.
Grind them all into a massive meatball,
cover with condiments extracted from tortured Earth,
this is the wealth that is worth
every sacrifice.
Maggots and microbes
feast on soft decay of blood.
Can the wage of war feed outlandish habituation?
Twisted, tinged in dark crimson layers,
smell terror, ooze of death —
endless retreat.
Seeking power of wisdom:
Multiple paths converge on star points,
pierced by light, taste of blood in roar of darkness.
Inspired by anger engorging my blood-brain barrier,
by symphonies of guilt and shame and hope,
by simple positionings glimpsed from roving eyes by lightening,
darkening, liminal desires,
by brave warriors who cope with more than could be required
and wind songs my silent ear demands I hear.
It is foolishness to think that paradigm-wrecking change will not inflict pain. 
Perhaps it would be better if the shift would just Poof! —
all the trauma and bloodshed washed up at once
into horrific tableau, then Enlightenment! 
I don’t think it can work that way. 
Mostly we seem to not be inclined to any major changes
without misery so deep we see no other option. 
I am emphatically not “for” this; but it seems to be so,
beyond my ability to control.

Remember when we

when we
were refugees,
martyrs in transition
incessantly stranger.
Road hypnosis.
Step forward
through unhinged, barbaric world.
Civil norms in quick revision.
Home, family, streets of trade,
perks of urbanity
cultured humanity
strong lanes of history,
tightly wrapped in our world viewed
as small daily rituals.
Me within we, clear as air.
How recognize an I,
broken from web of familiar
connection.  Now obliterated, markers
of place, of purpose; constrained movement
of uncertain destination.
I walk enclosed in walkers’ formation,
consciousness optional,
entrained within we devoid of sentient time.
Brief touch, short awareness of a face,
faces, eyes almost blind, shrouded by terror,
Why be human, cling to burdens of the flesh,
of aspiring?
Herd cattle, we pretend have no pain,
no mindful fear, no sense of personal
We walk because we have no landing.
Long past exhaustion, grabbing at pity of
strangers to attend our exhibition, to watch
over, protect, accept, that we fall on their streets
desperate for sleep.
Who are we, bleeding identity, to plead
When we must stop, drop to the ground,
do they walk over us, or around, or humanely
offer shelter, bedding?
Choice not ours to demand.
Demand if you’ve nothing else to give voice.
How will such rudeness affect the treatment,
respect encountered?
Ever onward, diminished, with no where
to root, become.
Battered, disgraced, wasted;
stripped of livelihood, consequence,
continuity of plan or regimen.
Tattered skin, fragile bones;
reviled by foreign merchants
expecting quid pro quo
wherever we’re pressed to go.
Redefine home as space to sleep, keep
what we own (until stolen). 
Without resource of comfort, nothing
worth waking, yet another dire day descends.
Small girlchild, rags and dust – follow
her morning of traverse, this tiny world allowed.
Each tent flap reveals fester of wounds deep
and shallow, ravage disease.
Senses, thought, subsumed to beat of breath
outside rational context.
Stuck in the dirt, her worth a hole where
she bottoms out, tributary blood expelled.
We’ve known security of work and love
once called normality.
Forward reality denies those lives.
Who am I (are you) without my neighborhood of
affirmation, without mundane commiserations
and routines?
Turned from tribal identity to nonentity,
just another broken body in the fray.
I respond to each absurdity,
each broken line as I become less
and more.
Bonding anew, as we humans do,
each here/now imbues with further
circumstance.  Eternal dance with fates
suspected and unknown.  If we could
only stay unbound, masked for day’s
occasion, but behind gathering truths
as moments of clarity. 
Whom are we assuming ourselves to
to public ambient acclaim:
Lives matter, private pain
sad desperation that never
lessens though it ebb, sway, regain
Real lives yearn, feel need
for some promised warmth of care.
Shared extremities that nurture hope
of shared deliverance, hands and minds
together strong.
Surge of survival over uncertain destiny,
return to industry, if we might find that energy.
Realign expectant gaze toward peace, plenty
— planetary necessity.
Eventually to remember as poignant history,
ritual song, reverie
as respite to somber tidal drum,
when we were refugees.

Death’s Martyr

So merry to cackle and crush with grand
Why squander such glee in pursuit of peace?
You proudly claim your aim, to take an honor guard
of civilian lives while martyring your own for
faithful service reward in Paradise.
You say oh the ecstasy as I have never felt before
that time I almost made it happen – as no non-worshipper
could know.
Hey, idiot, that’s not religious zeal nor taste of God’s
gratitude for your sacrifice.  That was just a good
old-fashioned adrenaline high – the kind any body can
find playing with a chance of death.
God has forbidden murder of civilians and yourself.
You thought you get a free pass on His law because
you called yourself a martyr?  Because you slaughtered
for a holy cause?
No.  That lie you allowed yourself to believe, spat
by evil, power-mad men; what you want to be Truth
to excuse your own desired end
out of a world where you feel no respect – but ask,
why should such an eagerly deceived
coward be respected by man or God?
Who are you really martyring to?  Death – not a Deity,
just another go-between, soul pimp.
Martyrdom to some mere minion comes with no
righteous reward, but rather the wrath
of your infinitely jealous God.
Acquiesce to evil bidding; you get not what you expect.
Paradise is closed to murderers and suicides.  Such
deserve for penance after life 
eternity in Hell.
But God is merciful – repent before vicious acts defile
your destiny. Defy deception, make amends, endure suffering
of guilt, of conscience. 
Only then, with much love and prayer
might you learn to turn soured hate to self-acceptance, to love
as God commands, all of His Creation, including you.
Thus you become loving servant to your God,
divinely forgiven, free to ascend with honor to Heaven,
all privileges restored because you did this awesome work,
martyring your hate to peace, salvation.