Welcome, and thanks for stopping here to read selections of my original poetry and prose. Only half my art is here. As you browse my puppets, words if you will, think of them as empty hulls whose dance and form are only animated in Play through my vocal conveyance of their characters and via my direction of their tone. Lyric to the ears, its whole message soon appears, in thus the conjuring of ancient daemons deep within to combat the evil ones brought up infernal by the Craft of ages can be our stage tonight.

On this blog the theme is AWAKENING and how Revelation is not some story plural in a Book but supposed to be one of yours in this lifetime. Here in verse I share with you my inquiry to which has bonded Muse.
YOUR STORY IS THE STORY. Their horsie four so full of holes they named that way just to have a laugh. Revelation and Creation coincide, they never stopped. A daily occurrence in a Live Show me is true Prophesy which I assure you, smells nothing like a library book, and for which no innocents are ever killed. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you copy it to heart.

Lost Power

Firetrucks wailing,
some siren on a post ailing
is cranked up and screaming windmill strong...
Power out,
my windows steaming.

On the porch for pups a parent,
shoo away fear that I too bear -
worth its weight in heavy air
as to shake the walls of Jericho every time,
I have learned from higher hound.

Fading thunder is noise from wheels
because it slowly rolls away ...

Pulpy rain
gives up the drop,
and from heartstop
by ion cracking nucleus of air
to breathing in new atmosphere,
I am now lulled endlessly gutterball an echo --
to a reverberance into days off just ahead  to know
while I still had one on.

Chirpies emerge.
Breakthrough! goes their song,
and as beaks know best the sun,
It does.

Do I want the power back?

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