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.

What Jar is This?

Bright patches
of fireflies
strobelight the dark shroud
of treetops
out back tonight.
I like
how they mimic
flickering stars
in the murky skies
above.

Nature's night neon
seemingly connecting
to some far off song --
as if every back yard
its own handheld mirror
of the cosmos.

The irony ...
a jar of fireflies
a timeless icon,
when this nocturnal luminous magic
I witness now
goes ignored
for a singular silent collective
of sinewaved flash edits
street after street
flickering TV screens
lighting up people boxes
instead.

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