I am possessed. Hauntingly, Beautifully Possessed...
Call me an angel So I may pray for acid rain. I’ll pray for oceans To run with blood, Or the sun to turn to ash. I dare say it doesn’t matter how, Just let the great scythe come. Let it sweep through our wasteland And leave us with nothing but The embers of an old… Continue reading Call me an angel
Home was a meadow. It was running away, grass between my toes...
They hung around her like flies Too young Too alone They whispered
My world is made of paper, A drop of ink for a soul, An ocean lies within my heart; Waves of words to make me whole.
You'd be a fool to think Heaven and I are close. I may be one Hell of an angel, But don't let these white wings fool you- I am but a dove-feathered raven Flying far from grace.
Does the storyteller aways have a Spirit in hand, Alone in the dark While spinning his tale? Or can it be a wish? Maybe a child? A lover? A hope? A thought? A feeling? One that isn't failure, I mean. Or maybe just a cup of tea- I prefer that to whiskey and ghosts.
The Mad Creator Mixing poetry and madness In petri dishes made of cardboard Searching for the perfect drink: Make him drunk, But not so he cannot write; Make him numb, But not so he cannot remember his dealings. Make him learn to fly, So he can learn to live like angels To play God on… Continue reading The Mad Creator
I keep my muse in a bottle. I shake it every once in a while- Or tap it like a kid at a fish bowl- It doesn't move, stir or come back to life; It just idly floats through its own filth. I sigh. Typical, I mutter as I flush in down the toilet And… Continue reading A muse in a bottle
Four little teacups sit on the wall, And four friendly voices drift on the still, country air. They sit down by the boats and talk about the good weather, And family, and how Johnnie from across the way is doing much better. They listen to the sounds of a dozen little birds, To the gentle… Continue reading Four little teacups sit on the wall