The Rose


Dreaded horned Ahmhuluk 
hid with black folded wings
in an ice cave west of Hill Hook
while the red sun set sings
into a blue ocean of rings.

With Simone de Beauvoir 
in wearisome repose
by our lonesome campfire
as the dark night will close
with gentle arms & guelder rose.

A forgotten sadness falls 
from distant Betelgeuse.

The silver full moon stalls
by a ghost of a rose lost long ago.

I awoke to the calls
of a grey haired woman 
in a flowing red dress
her great beauty to me befalls.

Silver Moon Rises, Or And the Rockets’ Red Glare


A well written thought for the times.

The Yellow Brick Ave

the sunset shades of red and orange
and the black of the city below
the tumult of the world
in hue
the needless bloodshed
the destruction of morals
the sense of
utter hopelessness

there is fighting for the freedoms
that the comfortable among us
thought were won a century ago
or half a century ago
or a decade ago.
so why is the sky still filled with red,
with anger
with vitriol?
crying out in solidarity
with those
who currently battle for change

the sky says nothing,
just stares down
at the torn-up town,
brow furrowed,
face red-hot
with rage

a lone, shadowed man stands at his window
as the birds caw and flee
from his rooftop.
through the glass,
he sees the red, the orange,
he sees the faintly tinted violet
peeking through,
and he sees the silver sliver of a moon
rising over it all

Photo by Mind…

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Lost Angel


A lost Angel alone 
by the river of love,
you shed sad tears 
for lost eternity fading 
into dark stars 
at the far-flung edge of known time 
spinning away 
into cosmic hues of color.

Meditation now ends,
I awake to new life 
of a dying planet 
where no one understands 
or cares 
how it will end
confined in their egos of death.

Prayer flags will still flutter 
gently into quiet summer breezes.
Rivers of love 
shall never end.