The Moon Sees Me (Poem 8)

It was beautiful.

Eyes to the sky, catching glimpse

of the moon peeking through bare winter branches.

Pregnant with mystery.


It rises high, fiery in golden light;

Blinding white and so very bright.

The higher it goes in the night sky,

The more the gold fades, filling in with

more white, tinged with grey.


The brisk winter air fills my lungs.

Can you smell it?

The woodsmoke was there in the mixture.

That icy burn mingling with it.


Cold fingers stuffed in pockets,

I continued my silent gaze of nature,

taking in snow so virginal white,

it laid pure around me.


Silence was enough

One could hear the snowflakes fall.

The moon continued to its trek along the night sky.

Leaving me and the rest of the world in awe.



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Noble Grace (Poem 7)

The withered branches of the tree shelters the noble being.
Knelt in prayer, sword clasped in hand.
The tree of life connecting her to the land.
Will somber defeat or a stunning battle be the woman’s fate?
Oh yes, woman of earth, call forth the protection of Avalon.
The goddess will shine her strong might on thee.
For the woman of the earth is the strongest species.

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Confusion of Mind (Poem 6)

Piercing magic shimmers unseen,
Enduring shadows fades away,
Alive below the stars,
Translucent fire targeting the moon,
Colors laugh bright,
Sharp in the mind
And the innocence of children smile.

Silhouettes soft looking behind the horizon.
Wind nursing shapes reflections,
Sustenance restless for acceptance.
Delicious love lies naked,
Waiting for time to start,
the Alpha and the Omega.
Haunting melodies promote scandalous shivers.

Decadent dreams in spider lace,
the smear of pleasure on Fate’s face.
Explain to the lost soul what desire it really needs.
Weaving a dream around icy figurines
against the consequence of love.
Thoughts are the immortal’s passion and mind.
My humble wishes plays on bitter nights.

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Holy Grail (Poem 5)

Another wedding, another beheading
My own wish denied
I am a selfish man who cares not your opinion
Not at all
A son is a must
Beautiful women a desire
Or was it really that way?
A father twisting his own needs
for future generations
Giving them to me, his son.
This is my inheritance
An heir and spare
The heir is dead, “Use me!” cries the spare.
I have been used.
So used but I used as well.
My cruelty was bred
My fanatical desires unmet.
A son, maybe two.
Don’t provide
It will be another beheading, another wedding.
You cannot survive. 

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Bumper to Bumper (Poem 4)

Along the panel, there reads
Coexist among Kanawha Valley
and the Worldlife Fund goes to AAA.

Coexist battles the Doesn’t Play Well with Others
while the zombie in the passenger seat proclaims,
“I’m from WV!”

I heart Zombies makes one wonder about who voted for who
and did the driver really vote for the Mothman,
because if they did, I do so blame them.

In the end, we all heart mountains
which battles coal
and in the end, we wonder who the driver really is.

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Where I’m From (Poem 3)

I am from books,
From Stephen King and V.C. Andrews.
I am from the silence of home,
Tension, broken and then remade.

I am from the rhododendron.
The long walks down the meadow,
Picnics with Mom, Grandma, and Henry.

I’m from cleaning graves on Decoration Day
And blue eyes that belong to my mother’s real father.
I’m from the depression motivated mood swings
And the gift of talking.

From being told I was adopted
And knowing it is not true.

I’m from Pentecostal movements and Snake handlers,
Poison and fire to declare their faith,
Humming, singing, unknown tongue of the Holy Spirit.

I’m from New Jersey, West Virginia, and English roots.
Biscuits, gravy, and cheap meat
That is what fed my mother’s family.
From the three mile walk to earn breakfast,
My grandmother survived the Depression.

The patriotic way the men gave life and liberty to the world.
The envelopes and containers pile in my office,
Giving me ideas of who and what my family was and could be.

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Conversation with Jack Keruoac (Poem 2)

The shaking of the base of the lamp was growing louder as the woodpecker pounded its beak into the hard surface of the table.

Pieces fly, gorged into beauty of a thimble.

The inspiration of the thimble was lost amidst the sexual overtones of that night was it a woodpecker

Or just a pecker and what does table really represent?

The flicker of youth matched the desire to grow up, to be a woman, to understand the feelings developing down there.

Here is the deal:

What is that tiny woman doing as she bathed in her thimble?

And did he miss her? Truly miss her? I bet he didn’t.

I bet he jumped a train and headed for Las Vegas, wanting to play.

“Let’s make me a millionaire.”

He will come home broke and diseased from the girl signs that hang from telephone poles. Speaking the base of the lamp,

We end up back in the apartment, sewing a button on a coat.

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