The hawk cries, wrens sing, owls call, pileated’s stay in tune, —rad -a-tat, tat —rad -a- tat tat —rad -a- tat tat... THE HAWK SCREAMS! The woods awaken…… the swamp glistens under the Blood Moon… A squirrel scurries. —Rad -a- tat tat —rad -a- tat tat -the song of the drum continues…. Calling out…. It’s now the sun that shines across the murky water. —The woodland forest has awakened!

someone i loved was once concerned
that i'd get used to her nakedness if we spent hours and days like that
and that i'd stop being charmed by her but
that was not true.
the charm was in the oblivion she wore to her nakedness as each day passed
a quick turn, a shimmer, a shiver
i wonder if someone would ever want that of me

ah draw the curtains, i would rather not be seen at all
than be seen seeing, seen wanting

truffles and waffles
never had them,
diabetes is **** poetry to even the diabetics
it's just decay and i don't know what i taste like
i would love for someone to take their sweet time and taste me
and tell me something nice though
i can appreciate it even if i heard i tasted like lava
or mud or swamps
or coffee or blood or rust

i am not picturing you coming over with a box of truffles and waffles
only for me to tell you i can't have them one more time
and you were upset

i needed words first you know
"you did too much today, didn't you? again?"
"i want to read something you wrote?"
"i want to read you, can i read you?"
"can i eat your insides?"
“can i keep running my fingers through your hair until you sleep?”
“can you cry away all your pain while i hold you?”
“can i ******* so you forget the dread that weighs on you”

+Asked from a butterfly: "how was the trip?"
-Responded with a regretful sigh:
" the roughest part was not knowing what's going to happen after cocoon!"

As I stand beneath,
sky's embrace,
open arms,
claim me as its own.

each drop,
cold,
yet warmth blossom in me.

each raindrop,
feels as a caress,
a lover's kiss,
as it drenchs my soul.

I see the summit,
A challenge, it seems,
Lying at the top,
A million shattered dreams.

I bid my loved ones farewell,
I promise at the end it will all be well..
But deep down I know...
Stands infront of me Satan,
At the doors of hell.

The climb is hard..
My body is sore,
The mind says no more...
Martial blood answers the call.
Death to Satan ,Victory be to God.

I pass the shattered dreams,
Names long forgotten, enroute I meet.
All that remains are bones and some skulls,
But the emotions say it all, wanting to yell....

Finally I reach the helm,
The air is fresh,
I have conquered the realm.

I look up and the joy disappears...
I take a deep breath,
another trail  appears,
I start walking, tightening my gear....

Another summit stands tall,
Luring the travellers , for the fall.
We chase them like moths to flame.
At the end , what do we gain?
For our loved ones we leave behind,
For our dreams, their sacrifices
We do not mind...

Wake up O great warrior,
This is Satans Game,
Do not be blind...
Do not be blind...

On misty moons, I wander free,
Escaping life's cacophony,
The world's too loud—a fading sound,
As nature's peace enfolds me round.

All alone, my spirit grows strong,
Visions of a hidden world beyond;
Shadows of the past still linger near,
And now, my soul will find me here.

For in this land, I'm never alone,
Nature's heartbeat echoes my own.
Let me dwell here, where wisdom flows,
With a world of wonder that grows and grows.

My brother is an angler
devoted to the stream
that pools around long boots,
making the slow cast
that gently whips and
ripples the surface with
a reel that knows
the proper weight
of the scales below.

Gone are the days when
he fished Crandon Pier
while sitting on
an overturned paint bucket with
a cheap red and white bobber
and a cane pole,
competing with the gulls
for the punniest sea prize.

Now he fishes
the Rogue's eternal flow,
its waters murmuring unseen truths
far from shadowy gray terns’ jeers  
that steal his peace—
fishing in steadfast streams  
that let his boots
anchor him to
the quiet pulse of home.