The Ghost-angel and the Dragon

There is a storm coming, but somehow its inside the house
The Ghost-angel ascends the stair case
as she has so many times before
In the silence of vapid Darkness, shadows race across the walls
She stops on the stair, suddenly somehow confused

The door at the top of the stair opens of its own volition
She resumes her ascension
She cries, trying to sob silently
So as not to give herself away

Inside the room at the top of the stair green fire dances in the place for fire
and violins are plying somewhere
The mote angels drift about the room, refusing to dance
They cast no shadows
But shadows still cavort across the walls
She says in a whisper
‘Is there any power that can make all these demons be gone?’

Something is wrestling with the grill work on the window
Something long and sinuous
Something strong. . .
The metal work gives way in a metallic shriek
followed by silence

A breeze explores the room
she stands silhouetted by the dancing flames
A dragon of silver and crimson hesitates at the door
The mote angels and walls shadows pull away
hiding in the corners

He finds her, wounded . . .
‘My Lady, are you Injured . . . ‘
She turns toward the fire without speaking
He kneels at the threshold
Not wishing to hurt her more
‘I have searched the Far Places, seeking . . . you.’
and he calls her name softly
Her name a beauty in this dark place
He holds out his fore-claw
An offer. . .

Her blackened wing stubs, thrashing . . .
Only dragon fire can sear the wings of an angel
She sobs and casts him back into the night

He wants to tell her that he is not the dragon that hurt her
But maybe she’s right . . .
Maybe all dragons are bad

He turns . . . to depart
She says, ‘Are you a monster?
What creature are you?’

He considers, ‘How can I answer true . . .
Can I . . . can this thing called I
Ever completely know itself?
Gentle one, I am no one, Nothing . . .
A molecule . . .
A moment . . .
A wave gathered from the energies of the Sea
Crashing even as it’s reforming.’

Pain and fear in her voice
she says, ‘What is your name?’

‘I have been called a many things
Elder . . .
The Archon of Light and Darkness
Life-Force Dragon
A Star-Fire Dancer who’s very touch rips the fabric of Space/Time
But these are merely titles
Words . . .
Black stains on paper
Vibrations in the air
That are whipped into the Abyss
Pointless exercises in vanity’


‘But if you wish it I will depart
I have no wish to trouble any creature
Not even those who have sought my blood
Not even those who sought my tears
I have no wish to trouble you or yours’

She sobs
Her frail body wracked with heaving regrets
It is more than the dragon can bear
Blood red fire tears gather
In the crinkles of his lid-less eyes

‘Gentle one
I would change this were it in my power
I would put my hand against the sky and turn the clouds back
I would commit the blasphemy of dancing the dance that bends Time/Space
I would walk the maelstrom that separates Past from Future
These violations and more would I do willingly . . .
Gentle one
I can not take your hurt away . . .’

St. Elmo’s Fire courses the cracks in his armor
The chinking between his scales
Energies fluxes across and around his towering form
His wings unfurl to the fullest extent of the ceiling and walls
Fire blood runs the veins of the membranes

Suddenly he folds into himself
His wings all but invisible
His eyes twin sapphire lasers
His eye cast down . . .

Gentle one
I have failed you . . .
You should have selected a guardian angel’

She is shaking her head no
She would touch him but is afraid
He places his mussel on the floor
All the other creatures have gone
There is only the Angel
the Dragon
and the green fire

She gently places her hand on his jaw and whispers
‘Stay here with me
And we will see what tomorrow brings’

Awaken with the Dawn

The azure autumn sky crackles
Crisp the air
Laser sharp
An undulating cyan reflection upon the gentle
silken twisting waters

The humanoid geode figure
Half in
half out of the water

Gingerly at first but with greater urgency as the
sun ascends
Sparkling granite shot through with flecks of
mica shudders
Falls away . . .

Rising from the crust of the now inert chrysalis
A pink
warm human
detaches himself from the bed of amethyst

The Tyeer
appointed watcher
gliding on the water rises
Assumes a position
Hovering just over the left shoulder of the new

“Hello Bill.
How shall we balance the day?”
“Where is everyone?”
“Already up.”

I work some of the swiftly fogging crystals lose
Hoping to hold a few of the dream sequences
Then I stand
humbled by the colors of the day
I turn
first regarding the discarded husks
of so many other awakenings
Then looking to the rim of the plateau
looking to the place in the sky
where the sun moves

Suddenly alive
I start up the hill


The Burgeon Muse sways across the porch
Down in the yard everything is climbing
everything fighting for light and life
The way ferns unfurl

The Book of Secrets falling open
Leaves peeling back
Barely seen symbols and schema written in every atom
Arcane thoughts made manifest
revealing. . .
What. . .?

She likes to come up behind me and put her arms around me
She touches my shirt
My hair
Her hand cool as it brushes my face
Her soft whisper
an amber echo in the dark chambers of my heart

She opens my mind that she might instruct me
There is music in the mud carpeted forest

Music in wet life dancing
A dance in the way the wind plays with the porch swing
A seductive undulation of the wind
intertwining with the ascending mists

She smiles her unique dark eyed smile
This silence. . . is her Art
Her art eases my parched throat
Unburdens my troubled soul
Soothes my heart to a healing ebb and flow

The Story of Spinning Lizard

Spinning Lizard was happy
Kind of a happy shinny blue
all over
A neato teal actually
Not quite blue
Not quite green
But very shinny

And Spinning Lizard was a wizard most days
(except for Thursdays
He just never got that whole Thursday thing
Not 100 % anyway)

Spinning Lizard was a poet wizard
And he loved to write incantations in the shifting sands
You could tell it was his writing
but no one every knbew exactly what he was saying

Spinning Lizard was often heard to sing
(Though most called it a squeaking)
“The whole of the World my home
And if comes the day I’m quick enough
Or smart enough
Or Magic enough to avoid the Hawk, the Snake of the Boot
Well . . . soon enough
There’d be another shinny lizard
To bask in the sun on beautiful summer days

Spinning Lizard was happy
Kind of a happy shinny blue
on a wram rock outside my window

Dreams in the Carnival of Hal Cyon Land

She said
“Last night I dreamed that my life
Had been rearranged
Into the theme park . . .”

I said
“Show me . . .”

And we stepped through the wall into
Hal Cyon Land . . .
Amusements for the Crowned Heads of Europe

at least
That was what it said on the entrance arch

And she showed me
the RoLlEr CoAsTeR of LOVE!
and I looked at it for hours
just awed by its complex design
How does anyone survive that one?

She showed me
mirrors everywhere
And not a drop to . . . drink

This mirror makes her look fat
This one makes her lips look . . . poutty
This is one of those that bends you everywhich way

In this mirror she
Compares herself to others
In this one she is always alone

This one says
Stay out of the Sun
Men don’t make passes
at girls who wear . . .”

She turns away

“Start an exercise program
Play sports
Eat healthy food”

This one says “Straighten up
Smile and look straight ahead
You’ll look and feel more confident”
She tries it
It doesn’t work

I snaged her hand
Closed my eyes
And find our way out by feel

She showed me the Wheel of Desire
The Tilt-O-Whirl of Capitalism
The Wild West Shooting Gallery of Prom

But she always turned this way
and not that

I stoped and turned that way
I said
“Whats over there . . .?”
She avoided my eyes
I said
“Can I go there?”
She shakes her head no and says
“I guess you can if you want . . .”

I went over the little knoll
And there is the House of Lost Loves
The place is in such disrepair . . .
I love the goth/victorian architecture
The hanging shutters

Oh and the lost soul moaning
the creepy walls and snarling wolves
I feel right at home

She tries to pull me back toward the Light
Before I can see the River of the Dead
(the boatman was perfect)
The Sulfur Pits of Doom
(yeah . . . the worst parts of the Bible)
And . . . God
What the Freak is that?

She pulled my head around
She said
“I don’t want you to see me like this . . .”
I said
I am not afraid
I am Grey
The Equipo of Light and Darkness
The Balance between Night and Day
And there is no ride here
I haven’t bought a ticket for . . .”

She said
“But its so . . . tawdry . . . so pathetic
So . . . God . . . it makes me so afraid”
I put my hand on hers and it was cold
The Light I hold in my chest
Found its way down my arm
And she flinched as it hit her hand
But she held on
Her hand warmed

I said
I love cotton candy
But I also like Patchouli . . .
I love to be baked clean in the Sun
But every now and again
I get a real craving for a romp in the swamp
And besides . . .
I have never had much use for facades”

She looks to see if the twin points in my eyes
Still betray my Truth
And she is confused
And never more lovely . . .

I said
I would hold my hands to your wounds
I would kiss your poison
I would fly you beyond the farthest places
And never count my change
Never miss a microsecond spent in your presence”

She hit me in the arm and said
“I’ll race you to the Pop Corn”

Shadow Days

Shadow days
not quite day
not quite night

I want to really see and feel the moist grey
The lost sun
The sorrowful wind
in full measure
Because in weather like this
something about the impossibility of me
is awakened

I am
because I fight
and on days like this when the sky forgets me
in its deluge of lamentation

On shadow days like this
I most feel the fight in me