Location: Shire of Trisel, Trimaris

I am in my late forties, a proud husband, father, and a bard. I am a book pedlar by trade and a bookman by vocation. I am a romantic, a realist, and a Believer. I like a good joke, and a bad one even better. I admire all ladies for the innate beauty that is in each one, but my heart is sworn to the fair and gentle Lady Lorelei, who has consented to share my life and my name.

Thursday, August 31, 2006

The Lay of the Shrubbery

To encourage and build our local chivalry,
And improve relations with our neighbor shire,
And display our warrior's skill for all to see,
T'was decided to raid the Shire of Talmere.
Plans for the coming battle soon were laid,
And to add some flavor to the coming scene,
Challenges were offered, boasts were made,
And a shrubbery was purchased, which we deemed
Would be a proper totem, and a prize;
tradition borrowed from the Knights of Nih,
A handsome bush of pleasing color and size
To rally round and to defend with glee.
And so we caravanned to south and west
To meet the Lords of Talmere on their field,
Bearing our arms to battle, feeling blest
By our shrubbery's presence as our shield.
Alas our hopes that day came all for nought.
We under-estimated our worthy foe.
Although with fury and panache we fought,
Trelon and his cohorts brought us low.
Our precious shrubbery was sadly lost.
In combat fair, Talmere captured our pride.
We journeyed home lamenting the bitter cost
Of cruel defeat in which our hopes had died.
And all the summer long our fighters burned
For the chance to battle Proud Talmere again.
Training with bitter hearts our warriors spurned
The easy comforts, determined now to win.
At last, the long awaited rematch came.
We opened up our borders to the foe,
Welcomed Talmere's lords of mighty fame,
Resolute now to meet them blow for blow.
The return battle was a near-run thing.
At times it could have fallen either way.
Until at last our victory took wing,
And the warriors of Owl's Nest won the day.
The mighty lords of Talmere were dismayed.
Duke Trelon hung his head, to taste defeat,
But honorably his quality displayed,
And laid the precious shrubbery at our feet.
And now, we have it back, our fondest wish.
This badge of honor that we think the best.
We're proud to claim this simple potted bush:
Our lovely Shrubbery of Owl's Nest.

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

A Change of Pace

There’s a flock of starlings overhead,
Their chorus a raucous song,
Back from the north where they come from
More than a thousand strong.
And the grey geese fly in formation
Their deltas across the sky.
And I nod in their direction
As they go flying by.

The garden vines are still bearing
But no one comes for their fruit.
Although they’ve provided all summer long,
We ‘re weary of their loot.
Now some of the branches are withered,
And weeds grow among the rows.
Only the squirrels take notice,
And what they do nobody knows.

I sit now on the front porch swing.
The morning was cloudy and cool,
Unseasonable for late August,
Which is blistering as a rule.
Although we will still see hot mornings,
They won’t seem as hot after this one.
For summer’s back has been broken,
Making way for the Autumn to come.

Monday, August 28, 2006

The Path Where No One Ever Sees

Will you come and walk with me
In the shadow of Hawke’s Hill,
Beneath the oak and pine and hickory trees,
When the evening sun is setting
And the twilight air is still
And the path leads off where no one ever sees.

I cannot offer much, but what little here is yours:
A loyal heart, and eager so to please.
Here is my arm to rest your hand.
Your comfort, it ensures
Along the path where no one ever sees.

The scabbard’s badly battered,
But the blade inside is sharp.
I’m a sword to guard your hopes and reveries.
Call on me to keep you safe
Midst the growing dark
Along the path where no one ever sees.

I’ve wondered here enough myself
Among the woods and stone,
Finding riddles in the mysteries.
Do you feel, like me, the longing
Of a heart too long alone
Along the path where no one ever sees.

Perhaps we’re much too different
To travel far along
This path together. Fate plays cruelties.
Yet ere we part, I’ll kiss you once
And offer you this song
Upon the path where no one ever sees.

Sword Brothers

We were strangers come together,
Chasing each our separate dreams,
Distrustful of each other
Till our mettle had been tried;
Till we'd fought and bled and sacrificed,
Gave our all and paid the price
To forge in us a unity of pride.

The family we choose
Is thicker than any blood.
You are my sword brother
And I have got your back.
We have marched together, fought together,
Shared our meals and bled together,
And I will stand beside you
Though the hordes of hell attack.

One stick alone breaks easily,
A bundle together is strong.
We cover for each other
To present a solid wall.
And though twas accident of circumstance
That brings us to this warlike stance,
We support each other lest a brother fall.

The family we choose
Is stronger than any blood.
You are my sword brother
And I have got your back.
We have marched together, fought together,
Shared our meals and bled together,
And I will stand beside you
Though the hordes of hell attack.

Where we came from doesn't matter,
We aren't going on alone.
We mix our blood together
And we pledge our loyalty;
Not in oaths of allegiance,
Nor in words of fealty given
But in what I do for you, and you for me.

The family we choose
Is thicker than any blood.
You are my sword brother
And I have got your back.
We have marched together, fought together,
Shared our meals and bled together,
And I will stand beside you
Though the hordes of hell attack.

Though we scatter o'er the Known World,
The winds blow us here and yon.
We know not where the roads may lead
Or what the fates shall send.
We'll still be Brothers of the Sword,
True in honor, true in word,
United by our bond until the end,

The family we choose
Is thicker than any blood.
You are my sword brother
And I have got your back.
We have marched together, fought together,
Shared our meals and bled together,
And I will stand beside you
Though the hordes of hell attack.

Yes, I will stand beside you
Though the hordes of hell attack.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

The Dragon and the Unicorn: Epilogue

When dungeons collapse
And admit the sunlight
Upon their blighted stones,
And the forests reclaim the ruins
With healing green,
The whole earth sighs relief unto the heavens,
And the Valley of Achor becomes a vale of hope.

(I do not communicate rejoicing well.
But then, the truest joy is always silent.
Therefore, be still.)

Saturday, August 26, 2006

The Dragon and the Unicorn Pt VIII

The Coming of the Lover

Only when the air is most still,
And the forest most silent
Will you see him.
Unmoving, unbreathing, you will sit,
Watching the ripples in some moon-dark pool,
Looking in upon yourself,
Through all your half-forgotten closets,
Oblivious to the sound of rustling leaves,
As the branches part to admit him.
Without seeing, you sense his presence
Behind you, rubbing your neck
With his bearded chin.
Slowly, so as not to startle,
Yourself as much as him,
You turn and look into deep wells of eye,
Recording all the world in each instant.
The horn glides through you.
You are his:
Branded by his mark forever,
As he was branded long ago.
You follow, you have no choice,
For he has taken your life.
As you go, you leave dragon scales

Friday, August 25, 2006

The Dragon and the Unicorn Pt VII

Storming the Dragon's Hall

There were no flying banners,
No trumpets, no fanfare.
He walked into the great hall
And announced his presence.
Immediately he was siezed,
Bound, and broken,
The horn was sawed off,
The whiskers shaved,
The hooves shattered on the anvil.
"Look at him now!" roared the black one.
"Look at this billy goat I've conquered.
But in the morning his cell was empty
And so was the hall,
Where last night the laughter had echoed.
The dragon saw him on the hilltop
Bathed in sunrise.
The first rays of morning glistened
Upon the tip of the new-grown horn.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

The Unicorn and the Dragon Pt VI

So what do you do when you know you are dead?
Avoid disturbing questions of course.
Never ask why about anything.
(Overwhelming questions, yes, that is the phrase.)
But what do you do?
Paint your hair orange and shout from the rooftops?
We're dead, ya know, ain't it a hoot?
No, you try to ignore it, hope it goes away,
Even invent religions in a semblance of life,
Jesus loves me, this I hope.
It's my only way to cope.
And If this Jesus isn't so,
Where the hell else can I go?
But even religion is dead in the jungle,
Like all the other tricks you think up
To perfume the corpse.

And in the end,you scream.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

The Dragon and the Unicorn Pt V


The stench of dragon breath fills my lungs.
A horrific sulfurous fog that swallows light
And vomits blindness.
He comes:
The princeof destruction,
Eater of souls and destroyer of men.
He stands above and arches his wings,
Shrieking his cry of rape and death.
There is the clank of armor as he
Drags his blackened scales across the stone.
His acidic breath blights all i his path.
His name is misery.
I look at this beast with loathing.
His smell, his touch disgusts me.
I study the head, shiny with offal and slime,
Feel the bile rise in my throat
As I stare in horror.
I see myself reflected in his mercury eyes.
I see myself, reflected.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

The Dragon and the Unicorn Pt IV

Dragon's Horde

Have you not seen their faces?
These people who live from dusk til dawn
On hand-outs offered in the smoky green rhythms
Of the jungle. Burnt out people
Living on vitamins and fantasy,
Make-believe kingdoms of goodness and light.
They know it's all illusion, but it's bad manners
To point out the props behind the castle,
Even when it's tottering, about to fall.
And you don't interrupt some one else's dying.
He's been at it a long time anyway,
And you've got your hands too full with your own.
Everything will be all right
As long as nothing is said out loud.
Don't do anything directly, or turn on a light
So that you can't disbelieve what you don't see.
Just giggle and drink, and wait for your turn
To be buried. It doesn't matter.
This could go on for a thousand years
And not once disturb the universe.

Monday, August 21, 2006

The Dragon and the Unicorn Pt III

The Dragon

Behold the usurper,
Whos lidless reptilian eye
Devours and destroys;
Who was chief of servants,
But grew proud,
And sang melodies
The composer never wrote,
Forming harmonies with discord,
Leading the stars in dissonance;
Proclaimed himself king,
But as light already knealt
Before her luminescent sovreign,
The only kingdom left unclaimed
Was that of darkness,
Void and nothingness.
So into darkness this king was hurled,
Where he burned black
With his thwarted ambition.
Malice is that which despises
What once was desired, but then denied.
But what cannot be pessessed
Can be polluted.
In the blight of other's joy
The miserable take perverse pleasure.
Therefore, a malice-forged talon
Reached out and marred
The heart of the Craftsman's labor.
As mortality blossomed on its new made crust,
A garden world plunged, cut-off, into silence.

Sunday, August 20, 2006

The Dragon and the Unicorn Pt II

Into The Dungeon

The TV flickers at three in the morning
And I've done it again.
Stayed up all night,
Too tired to go to bed,
Or looking for something in the late show to amuse me.
Sleep is my enemy. If I go to bed now
I'll oversleep. My body demands its due,
Which I don't want to give until I've had
My fill of whatever.
I wonder why I'm restless in the night.
Why I prefer to sit up late when
I know I'll sleep when I shouldn't tomorrow,
And miss the things I need.
Something makes me akin to nocturnal creatures,
So that I;m more comfortable
In darkness than in day.
I accept the night monsters,
How they sit with eyes
Glistening in the dark,
And steal forth to grab what they can
Before they are seen and eaten.
They have a terrible fear of death,
And of that dark shape overhead
That rules their motions.
But I am curious; it draws me.
It is so harsh, so cold, so bitter.
I bear it no love, but I can't ignore it.
For something tlls me the riddle of my being
Lies buried in its caves.

And so I enter.

Saturday, August 19, 2006

The Dragon And The Unicorn, an Allegory

Balancing on a pinpoint,
A bare shelf of rock far
Beyond the limiting grasp of time and space,
The two meet, crash headlong,
Whirls and slash, and strike again,
Splintering stone with the force of their blows,
And trembling the foundations of
Silent finite worlds.
This is the last battle,
Which wasthe first,
Begun with the first stirrings
Of self exaltation out of place,
Giving spawn and spreading
Through history and heart of Adam's seed,
Erupting in forgotten wars,
And overwhelming conflicts,
Within and without,
Fought a thousand times,
But always the same,
As ivory horn strikes iron scales
And cloven hooves dance before bursts of fire.

Friday, August 18, 2006


Poetic license is
To take what is given
And make it what it is,
Only more so;
To reveal the thing
Within the thing,
To transcend the physical,
To connect with the essence
And find what is true,
Even when it isn't,
And to reveal the thing,
Not as it is,
But as it should have been,
Or wants to be,
Or maybe even could be,
Given a little push
In the right direction.
So if I seem to stare
A little too intently,
It's because I seek the words
To describe what isn't there,
But could be.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Red-Gold Fire

Fire meets fire within my dreaming eye;
Red-gold sunset on her red-gold hair
Draws me. Moth-like, In her reach I fly,
Still cautious of her flame as I draw near.

Alone, in confidence, late have I dwelt,
Content enough with my own company;
Safe behind the walls that I have built
Of pride and my conceit, yet now I see

That though we meet by random happenstance,
My end is pre-ordained. Do what I will,
She shatters my defences with a glance.
Imprisoned, to her grace I yield and kneel.

My red-gold Lady, mercy yet a while,
And burn me sweetly with your gentle smile.

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Raider's Welcome

Don't think, because you've entered our domain
With relative ease, you'll leave with no regrets.
We allow no hostile hearts here to remain,
Nor watch our borders with benign neglect.

If you have come to revel and to play,
We make you welcome and your good intent.
But dark designs will sooner go aglay,
Hard welcome find, and quickly packing sent.

We would not want it said that we here lack
The courtly arts of hospitality.
Our tables groan with meat and drink and snack
For friendly neighbors joined in merry glee.

So if thy purpose is good sport and fun,
Then well met, neighbors, bring it and lay on.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

The Merry Revels

Good friends, we here are gathered
For merriments sublime.
We are a jolly company
Partaking of good times.
We’ve meat and ale and music
To fill our souls’ content.
All pleasures of the table
To us are heaven-sent.

Of all the pleasures of this world
To me this seems the best:
To join the merry revels
In the Shire of Owls Nest.

Our companions are fine fellows
Of honor and good name.
At tournament and battlefield
Their arms have won their fame.
A thousand foes they’ve overcome.
Their enemies all fear.
Their skill in battle’s rivaled
Only by their taste for beer.

Of all the pleasures of this world
To me this seems the best:
To join the merry revels
In the Shire of Owls Nest.

And like the finest blooms of May,
The ladies of the Shire
Delight our hearts with dazzling smiles,
And kindle in us fire.
Their beauty is unparalleled,
Their wits are sharp and keen;
As fine an inspiration
As any man has seen.

Of all the pleasures of this world
To me this seems the best:
To join the merry revels
In the Shire of Owls Nest.

We’ve rambled o’er the Knowne Worlde
From Caid to Ealdormere.
But we’ve found nothing to compare
To our own good fortunes here.
Our noble band of Chivalry,
Born out of time ‘twould seem,
For a modern Middle Ages,
Following the dream.

And if you find your mundane cares
About you are hard-pressed,
Come join the merry revels
In the Shire of Owls Nest.

Monday, August 14, 2006



We’re from the Government.
We’re here to help you.

The pie must be re-sliced
To provide more equitable portions
From each according to his ability
To each according to his inability
To provide for himself. Risk is
Not a democratic concept
On the individual level, but by
Placing the burden on those most
Able to bear, regardless of their
Willingness, we achieve an enlightened
State of societal equity; equallly
Small, equally petty. We want
Quiet orderly stockyards,
Dependent, trusting to our limitless
Wisdom to provide for their
Daily allotment of enriched and
Fortified, bio-degradable and fully
Recyclable, non-discriminating and
Gender non-specific security.
Given a choice in the twists of the maze,
The rat always chooses the guaranteed
Daily morsel, rather than freedom.
It’s the avoidance of choices
With the attendant risk of choosing wrong,
And the pressure of personal responsibility
That is the hallmark of Avoidance Man,
Who chooses not to choose,
Who doesn’t sweat the details,
And prefers that we do it for him.
The role of government has always been
Bread and circuses; keep them
Fed and entertained, and they will
Let you do whatever you want, be it
Spend their paychecks, educate their
Children, or even decide who
Gets to live, and who has to die.
Our modern ideal is Man as
Invertebrate, acquiescent to our instruction,
And with no desire for any other way;
A bit insipid, but satisfyingly manageable.
Our utter control of his pitiable state
Is almost compensation for
The chains that lie so heavy
On our own necks;
For such as he, do are we.
And who holds our chains is
A question better left unanswered

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Sultry Evening Home

A muggy night with almost liquid air,
Too hot to stir we sit and pass the time
And talk of nothing in particular,
And watch the fireflies flirting in the pines.

The evening's rythm plays upon our thoughts.
The night birds and the crickets are our song.
Unneccessary talking fades away.
It is enough to be and to belong.

The late-night quiet settles on the house.
You stretch and smile as I give out a yawn.
Still, there's no hurry, tarry yet a while.
Tomorrow's cares will wait until the morn.

There is no thing on Earth I'd rather do
Than spend a sultry evening home with you.

Saturday, August 12, 2006

A Hero's Tale

A Hero’s Tale

He bravely charged into the lair
Wielding a mighty blade,
Hunting the fearsome beast which had
The countryside dismayed.
He picked his way through cunning traps
Designed to kill or maim,
And render a hero easy prey
For that monster of ill fame.
Past rusting splintered suits of maille
Our champion picked his way
To rescue the royal damsel who
Was the ravener’s latest prey.
He found the wyrm within the depths
Of it’s loathsome slime-filled cave.
His sword struck once, and twice, and thrice,
The lovely maid to save.
With roar and fire, and tooth and claw
The serpent sought his life,
Until at last the beast succumbed
To our hero’s o’er-grown knife.
Shouldering the fainting maid,
He made his way outside.
Anticipating his reward
Our hero swelled with pride.
And waiting there outside the lair
Were officers of the crown
Who promptly slapped our knight in chains.
And hauled him off downtown!
“But I’m the hero!” our champion cried.
‘Twas then he learned the reason.
It seems his errantry license expired
And dragons were out of season.

Friday, August 11, 2006

I Got Duct Tape

The hard part was remembering all the melody changes to I got You Babe.

I Got Duct Tape

They say our swords won't hold the field.
Before the battle starts we'll have to yield.

Well I don't know if that's a fact,
But at least I know our sticks are firmly wrapped.

I got duct tape
I got duct tape
I got duct tape

The say we're soft and we don't know
The best way to ward off a wicked blow.

Well I don't know. That sounds half-assed,
Cause my duct tape's wrapped around me tight and fast.


I got duct tape
I got duct tape
I got duct tape

Though I know it's
not per-i-od
I don't think it's
Very odd.
If they'd had it
Way back when,
They'd have used it
Again and again!

Oh, battles come and battles go.
We'll never win if to them we don't go.
So strap your armor,And I'll strap mine.
Before we're through our duct tape's gonna shine.

I think duct tape's heaven-sent.
I've got duct tape stopping the leaks in my tent!

I got duct tape wrapped around my spear.
I made a duct tape coozie for my beer!

I got duct tape wrapped around my mace.
I got duct tape holding my cup in place!

I got Duct tape!!!!

Thursday, August 10, 2006

She Is My Seventh

Another dark one. I am not aginst relationships per se, but do not expect them to do what they cannot, or should not. To expect mere physical love to be some panacea for the soul's ills is to demand too much of what is supposed to be dessert, not the main course. I love ice cream, but a diet of ice cream alone would not be wise.

She is my seventh,
I am her third.
Her breath is warm against my neck
As I loosen the buttons,
Remove the hooks,
And pull the covers over us.

Ours was a chance meeting,
But we are no strangers now,
Walking familiar pathways,
Covering explored ground.

She is ticklish,
So I try to touch lightly.

And I don’t kid myself:
What drew us was hunger;
Not love, loneliness.
Our uniting is a mutual hunger.
She feeds on me
And I feed on her.
And it feels good,
Fulfilling--as if,
For the night we spend together
We achieve more than a physical act.
We love and touch
And know each other
In the original sense,
And we can hold this feeling
For weeks, months,
A lifetime perhaps.

But who am I fooling?
After our urgency is spent,
Our small talk doesn’t hide
Our growing restlessness,
With ourselves, with each other;
Realizing that something is still missing,
Even after our best, so that
As we tell each other how good it is,
We think, “Damn you,
You’re not what I want either.”

Maybe it’s time to go.
But I don’t want to start looking again so soon.
So I lie with her and to her,
And talk about forever,
And pull the blankets tighter
Against the growing cold.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

From a Story I Once Heard From a Pulpit

This is just plain fun

The Sunday service was about to end
When the Preacher asked the folks to spend
Some time that week, if they could spare it,
And read Mark Seventeen, and share it
With friends, and next Sunday he would preach
A sermon that would appeal to each
And every one in the congregation.
Then they all went out with much conversation.

Next Sunday the Reverend stepped up to the pulpit,
Put his watch on the sideboard where he kept it,
And asked his flock if they had read
Mark Seventeen, as he had said.

A good many hands went up in the air
And all gave the Preacher a pious stare.

The Reverend chuckled, then said, "You must understand
Why I laughed when you people put up your hand.
Mark has just sixteen chapters, you see,
And my sermon today is on "Honesty."

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Sonnet: My Lady, Though No Fool

My Lady, though no fool for courtly love,
I must confess you find me ill at ease
When in your presence. I am not above
Desire, but thought to meet it as I please.
For I am troubled by what stirs within
My breast when e’er I contemplate your face.
Such loss of wits to me is mortal sin.
I find I am embarrassed by your grace.
So thus it seems your beauty breeds in me
A gentle poison to undo my soul.
My shipwreck’s total; your eyes are my sea.
They drown me in their depths, consume me whole.
Against my will, I yield to Eros’ bliss.
My Lady, you destroy me with a kiss.

Monday, August 07, 2006

The Company of Broken Men

The Company of Broken Men

Homeless and clanless, they gather in the hills,
Cursed to wander, living mouth to hand,
Snatching what they can from cruel fate,
Fighting because there’s nothing left to them.

Once they were gentlemen of high repute
Sworn to serve and defend laird and clan,
Til constant warfare tore them from their place
And turned them loose to live as best they can.

Some lost lords to battle and defeat.
Some turned outlaw after some rash deed.
Each has his reason he is now adrift
Mongst violent men joined now by mutual need.

Whoever’s strongest, or provides most meat,
Or loot, or means to keep their bellies fed
Commands their loyalty until he fails,
Risking that he too should lose his head.

At night within their camps beneath the stars,
They sare into their burning fires and dream
Of when they were free and honorable men,
And wonder how they can their souls redeem.

A reiver’s life is violent hard and short,
And like as not to end upon a rope.
He who would rehabilitate these men
Must offer them some modicum of hope.

The Laird who claims these men and treats them well
Will find them willing to follow him through hell.

Sunday, August 06, 2006


The wind blew down from the mountains,
Swept down from the high places
To move the stale, repugnant air
In which we struggled to breathe;
Came and went, roared through us,
And every man was compelled to act.
Some felt the wind's clear chill
And turned their backs, preferring
The warmth of the decay around them.
Some felt its driving strength,
And sought shelter, lest
It overthrow the order they had contrived.
But some, like I, turned and breathed
Deep the sharp pain of fresh air.
It purified, flushing out old poisons,
Replacing them with a wholeness thought lost forever.
I do not know just where the wind came from
Or where it went. It passed on.
But that which I breathed in
Remains within, setting me apart,
No longer content with what once satisfied.
I am become a stranger in my world
A pilgrimin a foreign land
To which I no longer belong.
I'm passing through, journeying to a place
Where I shall fit in.
The high places of the wind.

Saturday, August 05, 2006



Now as for me, I’m a liar,
A professional, if you will.
I spin my lies right under your nose
With delicate grace and skill.

If you were to ask me the time of day,
I’ve three answers, and none of them true,
Depending on how you defined your terms
And, perhaps on your point of view.

I could happily argue three hours or more
What color is the sky?
And you’d find yourself agreeing with me
Though never exactly sure why.

I tell my lies to reveal to you
Things hidden and kept out of sight.
For simple honesty’s too crude a thing
To bring such matters to light.

My words reach within where secret things hide,
The things you don’t want to know.
It matters not how much you deny,
They know you, and won’t let you go.

And so I lie to tell you the truth
And reveal the truth with a lie,
And who’s to say who’s the honester man,
Between us, you and I?

Friday, August 04, 2006

Dark Muse

So, I wasn't in the best of moods when I wrote this.

Dark Muse
Though I call you by fairer names
Dress you in flowers of fantasy
Pretend you have a heart
I know you
Your shadows your eyes
Your laugh
God what I would give to silence that laugh
For it says that you own me
Title and deed
No need for possession
I'll come when you call
To sit pretty at your feet
A dark-headed trophy
A hawk hooded and jessed
With blood on its talons
Mostly my own
Cold bitch
For me no golden hero
No prayers at the bedside
Faces scrubbed eager
Turned to me for wisdom guidance
Wisdom not enough
To settle for three dimensions
I must look inward as well
And what I see through smoky glass
Cracked and stained
Is myself
The jester the dreamer
Lost in the shadow your shadow
Knowing too much
Seeing the strings attatched
Knowing a cheat when I love one

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Highland Fealty

Highland Fealty

You offer a knighthood, a title and name
If I swear allegiance to thee.
But I’m Highland born, and your lowland ways
Aren’t a bucket of spit to me.

You think that by offering me titles
You may steal me away like a thief.
Your offer of fealty’s an insult.
Who died and made you my Chief?

I need no awarding of peerage,
I’m a gentleman of the clan.
My Chief greets his lowliest kinsman
With a brotherly shake of the hand.

My sword serves God and my Chief,
My clan, my family and home.
You can’t buy my honor with titles.
That belongs to me, alone.

So I’m a Highland rogue and a rebel
By your genteel lowlander ways.
Though you hunt me through glen, o’er mountain and moor,
My own fealty I’ll keep all my days.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

for p. m.

Ask me about this one, sometime.

For p.m.

Blessed are the innocent.
You couldn’t have known that we,
Whose acceptance you needed,
Only wanted a clown,
A court fool for our entertainment.
And you, who wanted so much
To be one of us
Couldn’t see that we
Were only using you.
Blessed are the ignorant.
The truth would have destroyed you.
A gathering of sinners
Needs a lamb for the sacrifice
To be propitiation for its sin.
And you, untouched by iniquity
Because sin was beyond your comprehension,
Were ours.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

A Relevant Love Poem

Language is for having fun with.

A Relevant Love Poem

The distance between two points through curved
Space is roughly equal to the sound of
Men in shirt sleeves leaning out of windows.
Neither one is relevant to the price of beans in China
Although both may eventually warrant government subsidies.
In the meantime, Chinese beans may yet be found irrelevant
By those who search for relevance in irrelevant things.

Of course, in the long run, all things eventually reduce
To irrelevant base materials proving that
The least common denominator may not be
Such a great thing after all.

However, you are over there, and I am over here,
And to me, that is very relevant.

I know there is a contradiction in my logic somewhere,
But since I haven’t yet learned to
Trust reason over instinct, I lack
The capacity for ultimate despair.
Therefore, I calmly throw reason to the wind
And say, “To heck with relevance!”

I’d rather think about you.