There are bars and saloons where the jukeboxes play the blues long into the night, as a peasant sits at the end of the bar crying in his glass of that pessimist wine that the autumn has eyes for. And I am sitting here at the bar with a madman, who’s telling me to look around as all are serving time. For crimes that were either committed or imagined that have never been defined in anyway as they stood trial, like what Kafk...
Making my way down this trail that follows the shoreline as I feel the rain in my face and catch a scent of snow in the air,- I seem to hear the ghostly strains of a violin and cello being played in a slow haunting style that has my mind drift back. To thoughts of one whose heart had finally run out of summers in October ’92 and questions I asked and a promise I made. Before they went to that undiscovered country from whi...
Sun down, yellow moon rising as night spreads it’s cloak across the skies and some nights find you tossing and turning, not unlike a ship underway in rough seas. And as you lie there waiting for sleep to take you across the blue hills at the border of the dreaming, and then to those great dark gates made of horn and iron that stand as the entrance to the realm within and are guarded by a gryphon and a wyvern,- And as you...
Seldom does one of these nearly write themselves, Like this one did, or one in 2002 that took ten minutes. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 0… Found there is a part of me that is a mystery, that has lain there undisturbed for the longest time, with all feeling and seeming to be like flowing water as it moves to the sea like an endless symphony in harmony. Hiding buried secrets like heartache in its depths or having them lie there buried de...
One cold misty early morning heard a warning bourne in the air, in an age when, and in a place where no one seemed to have an hour to care or spare. As the days now seem to be growing shorter as well as colder instead of longer and warmer at this turning point of the season. Time now seems to be fleeting as madness tries to take control, as a deadline draws nearer. And has me feeling as though I am running and as if I hav...
I ain’t losing track of what’s important and I don’t think I will be heading back to where I started, and along the way someone said that life was simple but it sure as Hell wasn’t fair. I just need to follow through and do all that I can for my heart won’t let me give in. There are things that could be different or at least been handled differently than they were at the time they happened,- With there having been many ro...
This one was an idea I have toyed with,- And was triggered after reading a short story about the concept, As well as Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle’s version of Dante’s Inferno, Which kind of set the things in motion you see here as an idea come to life. Standing here on my own in the district or quarter known as Saint Cecile, knowing that only ashes remain after one passes through those purifying fire(s) that consume al...
Sunday finds me in my usual pew awaiting the procession to the altar for the start of mass. As I notice a conversation taking place two or three rows in front of me, just like a scene from Schindler’s List. Which has me recall what they once told me about art imitating life and vice versa. As well as recalling that they also told me about the Devil living in the details, something I found out, and know exactly what they m...
When September Ends,- Walking here in the North Country Fair under grey skies with the temperature dropping to hover somewhere below zero. Walking down the hill that will take me to the “heart of downtown”, I can see across the sheet of ice that is the harbour to the mainland The day could be called a form of a hazy shade of winter, but what in southwest Texas would be called an ugly day,- I can almost hear the strains of...
Nightsong,- Everything seems to have come crashing down and all things have now come face to face- After having been woken by a deep trembling in the earth beneath my feet that has shaken all the great foundations, as I see lightning strike out on the far horizon and I am able to hear the thunder roll across this barren ground. While overhead ancient shadows of both the wicked and the divine begin to cross and slowly entw...
Feeling at times as if I were on the run, and somewhere along the way the skies changed from blue to grey. Causing me to think back to those times and places that were left behind along with that West Texas skyline. Where lights shining up from the Mission Valley can be seen down below from Scenic Drive- Thinking of some of the good people I left behind, and some of the good times that were had. Like meeting at an Oasis f...
I seem to have been searching all of the passing days as I make my way down the line, trying to find those things there in my mind as the days slowly turn into night. Remembering when I leaned quietly in a doorway in the shade of the sun’s dark light, and had no friends that were near. With there having been many roads I have walked down and followed as far as I could to no avail it seemed. And shook my hands and head at...
The other day an old friend gave me some good advice concerning friendship, which is a thing that isn't always given, but is earned like respect is, and is a law I hold sacred. He said to leave my fears behind me, for the first steps taken in our endeavors become the longest strides with no looking back. With there always being the chance that this could be my last day- In the time of my confession, in those hours of my d...
This poem only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.3:07 in the morning,The void of night after the witching hour,When the world sleepsAnd the underlings of the underworldsSteal careless soulsAnd twist them crippledBefore returning themTo wreak their mischief bolder.I draw useless nicotineTo the edge ofAnother dimension,Through my decayed, gaping maw.No effect does this earthly t...
In a chamber suffused with emotion By the light of innumerable dawns, In a house betwixt forests and ocean, Where the briar rose bristles with thorns; There hangs her portrait in splendour, In mystic silence, forsaken, unknown, In lines both violent and tender And colours of thunderous tone. Her eyes bespeak wisdom and knowing, Her face; enigmatic and ever serene With tresses luxuriant, flowing To realms of delight yet un...
