Call of the Wild: Poetry Collection

In Hunters Skin

I stumbled upon the
Valley of the wolves.
I knew it was that hollow
Where that thirsty pack hid.

Because I saw blood red
Soaking their teeth and their claws
And the clothes of the dead.
I followed the impressions

In the snow retreating
From the door the wolves were
Knocking on. I followed
The tracks true, afraid for you,

And the omen these beasts would
Cast with their howl to the moon.


June 4th, 2011






At the House of the Wolf

The hunter’s gun would soon
Protrude where it did not
Belong. Although not virgin
To its touch, the valley

Did shiver and the wolves
Came out to sing to the moon.
Their lullaby’s howl could
Not find a shallow in

The rage of the man with
The gun. His murky heart’s
Depths would bubble and
Boil in upset turmoil.

And never let the valley
Of the victims find rest.


June 4th 2011






Fall of The Wild

The King of cats
Now rests on Hercules’
Shoulders. And the Queen
Of the hive has wasted

Her sting on the hands
That would steal from
Her honey-comb cradle.
The place where the King

Once reigned and the
Queen did flirt with her flowery
Grounds has been shaken and taken
By Mans march to the drum.

The slave trade hauled away
The queen in chains and the
Cowardly king won’t spring today
Through hoops of fire to save her.

Now concrete and steel
Converge on natures Royalties.
Man constructed and stole,
Dethroning the lions and the bees.


June 4th, 2011







The Island

I wake up on the island
Shores as white and piercing as an elephant tusk.
Graceful palm trees erupting against dusk.
I trace imprints on the island sand
Boars of the forests trample by,
A sign to the left says Go or Die.
I smile to the islands sky
And calm water comes in tiny waves
Across the colours of the sand in rainbow shades.
I stay awhile on the island.


April 16/ 10

Reaching From the Past: Poetry Collection

History Pages

Kings and Priest we have but none;
A godless thought begot.
What then should I preach dear son.
Of mobs and consequences long forgot?

To show you fear in a handful of pages,
Would I not have looked past the looking glass?
Of things fabled in Cain and Abel's ages.
And jumped down a depression in the grass?

A web my words will spin around me
And force a dance to the devils beat.
Learn to tango romantically on the silky strands
And lines. Would careful footing place us in heaven's retreat?

I propose, dear son, the burning question.
Will you believe in this impression?

2010


Man and the Flower of the Universe.

He stood there in quiet stature
Looking upon flowery sod.
He must tear the mask off nature,
To look upon the face of God.

Pulling up handfuls of roots and petals,
Proclaiming, Oh God! Where are thee?
His soul must find a place to settle,
And lay among flowers eternally.

No need to uproot the leaves of history.
Flowers have grown and died before
In the Big Bang, His face he’ll see.
He questions God’s nature no more,

For he looks upon his world now
And asks not, how was this created, how?

Feb 11/11


Thoughts on the Universe

Have we not pondered the Universe
And found to disturb it to be perverse?

Has Time and Tenderness not
Written lines across my face?
And their pen will scribble
until bone is exposed, in frantic pace.

Is it not our curse to hold the light
With steady hand against the dark?

To put question to our religious creation
And reason out our scientific nation?

2010

These Words That Leave Me: Poetry Collection

     St. Lucifer & Me

A curse was cast upon me. 

After I made a deal with the

Devil, to always be his

Advocate. If he could spare 

Me from the wrath 

Of God. I said, 

If He will not have me,

Then no one shall. I will carry

Your words St. Lucifer, as 

You’ve put barbs upon my tongue

And ice to my touch.

Don’t tell me it is beautiful outside,

I’ll just say it will only rain
Tomorrow. And Tomorrow 

There will be a man who has 
to kill another man.

And I’ll have to walk out into

The rain of tomorrow’s storm

And once more be an advocate

for the wrong. 

I’ll set myself against you

Like the down pour and the 

Gail of the West Wind. I’ll build

Up my defences against every

Thought you thought could

Be true. And worst of all; I’ll 

Tell you there is no God. 

And I’ll have my just reward

For the price I pay to walk

Hand in hand with St. Lucifer.

Cursed always to take up his plea. 

                                                               June 2nd/2011

     The Confused

Why do I bother fighting

My Hallucinations? Why do I

Play into their feeble

Games? Is there something

To this imagined order?

A string attached to some 

Benevolent hand? The same hand

That casts the lightning down

Around me. And builds the shelter

Which I take sweet refuge in?

Like a house built up of words and mortar 

That will make walls that never fall.

I see through the fog that bars 

The doorway to the house there in the mist,

And lay my hand upon the one

That spins the world round on its

Axis. Should we still fight these 

Hallucinations, if they are all we’ve 

Ever known? I can’t seem to find that

Blueprint, that thing to help me set 

Right whats been planned and 

What we’ve let things become. 

                                                 June. 2nd/2011

     When the Tallest Man Walks the Earth

I heard the thunder and watched them catch

A lightning strike in a jar just to see it die.

Yet still this was no crime compared

To the greatest heist; to steal tomorrow's
Borrowed day.

And rumor has it I wasn’t born 

I just walked out one stormy morn

In a vision of a vacant memory.

And I will not rest in a cemetery

From the day we live you know 

We will have to burn.

In a ring of fire at my funeral, 

I’ll play the poetic matador and

Provoke my bull with words.  

                                                        June. 2nd/2011


With all due respect and credit to the Tallest Man on Earth

     The Leaving Lover and The Looking Fool

In the place where I stash my

Memories, my soul will not let me

Forget the things that have loved and

Left. To place this aching in the 

House of the soul and carry on

With forgotten memories seems too 
Cruel a fate for things left and loved.

The Leaving Lover would say. 

There stood the looking fool, staring

Like a blank slate down the road 

He’ll never travel on. 

Hand clutched upon the gate. 

He said, “Oh why am I

Not strong, like the path 

for which I long. Upon its back 

A thousand boot heels have tread.

And upon its road side so many

Men have been laid down dead.

Oh dear lord, why am I not strong?

Like that traveling man who

Forged the good ol’ trail. 

I’ll never know, and never share his

Tale. Less I leave this place,

And quit looking like the fool.

Release the gate and walk the path

And be strong like the soul in my bones.

                                                                         June. 2nd/2011