Small things are no matter,
Not the noise, not the chatter.
No matter those moments,
And their minority components.

Like a pebble on the shore,
Only trouble when there's more.
In it's solitude it's harmless,
A safe and sure calmness.

But when such pebbles are cast,
And their presence are vast.
Leaves destruction in its wake,
In erosion, it's no mistake.

And so in life we can see,
How small things can be.
No problem on their own,
Just an issue when grown.

Waiting on the promised end times,
the erosion of age absorbs
but does not erase the remains.
They are out there all around us:

Skulls piled high by centurions;
blackened bodies, impressions
scorched into earth by flame throwers
of the Great War. Then,

glazed eyes gaze at the world from those
draped in aprons of skin and thrown
in wooden wagons like human
debris by soldiers of the Reich;

I caught the way
your face lit up
when you saw me

I felt the way
your hand tightened
around mine

I heard the way
you spoke
my name.

I notice how
you pull me closer
just before you fall asleep

and how you
gently smile
when you hear my voice

Bodies entangled
I can feel your breath on my lips
and your pulse on my palms.

The floodgates of our hearts
opened to each other

You charge me with guarding your heart
as I entrust you with mine.

shooting stars and satellites -
the forest rustles with their stories

feathers on the ground

I falter

this place was never mine
woven with the language of wild others
in forests and forgotten places
flick of snake in grass
night eyes watching me -
curiously
those open mouths of shadows

my footsteps crunch pebbles on the riverbed -
that sudden rush of water

He was born.
He died.
Somewhere in between he did stuff
That will be forgotten in 100 years...
But he had a hell of a good time doing it!

Mark loved to ski fast and barefoot.

His little sister, up on skis he put,

And showed his family how to fall,

Said to them all, “Curl up in a ball”.

Mark was a teacher, a sort of preacher,

Certainly a one of a kind creature.

He was so very good with anything water.

We miss Mark, but he left us his daughter.

Venus finally awakened and eyed
She had seen enough of so much lost pride
Christ died on the cross it was thought for all men
And my love, she thought, was it all a sin

She gazed at the world lit up that morn
Only knew women, she knew they were torn
Tween the orders they had and desires to be free
The feelings of women are strongest to be

With a broom she had swept herself and all so clean
Tended the bull who was always so mean
Survived the nights by way of laudanum
Surely to keep her feelings again numb

The miracle of life,
what a wonderful thing!
A new child in this world.
What exactly could their life bring?

Playing in idyllic fields.
Climbing the highest trees.
Laughing at the silliest things.
Feeling what it’s like to be free.

Then as I grow a bit older,
I start to learn new things.

Impulses of rebellion,
bits of curiosity here and there.
Distancing from my loved ones.
I start to become more aware.

Then as I grow older,
I learn some more new things.

If you just do what you're told, sit up straight and do your work life will be easy, simple right? That’s what we are told from the first day of school follow those simple rules and everything will work out But no one prepares you for the side that might break you. As we grow older, we learn on our own that those steps won’t get you through everything and you will have to work harder than anyone has prepared you for. The hard work you put in to just get a passing grade. It builds you up and then breaks you down.

prepare a bath of soft water
swirl in oil of rosewood
with petals of hyacinth and lavender
that I may ready myself
for my lover on Beltane...

under the pale orb in mid sky
the horns sound, questing and low
with his wolves tracking the scent
the Beltane beast will not get far
for they shall run it to ground.

a cup of spiced clover honey meade
to wet my lips and warm my blood
to make us both sing high notes.
somewhere in the night my lover
rides in quest of "the wild hunt"