there at her table

in soft candlelight

she peers at her crystal

and scries

her chalice and athame

gleam in the night–

she is young

but incredibly wise

she sees a dark man

who had murdered his wife

and is hiding inside some motel

so she calls on the goddess

the giver of life

for the power she needs

for a spell

she takes up her clay

and she makes a small doll

then she binds it with thread

and a knot

she draws down the moon

and looks into the ball

and she calls for the man

to be caught

she won’t cast a spell

that would hurt anyone

but she will ask

that justice be done

she knows to do harm

would be harming herself

for we all are connected

as one

There’s a clown in the closet

And a phantom overhead

There’s spiders in the covers

And a troll under the bed

The grim phantasmagoria

Is filling me with dread

I feel sick–I’m pretty sure

By morning I’ll be dead

summer scents

bring sweet memories

to the surface

of the deep

be it

flowers in bloom

freshly-cut grass

sun-tan lotion

mosquito spray

lighter fluid

campfires

or even fish guts

in the sun

–Photo by me

One day a curious man came to town;

He stopped at the bar, and he bought us a round.

We talked all about the upcoming election–

How we needed a man with a brand new direction.

He said, “Yes, I know, we’re all in the same boat,

But it seems just a waste of my time to go vote.”

We all were appalled, and I asked the man, “Why?”

“Well my vote doesn’t count, sir, unless there’s a tie,

And the chances of such are exceedingly small,

So you see my one vote doesn’t count after all.”

I jumped to my feet and said, “That may be true,

But tell us, then, what if we all thought like you?”

The curious man took a drink, cleared his throat,

And shrugging his shoulders, he said, “Then I’d vote!”

The white-haired old lady

Cradled the lilacs

In her arms and wept.

For some reason

She thought I had

Brought them to her

From the old farm

Where she grew up.

“Thank you so much,

Young man,” she sobbed,

“You have no idea

what these mean to me.”

She squeezed my hand.

And there, in her eye,

Something magical!

I had really picked

The lilacs right outside

The building, but she

Touched my soul,

So I chose the lesser sin,

And quietly left.

shall I conquer my demons

and find peace of mind,

just to tap-dance my way

to the grave?

shall I befriend my angels

and ascend just to find

only shadows on the walls

of the cave?

demons, angels and gods

are a taciturn lot,

like the figurines here

on my shelf,

and if there are answers

to questions or not,

I’ll just have to find

out myself.

    –Photo by me

the

cosmos

banged its head and

now cannot recall its youth

it had to make cosmologists

to try to find the

truth