Aardvark, audience, aim, address.
Double creature feature, sign sore stress.
Poets, penury, paucity, peak.
Prophets of the pack never wet the beak...
Carrion chic? Run raw revile.
Roundabout the dugout, crocodile!
Reptilian art in forgotten caves.
Knolly, unholy, goal, giant graves...
Mercy saves. Greed kills. No pain pills.
Mighty steel walls hemming in the hills.
Lemming, when you fall, do you see doom?
Certain curtain call, boulder seals tomb...
Flickering foxfire, foregone fate.
Heaven and Hell, horror and hate.
Tormented tornado and tired typhoon.
Chemicals dissolving in my spoon...
Queen of Carthage Dido, homebody high!
Stay with me forever in the bye and bye!
Fair as a naga queen in angry mood!
Hit it with wit if it's talking rude!
Buoyant like the hopes of a matador!
Quicken with thy cape, vampire! Be sure.
Yellow priestess, ritual sleek!
Alliance Black Abyss, plant one on my cheek...
Vileness, art thou video?
O vision what to see?
Caw for me O carrion crow!
Where's the 'I' in 'we'?
The god of ancient doorways?
Two-faced, give thy reply:
"I, Janus, have crossed the maze!
How I dare to sigh!"
Noted, friend. Are times to end?
Back of tomes to bend?
Wounded soldiers, on the mend?
Attack or defend...
Wendigo. You know. I say...
Living for today?
Macabre dance, upon the grey...
Shall we hie or tae?
Flickering like foxfire?
O strange lights in the moor;
Find a buyer or wield the wire?
Dire circumstance? Pure...
Flutter, tiger butter?
Around the druid's tree?
Down there in the gutter?
Mein mutter, muttering. Me!
Be upon us, blessings!
O lessons, to all teach!
No more second guessings!
Stressing's a bloody beach!
Reach for what doth glitter?
O poison gas, thy cloud...
Yes, but why be bitter?
O quitter, seek the shroud...
A silver shield—
not polished,
but burnished with time,
like moonlight caught in stone.
This is not a banner of conquest,
but of endurance.
At its center: a fox,
mid-step, not snarling—
alert, alive,
the patron saint of disappearing
without being lost.
She knows the back ways,
the soft ground,
the difference between retreat
and wisdom.
Beneath her paws:
wild thyme and yarrow,
not roses—never roses.
I want the plants that heal quietly,
that grow in stubborn places,
whose roots remember drought
and bloom anyway.
Two crossed quills above her head:
one black,
one gold.
Words as weapons,
words as balm.
My shield is etched with stories
that cut and comfort both.
Colors?
Deep forest green—
for stillness.
Ink blue—
for the sea I never stop carrying in my chest.
And a single streak of ember orange—
foxfire,
the moment just before change,
or flight,
or truth.
And the motto, curling beneath in worn script:
“Not loud, but lasting.”
Let them come with their noise.
This is the crest of the patient,
the watchers,
the ones who survive
by becoming
exactly themselves.
O boulder, with pitch resin shine!
Flicker fine at night!
Fate and Fortune, thus we dine!
Sign, O line of sight!
Ichor in immortal veins?
Crenellate to hold.
No use waiting for the rains!
Sane and centrefold!
Explain, O my spark-lit brain?
Bone of throne and bane!
Blossom inward! Core and chain!
Melee, meet the main!
Gone and unreturned? We learned.
Oh, what we discerned.
Night of nail and ne'er-do-churned!
How the bodies burned...
Yellow streaks in starry sky?
Panels on the fade.
Foxfire, foment on the fly!
Beckon as ye bade!
Climate of the covenant?
Back the boneyard bright?
Feet of clay, about me plant!
Cant cerebral, kite!
Mortal life, upon the knife?
Who to target, strife?
Circumstances, rhyme or rife?
O Rhine River, fife!
There are untold chapters in those eyes,
soft details you have yet to tell;
I am ready to hear those stories;
Within the exploit of passionate stories
a wild foxfire captures your eyes;
It grows brighter with all that you tell;
Every changing color will tell
the unwritten lines in your stories;
Facets spark prismatic eyes;
If you gaze intently eyes tell stories.
Red Panda aka Foxfire got lost when her plane fell into the China Sea.
She drifted ashore, and was discovered by a giant black and white he.
What are you? The monster asked, fearing she was an alien creature.
A bit afraid of her eighteen inch long tail, her most prominent feature.
I am a panda, she said, but she looked more like a skunk or raccoon.
The giant panda from China began laughing, his chuckles went to the moon.
You certainly are not! He said. You do not look a thing like my wife or me.
He was as amused as a panda whose dinner was interrupted could be.
I am an Eastern Himalayan panda, she told him; but I fell out of that plane.
Do you have some tasty leaves or perhaps a tiny bit of sugar cane?
The fluffy Giant Panda puffed up his black and white fur.
“Come along, you hungry thing,” he told her “I have the cure.”
They ate bamboo for about twelve hours, before she said her name was Niece
Here is a thought, Giant told her “In China, my kind is the symbol of peace
“You are an endangered species,” Niece said, but not in a mean kind of way.
They became the best of friends then, and began to eat together every day.
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