One night, I awoke remembering
the end of a dream like a movie trailer
Between shrouds of murky clouds unfolding
I saw the ancient wooden face carved on a totem
Perhaps an anonymous spokesman at death’s door
Perhaps my projection, just my reflection
or a phantom, a disturbing conundrum, I dare not say
I felt a withering mortality at my core
Yet, it contained all my living tree rings within
my years of stories, husky or thin
This shaman totem mask began to slowly speak
At first its mystical verse was somewhat oblique
Then in rich, tranquil tones, in humane inflexions
the face spoke, redolent and subliminal in my thoughts
Breathing deeply, I intuited what I was taught
Some seek refuge in still flower gardens
in stationary reflective pools of quiescence
in glistening golden altars to numina
But these material places are ever-changing
Illumination is the great revelation rearranging
of the consciousness animating all things
Is a photograph more than just light
briefly persuaded into form?
Is it perhaps a small remainder~
a breath held in brightness,
a trace of being
still alive in the frame?
Is what remains more than image,
more than chemistry or code.
Is it perhaps the quiet vibration
of someone once present,
their energy lingering
in the captured glow.
Do old photographs
hold the faint radiance
of a life leaning forward~
a soft intention,
a body of light,
still reaching across time.
Perhaps a photograph
is a thin place of presence,
where the living and the once-living
meet for a moment
in the framed interior of light.
she drifts where moonlit waters gleam,
her voice a thread within the stream~
each ripple hums her ancient song,
soft as the hush between a dream.
dawn rises like an old god waking, casting silver breath across the fields
soft spirits wander through the meadow, stirring wind in tall, listening grass
a white-horned stag lifts his gaze—myth lingers where the earth keeps its hush
the twisting root of the old tree reminds me of trolls
elves no doubt play in this ditch, singing and chanting
There is something magical about my tree-lined road
“Most desolate road in Kansas” dubbed one newspaper
But to me it is Thoreau’s Pond, but better.
I delight in the verdant grasses in the spring
Field of yellow daisies, queen Anne’s lace and dandelions
Clover is sprinkled all over this land; it is a magical meadow
I see faeries in the summer, flying in forms of dragonflies
Bees, wasps, mud daubers, and humming birds
If I take pictures, there are spiritual orbs when they are developed
This is a mystical place, a land of enchantment, my countryside.
bestowing generational survival skills
and desirable traits –
for e o n s
She led mankind to be
a better version of itself—
wishing for a fairy godmother
l o s e sight of
the W~E~L~L of W~I~S~D~O~M from within –
poised to be
r e l e a s e d …
Mystic revelations brings
Your mind’s recreation
Your body’s transformation
Your soul’s liberation
A Mythical place so far away
That legend has tempted us with for years
So sublime and tranquil
Kissed only by a Rainbows tears
Where Angels roam so freely
And Doves fly through the bright blue sky
Where the Trees and Flowers whisper your name
How do they know both you and I
A peaceful place where love abounds
No hatred can you find there
Where people roam and wander
With nary a single care
Sweet bouquets wisp through the still night air
The Moon a distant night-time glow
Where time is an immemorial fact
The days and nights pass swiftly by
Like paradise in fact
We all search for Shangri-La
It is here with us on earth
Its love and happiness, by another name
So make the most of what its worth
True peace on earth can certainly be found
When you meet that someone with whom, love takes a hold
Shangri-La exists deep inside your heart
A rarity low and to behold
Haunting voices from deep under
forest dreams alive with
birds and water cascades
Emerald reservoirs of moistened earth
sprinkled fantasies at the
cusp of morning bliss
A splash of dusk across the
meadows of my quiet mind
oh what a precious find
Trees that hold their secrets
deep within the crook
of an old enchanted fortress
Mermaid songs by chill of Autumn
right before the snow arrives
white dipped paper butterflies
Stirring the senses with mysterious breath
pure mystique
captivated by the essence of this moment
I just am...
("Fly Agaric", 2011, original oil)
’Tis almost the season to be jolly
Just around the corner
And before the snow falls
Before you know it
It’s time to gather the Yule logs
To help burn out the old
To bring in the new.
But what is this we see
Nestled in amongst the fallen needles
All brightly swollen, red and spotted white?
It is generous old St. Nick
In his dormant slumber
Waiting for the elves and reindeer
To wake him anew
For that one special night
When he slips the veil of consciousness
Up in smoke
Through the yurttle portal
And is everyone, everywhere.
At least everyone with the heart of Christ.
And so it goes across time and space.
Here in these immortal fields
Of grass and flowers or snow and ice
The fairies dance and children dream,
Cookies and milk
Set out in offering
For the one called fly agaric
All clothed in red and white,
A heart so pure
With New Year light.
(10/23/25)
Take her on a vol —
Demure archempress
My antler queen, blood
in the dirt, declare death
sentences, dance around
the fire with wolves, friends
and victims of the wilderness
[I lost my feelings in a pile of
clothes, I pick my emotions from
a closet, I spoiled my heart rotten,
Holy — I want the demons on my
side, over my dead body — Spirit
on my side, over my dead body]
Will I see Heaven’s gardens?
Just put carnations and
chrysanthemums around me,
Let me float in Sicilian waters
by the palazzo’s olive groves
when sangue leaves are falling
on the gods that decide to call me
Sitting in stillness,
Observing what comes;
We must live in a Wonderum!
Magical, mystical, impossible things
Abound everywhere;
and we are one.
Richness of mind
the money no matter
A visual feast
uncountable wealth
Conceptual bullion
perceptual bitcoin
Intuitive treasure
— a fortune indwelt
(Dreamsleep: August, 2025)
Part Thirty — The Story's End
Sweet Giti, gem in heaven's ring,
Stayed true in love through everything.
Her heart she gave to her dear flame,
Soul's companion, love's sweet name.
And Saeed—behold his blessed state!
Though challenged by his cruel fate,
Hear how his trials came to bear
His faithful heart, worn down by care.
Despite the wounds and aching soul,
From strangers' scorn and kin's control,
Praise be! The face of peace he found,
His shirt of sorrow torn and drowned.
He bound his heart to lover's hair,
Escaped the world's cold, harsh despair.
In joy they lived, in laughter bright,
Their sacred vows, their hearts alight.
Two bodies but one soul complete,
In love's sweet street they found their beat.
No more "Giti" or "Saeed" to name,
Just Wine and Cup, one heart, one flame.
____________________________________
Thus ends the tale of love's sweet art,
Where two souls joined to make one heart.
In dusk's silence, I wandered into the forest's recesses
Where ancient secrets slumber, and mystic powers weave
The Uba forest's murmured wonders, a realm of awe
Where powder-kissed mysteries await, and spirits breathe
Fortified by inner strength, I communed with the land's guardian
A being of primal power, with eyes that saw beyond
The veil of reality, where worlds collide and blend
Humans morph into beasts, and creatures take on human form
In this realm of shape-shifting dreams, night and day converge
As beings with terrifying visages stride, their power unbound
I emerged transformed, my essence infused with forest might
Empty plates overflowed, and respect followed in my wake
But power's double-edged sword sliced through my foolish pride
My secret revealed, my life force ebbed away, in cool blood spilled
Now a spirit within the spirit realm, I whisper warnings true
Human power, fleeting and fragile, against God's eternal might forever
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