Pic of the day

Pic of the day
Somehow, she's always the one up here.

Tuesday, August 4, 2015


The hour is twilight, visited by Lilith:
her wingspan shrouding a darkening sky.
With passion and heart, the cup filleth.
Some seek to root and some to fly.

The breeze bears scents of coming night
like life flying through dusky air.
Creatures and thoughts of dark take flight.
Some seek to be safe, some abandon care.

Unseen lights flicker: a peaceful sky,
while ground to ground, they flare too long.
Fluorescent lives rage unheard; cry.
Some scream, some dream of night's soft song.

Sunday, May 31, 2015


What darkness is it when killing, 
a sense of joy, does contrive?
Is it the dark of soul, willing?
Or dark, the nature to survive?

In undiscovered recesses,
where demons, we do conjure,
we allow such excesses:
excesses that we nurture.

The focus and attention
toward a single extinction
deserves some distinction
as a curious affliction.

Hypocrisy or disease?
One life's end is pain to see
the other simply snuffed with ease.
Disease or hypocrisy?

Violence, begot of fear,
comes from nature, prime.
It absolves the eye a tear;
it absolves the heart a crime.