How do you take your tea?



Space Vultures


hovered over

windswept lots

cold, bright

concrete slabs

with bulging eyes that

pierce the dim and

light alike;

they peer

to find that savored

placing amidst the

multitude, those

brethren there


taking space with six more

hovering on

each side around

the bend in

hopes of having

room to get

a taste

and rest at last in line

with the rest


Beautiful: The Ballad of the Battle of Gettysburg



Beautiful cannot be caught

in single pain-specked pangs

flashed and gone without regard

for whispers between the bangs.


Patient perusal standing still

pays to perceive the scope

of panoramic persistence

born across this broken hope.


Caring eyes could comprehend

an ocean of emotion

tucked just beneath the cupping waves

the tides of deep devotion.


Optimistic overtones

lead on a bleak cabal

a body turned against itself

a suffered battle call.



Fighting not to save herself

but for the sake of others

those wayward souls engulfed in coals

her sisters and her brothers.


Scheming ways throughout the days

to soothe the scars beneath

the humble skin that shelters in

the gnashing of the teeth.


Praying for redemption

for purpose without fault

a means to light the darkened way

a means to become salt.


Loving past the limitations

rotten luck provides

if love is like a battlefield

herein love abides.



Surmounting now the stumbling blocks

in silent victory

that fate has thrown her rugged way

for all the world to see.


Breaking one link at a time

the chains that bind her here

a life lived full of fortitude

a life lived without fear.


Beautiful across the span

of tribulating fires

that spell a glory yet unsung

by heaven’s angel choirs.





All Hallows Eve


I found my last bed

in the place of the first

lesser my heartbeat

greater my thirst

only my pain can realize

        the silent fear

        that lingers here

among a dozen wetted eyes

and hearts doubled over

to see yellow skin

my last fleshly covering

a sad soul within

whose mate in tears resides beside

        my rock and love

        my precious dove

in whom I hope my fate abides

yet she refers me

toward other things

with halos of light

and feathery wings

but I cannot see the light from here

        with eyes gone grey

        fading away

and filled with cold and bitter tears

for fear and regret

all these chains that I’ve earned

in those toiling days

whose dreams I burned

with tunnel vision and selfish pride

        my fate I chose

        the thorny rose

whose beauty at last has bled me dry

leaving naught but a shell

that cannot receive

a blessing that’s blocked

by anger and grief

but I may have one final gift

        my heart to give

        to one who lives

long after this soul passes through the rift

may he love her with care

for better, for worse

and learn from my death

lest he fall to the curse

that still lingers here within the air

        with brutal eyes

        on new love lies

and fixes them with unmerciful stare

so my final act

will not be a cry

for mercy or peace

I simply will die

an example to a foolish world

        to which I belong

        a son of its song

        its promises lies

        when everyone dies

but lives like their lives cannot be unfurled

so breathe like it matters

live without regret

and love while you live

and never forget.

A Russian Lullaby


Old Molotov drinks

the fire to warm

his black hardened belly

and bottlenecked form.


He chokes on his ragged

torn twisted tongue

that flames with his rage

for the old and the young.


He spins hot and heavy

with Russian delight

as he flies through the air

as he lights up the night.


When the bottle breaks

his body will fall

and down will come everyone

flames for them all.