The lonely passage in the overture called for the violins to join in and embrace the sound like lovers in their joyful compelling moment, that unified bliss. They didn’t look for the o...
Sorcery and pleasure, my heart be… Her magic and my magic together fo… She of beauty and what it does to… and me of the earth and land and s… Her magic gets inside of me and tw…
On the edge of the mysterious eart… with its eerie shadows and secret… echoing the language of the spirit… is the home of that drifting torch that burns through the day,
The Stacking Little girl, for your fateful choo… When all the cards were stacked ag… Your face so homely, skin so coars… Legs so twisted, smile so far away
Aerial slaves and their heavy lift… High in the sky from summer’s drif… Tired from the weight of the midda… Upon their backs since time begun, Drift into September with their s…
Down, down deep and deeper yet, down the corridor and then some mo… in a musty cell in a cold, damp pr… on another island in the same ocea… is the home of the latent beast
As the inhabitants of one little village were dying one after another from a mysterious virus, there seemed to be no hope for a cure and prevention for this disease. One morning as the ...
Some say that happiness is in the contentment of the senses and faith is in the pursuit of it. Some say that heaven is at the summit, the high judge who oversees morality being observe...
Final breath but air of hallowed t… a life to a new life, an old body left behind but a supernal body traveling on a highw… to bliss garnished in star dust,
One of my favorite musical compositions is Stravinsky’s “Firebird,” written for a ballet in 1910. I can imagine what it is about by listening to the music and letting it take me on a jo...
After the heavy sun splashed into the sea with all its might on its journey into the night, and Mother Nature put all her weary loyal subjects to rest, I knelt down beside my bed prayin...
After the feasting on turkey and m… who becomes the receptacle or the… Instead of dumping the leftovers i… or making tons of dinners of turke… we invite big fat Uncle Fred over…
My Chosen Fate As if our God left me alone to ch… As if I arrived to this life on m… As if I were all powerful and sag… As if my judgment was the final wo…
As the sentence calls for the prop… Poets make up words like shumber s… As the story sits and waits to mov… Poets laugh and play with words in… They run into the fire
Something beautiful, something grand of an iridescent image, rose colored morns drifting through
