Howling Madness

The wind, like a rabid dog,
mauled the tender skin of my face tearing
succulent warmth with carnivorous icy teeth.

Trembling trees with cowardice,
bare to the curves and fractures of their spines,
moaned with sympathy, but, dared not
pull the beast from the feast of my suffering.

I endured the ferocity, the viciousness
of its demented assault; gathered
an arm full of fat lighter and dry logs
to soothe the stinging in my wounded cheeks.


Thank you all for your kind offerings, and continued support with my long absences. Hopefully this will change soon and I can get back to doing what I love best, well, second best anyway.

A Little Rain Must Fall

Where will the dancers be
when rain ceases to fall?
poets when thirst ridicules words?
They will be clanking chimes of bones
performing in a wind that has no soul.

Forests won’t remember carpenters,
clouds won’t darken with the smoke of war;
sunsets will set fires in the sky, and nights
will sleep soundly without voices wet to mourn.