work in progress...

just beyond the precipice in the corner of the sky exists a land as hard to see as huckleberry pie. The creatures there are bound by light but sageleaf liberates their forms to rise from leaden shells to fly a single night. For all they crave is this brief burst; a particle of free. But in doing so they can't go back and very quickly freeze. The atmosphere (to hold them back) is a boiling mass of cloud. The violet fetid soupy air muffles every sound. Sageleaf grows so woefully, unnurtured by the Glaikens. These lumpen gaolers trog the earth. They've no kindness to awaken.
Within this world the fungii thrive but hold a place most sacred. There are fungii wars and fungii homes and Commune-Cities gated.
We meet our hero, Roodrellac and join him in ablutions. For now he scrubs and dons his clothes for he has work to go to. But if he knew his soon to bes he'd be sure to pack a knife, too...

A Good Talking To


Heed the prophet as she comes;
bitten nails, mascara runs.
What once entranced now nauseates.
Love once inspired, now apathates.
No balls for you, young Cinder-Zappa.
Weak and cowardly. Empty wrapper.
Betrayer of your youthly self,
Now 9 to 5 and on the shelf.
Uncreative, antisocial.
So far removed it's downright woeful.
The slip so far to what you are
can only treasured memories marr.
Reclaim yourself, take back the night.
Keep your goals within your sight.
Self-sabotage and confidence lack
have stolen years you'll never get back.
Forget the times you could have made it,
before your chance and youth have faded.
Focus now on what will be
as working truly sets you free.

Baby Weight


If love is love as love should be,
then why does it enslave, not free?
Love is a power - nay, a force
that rivals all but gravity
and as said best by Spiderman:
"Power is responsibility".

You, the product of our love;
that spiralling arcing meteor.
Those fireworks, rockets, sleepless nights
that bred into a lifetime more.
And slavery was none more false
for waged I am by your sweet smile;
to relive that first one again
I'd crawl on cliche a million miles.
The perfume of your morning hair
outweighs the months of colicked hell.
To watch you grow and learn and love
I'd give again my childless self.

The birth of you one snowy day
shackled me with steely bonds.
But witnessing your joyful play
is all the freedom I could want.