Home

I do implore you, gods of old Shine some light on my way It is dark here and very cold For your wisdom I pray To go or stay To leave dismay? To stay or go To halt or flow? "A little girl In such a whirl? Shall we now look What her so shook?" I paint my world in sad, strong lines Exactly how I feel I do wish I could read the signs You surely have shown me This way or that Will I fall flat? That way or this I'll step amiss? "A small, lost soul On a dark stroll What can we say To ease her pain?" I have only come before you With nowhere else to turn Tell me all the things that are true How long before I burn? "What of this one What has life spun? Do we tell her What's to occur?" I do implore you, gods long lost Grant me this one last will I see your eyes covered by frost Guess they were always still

I want you to know what I was doing on November the 5th, but we don’t have time. It is January; it has been two years. It's quite an old thing to rehash, especially when the pen is so cold. This poem can’t go on long so we’re going to get to the point. I used to write about shamans, priests come to undress me, but things are more direct now. They don’t say how, they say why. . I watched a woman in the AA meeting cry her eyes out. Her tears put out her cigarette, and her back curled, bending forward over herself - wilted, a flower. And when it came my turn I was so scared to drop my old, hole-y petals I left my chair, left the community center, left the Jeep, even, and walked down to the harbor to watch the moon rise. He’s always been so nice; he’s always been so gentle with my chubby-cheek insecurities and my six-toe peculiarities. He nodded along when I mouthed my secrets to the sand and when I couldn’t get out of the house, to the mouse behind my dresser. I’ve written novels

Stepping over stones, climbing over rocks One small stone got stuck in my sock Stepping through the grass, stepping through the reeds When I’m done, I’ll stop and have some mead Traveling forward to daylight and the dawn Before the Oak Grove there’s a wonderful pond Climbing over rocks, stepping over stones One Oak seedling tremendously has grown Stepping over stones, climbing over rocks There they are, Great Stag and the Fox Copyright ©

Die sechste Raunacht bricht nun an wir haben uns getroffen so mancher Wunsch ist schon verbrannt und viele sind noch offen. So vieles das man fürchtet, wünscht bestimmt man nicht im Leben doch dem, was man in Händen hält kann man sein bestes geben. Und hier, in diesem Ritual da müssen wir uns fragen: Was von dem, was ich haben will, kann ich auch selber tragen? Das wilde Heer, der Weltenlauf bestimmt was geht und bleibet so sei der nächste Wunsch auch nun dem Feuer übereignet.