Savage Garden

We enjoy the night —
The darkness —
where we can do things that
Are not acceptable in the light.

Night is when we slake our thirst.

We live in a constant state
Of desire…
Of disgust…

Our very nature often revolts…
But without the will to deny
Carnal indulgences.

We come to the strong and drain them…
A bottomless insatiable thirst —
Always parched and in need of more.

It takes us back to primitive times…
When we worshipped dark gods
In a pagan paradise —
Amidst this Savage Garden.

Your sweet essence nourishes us —
The children of a voluntary nightmare —
With your intelligence and your reason…
With your blood…
Your life.

Rejoice

If the first blade of pale green grass
Growing in the fields has power to move you…
If the sight of lazy summer clouds
In the blue skies above fills you with joy…

Rejoice.

If the honeysuckle perfume of
A summer’s evening breeze thrills you…
If the crimson and gold palette
Of autumn’s foliage serenade calms you…

Rejoice.

If crispy, crunchy sound of
The brittle remnants of fall’s cool stir you…
If the first frosty flake of
Winter’s long languorous embrace electrifies you…

Rejoice.

If the sound of children at play
On a frosty winter morn warms you…
If the fresh, renewing scent of
A springtime thunderstorm inspires you…

Rejoice.

If the simple things of nature have
A message that you understand —
A message you feel more than see —

Rejoice!

For your soul is alive.

Primal Urges

Great Goddess, who art Thou?
There is something pagan in you…
Something primal in us all that
We cannot shake off.

You live in the age of idols.
The past, never dead,
Flames again in your mystic
Hierarchies of stardom.

Voices of the glorified urge us onward.
They who have passed from
The semblances of time to
The realities of eternity
Call upon you to advance.

And forget not that
The earth delights to
Feel your bare feet…
That the winds long to
Play with your hair.

Your inner sunshine warms not only
The heart of the owner,
But all who come in contact with it.

Sailing

A misty, enveloping embrace
Sent upon sunset dreams
Searches for a peaceful heart.

A breezy lover's kiss sent
Upon gentle, fragrant warmth
Caresses sun-parched skin.

Colorful, waving ambassadors
Reach gracefully and majestically
Towards a cotton candy sky.

Harbor lights gaily dance
Upon dark, sea foam waves
To dulcet tones of a distant horn.

Inner Strength

The man whose heart is filled with love,
Is never daunted…
Is not cast down.

He does not give way to unworthy fears—
Not about himself, his physical body, or
The welfare of those he loves.

He has been quickened by
The divine light and power—
Nothing can go wrong for
Things only go wrong when
The mind of self starts to fret and rail
Against the circumstances of life.

Then suffering and chaos result
because the contact is cut.

If only you had the strength…
The strength to live always within
Your peace of mind, to live in the truth
Then and only then would you understand…

Joy is not in things; it is in us.

I Am Vampyre

I am neither good nor bad…
Neither angel nor devil.

I am man.

I am beyond your experience.

I am beyond good and evil,
Beyond those legions of the night.
I have become an animal…
My instincts to kill.

In the darkness I fall...
Solitude and despair
Condemned to wander every night

Condemned to this Macabre symphony...
A communion of blood and lust;
Perversion without limits

Some men live their lives terrified —
Terrified of the night;
Terrified of all that is dark.
I will live my life
Eternally
In fear of the light of day.

I am vampyre.

Happiness

Happiness cannot be traveled to.
It cannot be owned or earned,
Worn or consumed.

Happiness is simply living every minute with
Love, grace and gratitude.

If you surrender completely to
These moments as they pass,
You live more richly those moments.

Time Passages

For most men,
Time moves slowly —
Oh so slowly
They don't even realize.

But time has revealed itself to me in
A very special way.

Time is a rushing, howling wind that
Rages past me,
Withering me in a single, relentless blast…
And then continues on.

I've been sitting here passively,
Submissive to its rage,
Watching its work.

Listen!

Time, howling…
Withering!

Free Write (09Jan09 23:48) - Springtime in Alaska

Spring is also when Mother Nature renews herself, painting the canvas that winter so carefully stripped just months before. Bees buzz happily from one flower to another, collecting nectar for coming larvae; ants studiously move to and fro, beginning to rebuild food stores depleting by the harshness of winter; flowers, trees, and other plants go into full bloom, displaying colourful foliage to warm your heart. Sounds wonderful, beautiful even, doesn't it? Like a scene from a Norman Rockwell painting, almost?

Unfortunately, that vision ends when springtime comes to Interior Alaska. Spring here is a very ugly, dirty time of year. Now, before you can turn on me, oh Constant Reader, and tell me that there is beauty in everything surrounding you, let me describe a typical Interior Alaskan spring day for you, shall I?

The weather is unlike any you have ever experienced. It can be well below zero one moment (yesterday morning at about 4 a.m., it was -10F) and well above zero the next (the high temperature yesterday was a scorching +41F and it's about +31F out there right now). The sky can be clear and beautiful, allowing you to bask in the sun - not a cloud in sight to obscure your view. Then, in a few hours' time, a chilled wind can blow in a snow storm of blizzard proportions, blanketing everything in a gentle white misery once again.

When the temperatures do rise and the sun is beating down upon the ground, a winter's worth of snow and ice melt, running into the dusty, dirty street. The daily melt freezes over night, leaving a skating rink on the ground - ice several inches thick and dangerously slippery.

And what does that melting snow reveal while it's melting? You get to see a season's worth of neglect by the supposedly caring citizens of Fairbanks. Gravel and residual sand and ice from the Dept. of Transportation trying to improve the intersections pools together on the street corners, causing other slippery hazards. Trash and debris casually, thoughtlessly dropped over the course of the long winter months' reappears, bringing with it the depressing reality that these caring citizens do not care as much as they claim.

Once the snow melts and the ground reappears, you are left with a large, borough-wide marsh. Mud and bog are the prevalent landscape, trapping you with cold, insidious fingers that grab onto your shoes or boots and hold you fast until you either abandon your footwear or dig your way out.

Springtime in Alaska - definitely not what your creative writing teacher ever discussed when he/she talked of the beauties of Springtime, eh?