AdieuOne day, the mansion awoke to find
a distinctly emptier world.
The mercenaries had vanished--
Avis, Hampton, Serf, Ka & Ze,
and Gus, this last taking his mother
while another took her little Flourish.
Gyrewynt was gone with the wind.
Verbena had chickened out, returning
from whence she came.
Amaranth had risen from his edged home,
rendering it simple and silver once more,
and disappeared into the ether.
Florent had departed on a journey,
bidding farewell to his brother
while a different brother did so to his.
Pierre, accompanying his papa,
had parted with the house,
neither speaking to the boy's father
The only traces were webs of chained hooks
formerly linking these two hearts
to the mansion's inhabitants'.
They lay tangled on the ground
all ends ripped out,
taking pieces with them.
The papa's and son's chunks
were biggest of all.
One calico and two like kittens.
Small, sweet, gentle.
Always found together,
by the chains on their hearts.
Likes watching out the window.
Wants to be in a play,
with the children next door.
Kitten: Spot on arm.
Enjoys hunting strings and feathers.
Looks forward to bathing,
happens in a warm sunbeam.
Kitten: White legs.
Waits patiently at dinnertime.
Paws at the television screen,
doors to feel a real breeze.
HuntressShe lies amidst reaching grass,
fiery skyborne ball burning cruel.
Patience, she tells her eager mass,
waiting to use every natural tool.
Leaves rustle as water ripples beyond
where prey bow heads to imbibe
from the coolness in that life-giving pond.
A bird's call in the air alerts the tribe.
Stays she from stirring all but eyes
to see nothing, like them, all returning to work.
Some insects crawl on her form,
but she pays no heed, focused on her lurk.
Naught twitches but ears and tails,
yet she smells each eye mounted behind horn.
She fears failure, ignoring all save her gaze
to await the moment her hopes prove not forlorn
neither cloudless roof with soaring colors
nor swirling thoughts with careless dreams.
Only minimal alert is given, claws at the ready
to rend nourishment-binding seams.
Gentle FangsLook at meAren't my scales stunning in the morning
Star's rays? The pattern, my colors, these markings, are all
As wonderful as any work of art made by man.
Yet everyone runs from me, or they fire
Attacks both verbal and physical. My beautiful
Nature is ignored, like the classifieds section of the paper.
Nobody sees my inner light. I rip cloth and paper,
Never wounds. Some of us may bed in the morning
And wake in the evening, but our souls are still beautiful.
We can be snake, iguana, or crocodile, but it is all
The same. In the stories of old and new burns the strong fire
Of the trope: Reptiles Are Abhorrent. To man,
We are almost always enemies. Can I not prove that man
Can be my friend? Even if wolves fold paper
Airplanes for children and sharks rescue swimmers, they fire
The innocent little skink for scaring clientele in the morning.
Lizards aren't nice! They can't be! No, everyone knows that all
Reptiles seek to devour and destroy all thing
Good NightNight is not evil. We only think that due to its darkness.
It's easy to forget all the beauty tied with darkness.
Admittedly, the most dangers come in the night, when
predators both man and beast strike out of the murk.
But the night itself is merely the opposite of
day. As day is light, the night is dark.
Light isn't pure. For instance, it's harder to find
things hiding in light than in shade.
Think about it: The only time you expect
an unwelcome visitor is in the dusk.
Light is so holy, but we cannot comprehend it;
if we look straight at it, our vision becomes lost in eclipse.
Light is more frightening, since with its invulnerability
you can find your way in the gloom.
True beauty is a sign of no harm, and light can show
true beauty; however, there is a beauty seen only with darkness.
In the evening, in the cloudless,
in the countryside, in the blackness,
Listen amongst the grass as the nocturnal
little-things sing their song within shadows,
Look up to to find with your own eyes
Teetering on a Prismatic EdgeTowering silently over landscape
Majestic dragoness rests comfortably
Her wings curled, unfurled
Letting their sunset drape over the world
A single shack with corral
Its inhabitants unaware
Of paw hanging above
Ready to conquer entire home
Her yellow jaw suggests a smile
Yet she holds her jagged lips steady
As her paw, other resting
Blocking front path
Oxen circle and bleat around fences
Frightened out of small wits
Their elderly owners finally notice something wrong
Gaze out, see what is the matter
Scales and scutes shimmer, beetleback gems
Reds, oranges, yellows, greens, blues, purples, browns
Muscles displayed proudly in every hue
Burning head to tail amidst fields of color
The humans rush to the window
Hearts stopped in shock, fear
Hearts stopped in bliss, reverence
She studies the shack with curling tail
Amusement hidden by grace
Contemplating her momentary position
To that within her possession
The oxen consider nothing
Only run and moan in terror
Anoint the HerdsEjaculations of melodies from the musicians
Around the city, plump dragons who devour daemons
Who circulated the whole of America
Are not admired. Every beautiful scale
All stone to people not easily satisfied
I need to write a memoir
A brilliant verse, deathless, risks
Flying on the wings of good truth
The destruction of rules
Imagination has placed down
Orpheus breathes over tea with Dante
Music and firearms, imagination and daemons
Each a reconciler for beckoning flat fear
Flowing from his vest: Sparkling blood