Poetry · Writing

The Wizard’s Hands

“he’s coming he’s coming!

wake Jake wake!”

before Jake could wrestle

the rheum from his eyes

he can hear stomping, doors shutting-

he’s here.

a shabby tan pointy hat

he tips it with his right.

cabbages and carrots sit atop an olive cloak

staffs peek outside a wimpy carriage

perfect smoke circles

autumn brown pip in his left palm,

he’s here.

“and alas, Valen drew

his last arrow

released it through the oil lamp

struck the great ogre, Duarg in his last eye.”

the old wizard chuckled,

he waved his right palm,

and.

the flames we sat around grew,

“Valen set the ‘hole ogre ablaze-

Stonemerr really let ’em have it.

aye, he was just relieved to retrieve his axe from the beast i reckon,

from thee other eye.”

he paused again,

Jake wrestled the growing sweat from his temple

the wizard meets each of our eyes

rose his left hand,

“an that is the battle of Tison,

just outside their neighboring forest”

Jake remembers,

the stories his mama used to tell

of the wizard

mostly dressed in brown

in his left hand-

the power of life,

spawn blooming lush like Tison’s forest,

seas deep as the oceans of Sophis,

an his right-

capable of leaving cities in ruins

fire that could cover our village

an more-

wizard wizard

where will you go,

as Jake returned to the present,

the wizard

pipe in left,

“i never left you hatchlings”

he raised his right hand-

sweat from Jake’s brow

dripped past his lip.

with the smoke from his pipe

he snuffed the near flames

a gale rose our hats

Jake’s eyes grew

the wizard brought thumb

and finger together,

his right hand

suspended

his eyes paused on mine-

he snapped-

and.

he was gone

Poetry · Writing

On the Dedication of a Statue

hear ye hear ye!

go

embrace our champion, ser Christian

dazzle his soles with roses

with your affection!

oh ser Christian, you are so strong

held the young and needy

by the skin of their throats,

Deus Vult!

oh champion, you are so wise

disturbed endless prayers

set torches to their churches,

Deus Vult!

oh champion, you are so brave

crossed with unarmed peasants

constructed a river of their blood,

Deus Vult!

praise thee praise thee, champion

oh ser Christian!

protect these lands!

Deus Vult!

Poetry · Writing

Marisol’s Apogee

“you wouldn’t grow without me”

mocked the sun.

leaky petals scurried

across untamed fields;

Marisol wept.

no matter Marisol’s nimble roots

the sun endlessly on her trail,

up till

the sun splits west

and Marisol hears the moon-

her voice, one more time.

Marisol awaits the east for her beauty

while the night-gales slumber;

her song supports, feeds

safeguards

choir of shining lights glimmer

on her every note.

clouds part as she journeys after the

villain

one day

she’ll trap him.

Poetry · Writing

on the desert’s back

tender fantasy;

atop a spirited colt

nurturing our prized ten-acre

of controlled

wild wilderness.

gritty dreaming;

hubba bubba poppin’ over freshly

brushed mounds,

salty breeze and thirty ounces of ash

blasted-

over Coors stadium on a tuesday

summer night.

vast idea;

reaching-

reaching- open palmed

to an open night sky on desert’s back

unbound

Poetry · Writing

open balcony

day of our showcase

pants hemmed the night before

shirt pressed the night before

day of our showcase

up bright and early;

birds chirped a fresh melody-

a duet-

can’t deny their chemistry-

Juliet.

night of our showcase

must have gotten lost the morning of

changed your mind the morning of

night of our showcase

down, late and groggy;

the foggy night swings-

memory of a duet-

marionette’s heartstrings-

where have you gone, juliet.