Suffer the Night

The cauldron comes to boil
laden with the wounded flesh
and broken bones
of ten score generations.
Witches of belief
mind the iron kettle
while grim ogres
without repentance
circle the fire
with hungry eyes.
What was done
to the least of these
rises in the lurid stew
while the air fills
with the dark smoke
of what might have been.
These are the hours
of prophetic night.
Encamped in the shadows
beyond the breaking flames
and cries of the unforgiving
two lonely angels camp in darkness
keeping watch on the infernal.
The hour of sacrifice draws near;
there must be witness.
The fire will burn out,
it always has.
When dawn comes
upon the encampment
of blackened ash
and ill-cast dreams
another voice will speak
the dream of the future.
Animals will gather
as to a running stream
and wilderness will return
bright and untarnished.
Suffer this night
and welcome the day.
The time has come
for revelation.



Left Hand Watercolor by Eilish Hynes

Watercolor by Eilish Hynes


Guess Who Stopped By

Death came by,
rang the doorbell,
shot me a text.
No one home
I wanted to say
but if I said it,
well, someone’s home.
He waited around,
smoked a cigarette,
checked his iPhone
with the cool
next-to-go app.
He hollered up,
I know you’re there,
let’s get a coffee.
What’s up with the ignoring?
I wouldn’t answer,
held the silence
like ice along a frozen coast,
desert dry, unrelenting.
His phone rang..
I’ve got to take this one,
I’ll be back, buh-bye
and he was gone.
He’s got my address;
once we were close.
I’ll get some counseling,
change my phone number,
unfriend him on Facebook..
I’ll think of something,
the air so cold
and darkness falling.





Morning Circle

In first light, moist air
before day’s heat,
the fresh smell of innocence.
Birds call in the distance,
geese stir and feed;
otter slowly curves
to dive in a shining C
as Earth readies
for the next strain
of the machine.
Tree quiet,
sun upon the sea
breathed in and returned,
we lend ourselves
to the mercy prayer.



Version 3


Simple Stories

Simple stories
rise from the grist
of water washed gravel,
desire revealed
shining and desperate.
We’ve loved, then not,
then loved again.
Nothing complex
but the heartache
search for what we lost
along the rock strewn shore
while the river carries on.
Song in the searching,
melody in the water,
simple stories
told and retold
while the river carries on.



Simple Stories