Poem Nine

Why do I try
For you to like me
You say you like me one day
But the next you make me an idiot
Yet I still try To make myself
Feel accepted,
That I’m needed,
By you

Why do I try
For you to accept me
When one day I’m in the click
But I turn my back you stab it
Yet I still try to make myself
Less difficult,
For you

Yet I still try
All for you
I could leave
But who would accept me
When the person I respect most


she is the effulgence in the

gathering gloom of loaming,

the scintilla of shooting stars

in the crepuscular and chthonic;

she is beauty,

shimmering sylph of a supernal arcadia…..

…..she is the dark, seductive night.

at the water’s edge

i have always been happiest at the water’s edge-

whenever i am overlooking a turquoise ocean

i come to life and feel open to the universe

like i feel in no other place.

i inhale and let the warm winds blow through my nostrils and my hair-

i let go and allow myself to exhale.

speedboats race by in front of me-

seagulls fly overhead-

i am open to the universe here-

ready and amazed with all of God’s creations.

He is here-

in small fish-

in colored glass-

in flowers i’ve never seen.

He is in the hillsides and on the mountaintops-

here at the water’s edge He reminds me that He is alive and well.

Present state of mind

It’s chilly cool to the touch leaves have fallen and so have I. Secluded not many will find me here but he knows. He knows that familiar place I go when things don’t go my way. The oasis where I can scream as loud as I want and let the tears flow a place I can hide where no one else can go.

Losing My Balance

Things haven’t been the same
Since I broke my ankle.
It’s not that it didn’t heal–
Sure it puffs up now and then, but
There’s no pain to speak of.
It’s more the feeling that
This Judas body
Betrayed me,
Leaving me unsteady,
Unsure of my footing,
And old before I was ready.

The Hall of Blue Flames

Above the diluvial plane stood the mountain
Gazing down the steppe and fields of thistle
To the small hamlet with the waist high wall of stone,
On the Isle of Skye, the village of Brittle.

Hearty Scots there knew of the man,
Ancient in days, and dark in nature
Who resided in a hidden Refuge
Near the peak of Sgurr MhicChoinnich

Though their benefactor was hardly seen,
He was known to watch them all.
But ne’er did the dark man appear in the mist,
Nor broach the stoney walls.

From the spirit man that resided there
There was only one request to them,
“Keep lit the Cairn of Aingus here
And dinna not seek entry to An Lasrach Gorm Uaimh”

© 2014 D. Edward Croy

#10, PI!


I hate math.

Equations. Sum. Division. Multiplication.

Symbols and numbers in a swirling confusing tornado.

I am built for words.

“Six Steps”

The weary traveler hesitates,

Standing at a precipice of decision.

Lost and separated from his companions,

He has come far.

But the quickening thunder in the distance,

Hastens a resolution.

Sniffing warily, eyes alert to danger,

His four legs plod on through the archway.

On Set

They yell action

A director of no satisfaction

An actor barks

That time will take our souls

It is in this moment

We still own it

What kind of man am I

The starlet squeals

The fire of wheels

As the film strip reels

And magic happens again