I sing a song beyond the sea where feathers float on dreams and cactus flowers bloom. Where lazy afternoon hours sneak glimpses at sunset. Where time has no meaning for it counts itself in breaths, and clouds of many colors drift just out of reach….

Cool, damp, and muddy Not one but two larger ears A horde of green friends Mushrum lurking tall Goblin beneath oh so short Eating bugs for fun Big tall humanoid Stompy Stompy go his boots Spores are on the loose Threatening Bad Time Goblins run…

Look, Sheeple, to the higher purpose of life. I’m not talking about men, women, children, or marriage; Or unhappy grown women with jobs and no man and on and on and on with the other redundant world issues Or whether it’s ok to make peace…

Some days I still long for the big brown chair, my parents used to own. It was round, ribbed, yellow mustard corduroy. I’d spin one way, then the other, pause, eleven, listening to Cat Stevens sing. Losing everything, hands, eyes, legs, mouth, sounded like nothing…

We’re here, but you’re not listening. You, the self-appointed, peer-appointed pukes whose voluminous barf gets washed by white gloved bankers. The barf accumulated in the trade of the diminutive. Little people. Little. People. We scream. We cry. And I, like a good little gadfly, tell…

The world can be so simple If we stop to take a pause Only complex as we make it Without any real just cause The beauty in a moonbeam Or shadow of the night Too often lost beneath the bustle Of each bright city light…

Heat shimmered at the treeline Like a veil of magic light Crickets chirped throughout the field As day faded into night The fireflies came out to play As stars scattered ‘cross the sky I sat down with my memories And looked up with a sigh…

I lunge for the window Suffocating under the panic of the cottage that flooded and the school that burned Exhausted by lessons only half learned Studying again.by the dim light of a firefly.   Insufficient to bring relief to the eye Even now as you…

What the nuggy!! Booming man Thundering jokes Endless tales of elk horns and hidden islands. Her quiet husband, His IPA, “gimme another bitch beer.” Too sweet for me, but funny. Three admirable marriages of adorable souls make six cherished new friends. Love is everywhere Like…

There’s a strange cottage in the woods it lurks just beyond the tree line, out of sight. Even the heat of summer cannot affect the cool atmosphere around the cottage. Sometimes when I’m overheating I’ll zoom past the treeline to the lake the cottage rests…