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Stygian tinted window's pierce the dim ambiance
Daughter of Ceto
Amidst the chaos she floats across the floor
Heiress to her Muse
With an Artist's panache she explains the evening's specials
Sweetheart to the Fates
Iron and steel forged with skill yield to her will
Mistress to the four elements
A woman of most unique talents

Sonnet 

Where comes this bond we hold so dear?
The welds of the heart's forge makes;
From sparks to flame the mind's coke sears.
Burning passion, time like water slakes.
The bellow's breath blows balmy breeze
To make the hearth's coals cherry red.
They bring the beloved to their knees.
And then to the wedding bed.
But gold bands smelted in Love's heat
Tempered mettle does impute:
Shaped iron shackles and chains greet.
Steeling vows now in refute.
   Judge not a marriage nor what's at its core.
   As you know not what happens behind closed doors.
    

Allegory


Palha had been watching the man for some months. She had smelled his fresh scar tissue in mid-September and sensed he had been severely wounded. The man's timed visits to the spring for fresh water were predictable.  Like clock work he would appear and when he didn't she would come looking for him.  If the swaybacked old bay was tied out Palha knew the man was in his lodge.  He had seen her twice during the fall on the edge of the conifer forest the village bordered.  She showed no fear in acknowledging he had seen her.  Nature had provided her with the keen sense of knowing her prey's weaknesses.
It was January now. The Human Beings knew it as the Full Wolf Moon. The time when the pack would stalk the edges of the village looking for an opportunity to pick off a stray dog or perhaps a lame pony that may have broken away from its tether. For Pahla and her litter from last season it was known simply as the period of cold and hunger.  The period after the fall hunting season for caribou, who had moved out of the wolve's territory, and the wolves' breeding season to come.  A time of leanness in both body and spirit.
Winter had come early to the region.  Pahla was concerned she might lose her pack to the ravages of weather and famine. Her last litter - she was old now and would not come into heat again -  and while not her last winter it was close to the end for her. There would be no one to care for her in the end times she knew were coming. To die alone from disease or starvation was an unpleasant thought and she tried to push the thought away.  She had chased off the beta male that had bred her about the time she had first seen the man return from his journey.  The man had left scraps of food for her; a sign he hoped would keep him in her thoughts.  Pahla was suspicious of the Human Beings.  She knew them only for their cruelty to one another: their bickering, their wars, their steel traps and snares set to capture her kind.  Suspicious of his motives Pahla waited until the man was in his lodge before she gathered up the food he had left.  It wasn't much as he was poor and she did not share with the pack. His generosity was unlike what she had witnessed among Human Beings.  He did not speak which was unlike his kind.  He was deliberate in action and deed.
The man was alone.  There was no mate nor had there been for many seasons.  In his loneliness and despair he had tried to end his life.  Opening the veins in his arms from the wrists to just below the hollow of his elbow the blood had flowed like a spring torrent.  It was just by chance that the man's sister had discovered his pale, limp near death form.  He had been stitched up by the women and eventually returned to his lodge. The ugly fresh scars a reminder of his lack of judgement.  Forever destined now to wear long sleeved shirts the man carried the memory of his time of despair and emptiness in his heart as well as on his arms.  Next time, should the mood strike him, he had promised himself  he would do a better job of it. 
Human Beings and wolves are social animals. Both travel in groups. Sometimes playing but always on the prowl for game to satisfy the blood lust. Wolves hunt for food.   Human beings hunt for sport.  Both are territorial.  A threat to one of their kind is a threat to the pack.  The man, by feeding Pahla , had disrupted the natural order.
The man's staring at Pahla as she came to drink was not a concern to her.  On occasion she would stare back and he would look away in embarrassment.  He  could not keep his eyes off her.  Her lovliness was something he had not experienced in his life.  He'd seen many wolves but not one such as she.  It was as if he was not staring at her form but at something ethereal.  Something beyond words.  Something mystical.  He did not wish to possess her as other men had tried.  He wanted only to  nurture her; to join her in a journey with what time was left for them.  He would no longer be alone if she were beside him.  He was aware this dream could not come to pass as wolves and men are not meant to travel the same path.  Just the same, he grew more generous in the scraps of food he left for her. 
The time had come for the pack to break up.  There was not enough game in their territory for Pahla and her brood.  She would survive till spring but the others needed to move on.  She chased the pack off  one by one. Biting at their heels, nipping at their flanks until they loped off to find lives of their own.  Alone now,  she was free to pursue her life and travel her path. 
The man stopped coming to the spring for water.  He continued to leave scraps for the she-wolf always in the same place but never near the spring.  She accepted them grudgingly.  They would never approach one another if seen.  Pahla was free to roam her territory.  The man was urged to move away from the village by his family.  Pahla and the man would never see one another again. 

Haikus

Dark Zendo shadow
An oak branch reaches outward
Scraping the window

A silent watcher
Raven spies the wolves kill
The circle of life

Flour water yeast rises
Winter wheat remains dormant
Today I eat bread

Gnarled stiff digits
Count the rings on the tree stump
None escape aging

Back garden lies still
Spring bulbs awaken slowly
Unbroken promise

A full moon tonight
Winter clouds obscure the view
A rare blue moon month

Falling drops of rain
Collecting in the eave trough
Racing out the spout

A selfless life is
The bee working the hive comb
Next generation lives

Resignation is
Learning not to want what is
Unlearning what is

Elusive dream state
Winter"s white Spring's green
Both colours of hope

Drunken monk staggers
Full moon highlights the footpath
Bed awaits his snore

Haiku writer sits
Nature is indifferent
His needs are simple

English Kelpie

A Sheffield lass who knew too much
Driven from her home
Chatted freely with me.
I learned her name and heard her pain;
There was nothing I could do.

It is said we don't fall in love
Rather we rise to meet Love's challenge.
Love is a choice
To accept or decline
When it comes our way.


The ammunition we have on ourselves
Is much more lethal by our own hand.
Validation is a curious notion
When coming from across an ocean
The more we get the more we need.

A Dales' lass who saw too much
Driven from her home
Chatted freely with me.
I learned her name and saw her pain.
She touched my scars and said goodbye.

For Carrie Fisher with deep appreciation and abiding empathy

A desert place between the seas
In a valley watered from the south.
The air the texture of a Van Gogh canvas.
The canyon hills again on fire:
A land of make believe.

There floats a mind unsettled,
a spirit unharnessed, roaming pensive
From a trauma often spoken.
An endless struggle of creativity and apathy.

High mood; low mood fade to black
What Pole today will she tread?
Leap out of or stay in bed;
Attempting to be brave through sometimes overwhelming dread.

In my eyes I see a woman of substance.
With my ears I hear a woman speak of strength.
In my mind my touch can feel her power;
Bitter-sweet the taste of her lips.

Erudite and exclusive is not her essence.
Earthy, she walks alone among the stars.
Never struggling to be who she is -
Steeling the courage to be her all.

The daffodils of Spring returned in Victorian tradition.
The Summer's roses complete with thorns.
Mum was the word for Autumn's proposal.
Winter's holly berries so pretty yet fatal.

The bloom is off the Flower Children yet she remains everlasting.

"Volunteers of America"

Animal Farm

I am an early riser. This is most likely a result of my early conditioning with rural roots and a strong work ethic. As I lay in bed I could sense a storm brewing. I arose and moved to the kitchen. Lighting a candle I rolled a Harry Rag; the first of far too many that make these long summer days tolerable. Flashes of light outside the windows confirmed my suspicions that indeed an intense thunderstorm was imminent. Exiting the house I stood on the foot path of the back garden as lightning strikes all around me flashed and sounded. I was not afraid. It is foolish for a man to defy Nature - a lesson I had learned as a youth on the lakes and in the woods of this region. But the electrical energy in the air of a summer storm I find invigorating. I began to reflect on the events of the past few weeks and I could not help but see the humour in my circumstances.
I have been very hungry. Its the kind of hunger a man feels when he sees others feeding at the banquet table but he has to wait and is told to bus the table and take the scraps back to the kitchen to share amongst the Staff. My hunger directed me to City Hall where I had been told they had slices of American pie for enterprising individuals. I had arrived at City Hall with my plate, fork and tea towel only to be told there was no slice for me. They were very polite and took the opportunity to explain to me that only invited members of the party were entitled to the pie the State had given them. I asked them how does one get an invitation to join the party and again they were quite cordial explaining that party attendance was limited to those who are Caucasian Christian Capitalists. I walked away grateful to them for being so honest and polite in their demeanor. Still hungry and now disappointed I couldn't get any slice of the pie for myself I returned home.
Opening the garden gate I was greeted by a small white envelop on the foot path. There was a note from my father and enclosed was a cheque. My father had heard about my dire straits and wanted to help. I slipped the cheque into my trouser's pocket and reversed my heading and walked back to town. I entered the bank the cheque was written on and waited in queue to be allowed to approach the hallowed alter that serves as a barrier to separate people from their money. The Associate granted me permission to approach and I slid my father's cheque towards her through the slot under the bars of her cage. She asked me if I had an account with the bank and I replied that indeed I do. She began to enter information into her computer and discovered my accounts with her employer were in arrears. She said she could not give me my father's money but she would be more than happy to take his money and put it towards the debt I had with my delinquent accounts. I thanked her for trying to help me to pay down my debts but explained that I would like to have the cheque back. I walked out of the bank with my father's cheque grateful to the Associate and to the bank's policies for being so careful who they give other people's money to. I walked across the street to the bank where I have other accounts.
There was no queue in this branch and an Associate welcomed me to her window. A very pretty young woman no more than 21 years old, with a smile as bright as linen bed sheets set to dry on a back garden line examined the cheque and explained that she could not cash it. She suggested I deposit the cheque into one of my accounts and a portion of it will be available the following day with the remainder available in 5 days. I thanked her for being so careful with other people's money and explained I was hungry and needed to get food. She said she understood this but there was nothing she could do. I filled out a deposit slip for the full amount and slid it over the counter towards her. I said to the Associate, “You are an Associate and are very low in the hierarchy of this institution. But you are going to get an earful. The Federal Treasury has printed hundreds of Billions of dollars to give to your employers and many, many other banks. These banks have taken this money and have refused to tell anyone what they are doing with it. This money is your grand children's debt. A guy walks in and needs some money to buy food and you won't give it to him. Where is the humanity in your employer's policies?”
The Associate smiled and replied, “Yes, Sir.”
I paused realising that I was venting to the wrong person. I apologised to this unfortunate young person who was only trying to get through her minimum wage day. I thanked her after apologising and left the bank. I grew concerned that someone would report me to the authorities as a trouble maker. “Oh well” I sighed out loud. “I'll just use more tobacco to curb my appetite. I will eat tomorrow. Maybe.”
Arriving home the dog and cat were there to welcome me. Its comforting to come home to living things who don't care what I look like, what kind of car I don't use, or that I am not working. They love me for me; and of course they love me because I buy food for them. What they give me in companionship and loyalty is priceless.
Putting fresh batteries into the radio I tuned in to get a report on which way the wind was blowing that day. A recently recorded speech from a University professor was amusing and lightened my mood. The speaker's Marxist rhetoric gave me pause to reflect. The speaker concluded by remarking that the Fascists running these small towns and small cities around America encourage the populace to have dope and alcohol to keep them anesthetized and subdued. The speaker mentioned that the State allows gambling in the form of Lotteries to give the underclass a glimmer of hope that somehow they'll pick the magic numbers that will take them away, however briefly, from their dismal existence. The professor spoke of how the unwritten conspiracy between the State, the pharmaceutical companies, and the psychiatric community is keeping the mental health population tranquil. The speaker suggested that as long as the populace is anesthetized they will not figure out how they are deliberately being cheated; rise up and build Guillotines to lop off the heads of their oppressors. I chuckled at the speaker's hyperbole and as the speech ended I switched stations.
Michigan's native son, Bob Seger, was singing...
“I awoke last night to the sound of thunder
'How far off?' I sat and wondered.
I started humming a tune from 1962.
Ain't it funny how the night moves?
When you just don't seem to have that much to lose?
With Autumn closing in.”
Concluding the time was right for a bit of street theatre I developed a plan to draw attention to myself and the rest of the disenfranchised left behind by the new Socialism.
Two weeks earlier a half dozen smartly dressed men in black trousers and blazers over white shirts had gathered on the foot path at the busiest intersection in town. They wore scarlet red sashes. I watched and listened as they performed their rehearsed drill and chanted that marriage was to be only between a man and a woman. They displayed a large cross and several posh signs. I was embarrassed for them but the large crowd that had gathered apparently was in complete agreement with their philosophy. I will give them their props for organisation and deployment. I wondered who put them up to it - the insurance industry, the Fundamentalists, or perhaps Yahweh had spoken directly to them from behind a burning bush. It was an ideal location for a demonstration and I at the time had made a note for future reference.
I collected the necessary materials for my "demonstration": lawn chair, some loose coinage, hand-penned cardboard sign, OSHA approved safety glasses, passport for ID purposes, ACLU attorney's mobile number.
I placed my lawn chair on the parkway, the grassy strip between the foot path and the street. I took my seat, placed my safety glasses on my face and reached for my sign leaning it against my legs facing the street. Earlier I had printed in large florescent letters, "I BET YOU CAN'T HIT ME WITH A QUARTER!".
I waited patiently for the money for begin rolling in. I quickly learned I might have worn more padding as those coins hurling at me by some Brett Farve wannabes carry a sting.
Business was brisk for a short time. Frat boy types circled the block several times for opportunities to "score". The circus evidently was in town. I was in my glory until the first police car arrived.
The city official who drove up in his cruiser requested I, "Move along". I   ignored his request knowing I was not violating any statutes. I did not speak or pay him any mind.
Now if there is one thing the type "A" personality that cops possess can not tolerate is being ignored. They are in charge and any threat to their authority will be met with rudeness and hostility. I braced myself for the backlash.
I'm a big guy - at least in stature. At a hundred kilos its not easy to move my person. Back-up for the primary responding officer quickly arrived. I was told to rise, was cuffed and led to a waiting unit. I did not resist and I did not speak. I have read enough Thoreau to know civil disobedience only is effective if one remains passive. I had been in enough demonstrations in the early '70's and later against W's Crusade, to know not to carry so much as a nail file should it be considered a concealed weapon. To make a long story longer...
Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated.
I knew I could be held in lock-up for up to 48 hours if not arraigned and bonded out. My attorney could get me out on a writ before then. I was prepared to sit and wait. I was hungry and I secretly crave institutional food.
An ADA had happened to be at the lock-up on another case and had called her boss about my detention. Her boss I later discovered had been in a secret meeting with other Upstate DA's who are trying to fuck the Cayuga Nation out  o f the Supreme Court upheld treaty with the State of New York and the Cayuga Nation to a nice bit of ground often referred to as "Cayuga County". The DA's last year violated the treaty and seized 18,000 cartons of cigarettes from a vendor. Those cigarettes where on the street by 11:00 pm that night. We had bought some out of the trunk of a car to keep to remember the event. The ADA explained to the police they should release me. On my way out I flirted a bit with her and she smiled the coy smile women give when they are flattered by the attentions of an attractive male.
This is the new Socialism for the New America. The banking establishment has been given hundreds of billions of dollars and won't say what they're doing with it. Local law enforcement is seizing property of another race and prohibiting that race from exercising their traditional rights. Smartly dressed men protest the right of couples of any gender to marry and receive benefits only rights heterosexual couples are allowed. And a guy sits quietly on a street corner and humiliates himself in order to buy food. Is this the new Socialism or is this National Socialism?
"Gotta revolution'!" ?