Deluxe

No strings

The only thing that motivates me is the desire to share a bit of myself with the  world. So, I have and I will continue to do so. At the link below is a collection of every bit of poetry I have ever written, and a bit of prose to liven it up. It may not be the greatest thing the world has ever seen, but it doesn't have to be. I'm satisfied that it's the best thing I have done.

Technicolor Dreams (2014 Deluxe Edition)

I hope you enjoy.

They remain forever yours,

Lloyd Webber

Houdini

Nocturna

Find me in the dead of night, 

knock on the door. 

I’ll say, you were right. 

I wish I had never lied. 

I wish I had surrendered to light

Are you there? I wish you would remain

Out of my mind and just out of sight.

Love, out of reach

Synchronicity

Crystallized

Amid frozen dreams and falling skies,

A rush of blood flows to the heart - 

Till its walls fall – leaving us alone.

Follow me –

Your heart beats like mine.

Synchronous.

Around us lies a world,

Loud and incoherent –

With its clinging and clanging,

Drowned out by hearts

Beating as one.

Free from the chains

Of this world and its ties –

That bind.

Follow me –

Until we find,

The world as we want it to be –

Somewhere beyond a rainbow,

Where worries and cares –

Disappear.

A world where stars and skies collide

Where heartbeats and dreams live.

Forever –

Crystallized

Heartbeat as one

Once Upon a Dream

ICARUS

A Man did Fly

Oceans pull us down.
If we fall in love with the sun - 
We fall from the sky.
But - in these dark days,
There is nothing left to learn
Except how to fly.
So - teach me to fly, 
Or cushion my fall below - 
To hell’s dark fire.

Writer's Note
I've never understood the Myth of Icarus, or maybe as a young boy, reading the story of Icarus and Daedarus, I took the wrong lesson from it. 

Yes, Icarus flew too close to the sun, but briefly, if only for a short while, he flew higher than any man had ever flown before. He lived more in those few seconds than if he had lived a thousand more years.

Yes, Icarus flew too close to the sun, but he still flew.

What Dreams are Made of

The Mythology of Creation and the Creation of Mythology

“The Mythology of Creation and The Creation of Mythology: The very act of creation (and is that not what myth making is), is a shared act. When I write "the sky is blue", there is a world of meaning behind it, but more importantly, there is a world of meaning still to be created by those that read such simple words”

All dream...but not equally

There is a strong connection between dreams, storytelling and myths. If myths and the making of myths (and is that not what storytelling is?) are a way for humanity to resolve its existential dilemmas, dreams (unconscious mythmaking) could be said to serve the same purpose. We make meaning of our world by the mythmaking process. In dreams, as in storytelling, we make meaning not just of the world, but of ourselves.

Myths and Legends

Duality

 “We are all of us, built on a foundation of myths that contain their opposites, both logical and lived. What does it mean to be called good, if evil and the potential for evil do not live in the world and in you?”

Myth come true

Humanity has always been interested in myths. It’s borne out of  our desire to understand the world. Myths are how humanity makes sense of what can often seem a strange, cruel and unforgiving world. Imagine the first people to see lightning. How terrified would they have been?

Of Strings and Broken Things

The Marionette

A world of puppets - 

tangled in strings.

Trapped with ties that bind - 

to a cruel unflinching world.

But we close our eyes.

Pretend to be free.

Pretend we do not see - 

The strings that bind you and me.

There are no strings on me

Shooting Holes

The Siren

Sing a simple song

A siren that guides mankind

on its way back home

You and me...

There's something about Haiku

5-7-5

A haiku a day

keeps the good doctor away

So I always say

Left, to inner peace

Love in the Time of Science Fiction

The Void

Beyond a dark and silent yonder,

A distant sun hides a star that burns -  

incandescent and all consuming.

Leaving faint dust and monochrome

supernova trailing its wake.

A distant light - a kind of foghorn,

calling out in blackest night,

Evaporates nightmares - 

Leaving daydreams behind,

Of love - borne of first sight.

Traps us all night

Lost in Wonderland

The Looking Glass 

Alone – in a crushing, faceless sea. 

Trapped by the looking glass – a mirror for the universe, 

The hidden door all around us.

Egress for the soul, 

Keeping a universe at bay.

Rush headlong and drink its world in. 

Lose yourself in its seductive charm. 

Fly through a one-way entrance, 

Through a screen door forever ajar –

to a world locked away

A rushing flood – 

Draining beat-by-beat, humanity’s heart. 

None care break free from its seductive chain. 

On the way down, we rush everlong – 

into the seductive rabbit hole. 

Through the looking glass we go –

Racing to a rocky bottom

Hiding a lonely place of dying.

There we wait, to wither away 

And fritter away our joyful youth. 

Head bowed, and led astray

By lifeless bright lights that hold

Plastic memories and dreams. 

Headlong and headstrong–we come of age 

Ensnared by jailers we chose – trapped in a looking glass

Death and its spiral

Harlequinade, or Of Happy Nights and Dark Days

CURTAINS

Harlequinade – A mannequin world,
A cruel, dim stage devoid of life.
Actors wearing dark, twisted masks
Hideous smiles frozen in pantomime.

Smiles hiding darkness
perverting laughter and mirth
Smiles that never reach the eyes
while the knife quietly slips deep.

Never fear–the dam breaks
The curtain slips, all is laid bare 
To see, the darkness in their hearts
Glimpsed on their faces

The Phantom within

The Grand Lie

Pro patria mori

The witless few who clap and cheer,

The pitiless many who laugh and sneer,

And send sons and daughters to be martyrs–

To give their lives for worthless barters.

Pray thee you never have to tell,

Their dear mothers of their last living hell.

War, that cruel game – dreamt by the old,

played by youth, whose bodies are sold

Youth – who live and die and fight,

And watch their youth fade into night.

Who sleep a fitful sleep beneath skies

That burn cruel like a fever that never dies

For all they give, we ask for more,

In this, our headlong match to war.

So smile, you few, who still can–

At the folly of the beast called man.

You witless few, who clap and cheer,

You pitiless many who laugh and sneer,

Pray thee, you never come to know,

The hell to which in life and death they go.

Nevermore, except forevermore

Killer and the Saint: A Novella

Tender flesh, waiting -

For the dropping Guillotine -

Eyes Blank, Wide Open

–     Technicolor Dreams

Chapter 1: Two-Face

The actors of life

Have their frozen smiles trapped as

They wait their cue to

Join its vicious cabaret

-       Technicolor Dreams

Marais, First and Queen Mary, 2057

The frozen hell called winter lingered on interminably; an endless ordeal that was only barely endured. In these parts of the world, 6 months of bone-chilling cold followed by 6 months of sweltering heat had become the new normal. Everyone had long ago gotten used to it.

The man in the black trench coat stood statuesque at the corner of First and Queen Mary Boulevard, his breath visible in the soft, pale, February moonlight. The thin trench coat seemed to envelop him, a tarp over his slight, insignificant figure.

The constant puffs of breath were the only signs of life in the cold, lonely night.

His mind worked feverishly even in the still silence. His eyes carefully scanned the landscape while he retrieved memories of happier days, hidden in the tombs of distant time.

Of Lost and Forgotten Trains

Locomotion

Where does the locomotive go...

what does the locomotive do...

when life takes away its stations,

and fate steals its tracks?

It breaks free...

Of Grief and Relief

Heavy Seas

Thunderstorms of life and love,

Pregnant with meagre relief - 

rain upon this scorched

and parched earth

Storm coming. Batten down the hatches!

Of Reality and Fantaseas

Perchance to Dream of Electric Sheep

Fuzzy as dreams

seen from miles away - 

Trapped within the seams

of who I am but cannot say.

'Snared in a fortress so digital, 

analog won't let me go.

Yet - like a lost boy so mythical,

I wait. For a yesterday, I do not know.

World, Out of Focus 

Writer's Note: Re-edit of an older piece to attain a proper abab rhyme scheme. An ode to feeling out of place, an ode to time, out of joint.

Of Sticks and Stones, and Broken Bones

Superhero

The sticks and stones are broken,

and the dirt is in your eye

but the heart has spoken

and it will ne'er die

Fright(ful) night
When love was lost