So this is from my phone, but I wanted to apologize to my readers for nothing new being posted lately, it has been a while. That is because I am currently taking a intense fast tracked course for becoming an EMR, while studying for my EMT as well. Soooo I have no life at the moment. But! I will be back once I am done.

Hounds Bark

At the hounds bark the alarm pounded
the second motion to the larks hark
pointing to the shark in the dark
who lurked in the park or perhaps
by the marque, or under the arch
he waits for a mark, one to charm
an’ bring into the bound path of harm
that may just lead to a burial mound in the dark,
if not for the hounds bark,
that startled the shark.

Hark from the Lark

Over head the lark flew
it frolicked and danced in the sky
barking out of fright an’ not of jest,
‘hark, hark, he comes at midnight’;
proclaimed by his peak, aimed on the oblique
but still a warning of something bleak.
A he who comes at dark in a sneak
inflamed but not with anger, he wishes to claim you
unashamed of what will come,
all know to hide when he seeks, cover gained
at the hark from the lark.

Sonnet: Flower my dreams

When I see her face; my eyes close from beauty,
it would be a lie to say, on that day my heart
did not skip a beat, it froze to her sly spread of red
that held my feet in place as her smile, stopped my heart.
Her eyes are not eyes, they are spot lights on the search
for one who was wanted and all were unlike the criminal,
leaping into the light; where as I leap into the darkness,
not out of cowardice, I want her to see me, to find me,
to catch me in her light so it glows bright from effort–
from the unveiling of intrigue. I want to know her
just in the glance, an’ never hasting to her feet from outer,
for she is the sun that gives me life, I wish
to grow in the rays of her and flower my dreams,
for her.

You Will Be Lovely

The unsung melody of identity is a trip,
it may hit like a whip heavily taking toll on your skin;
or chemically induced confusion can lead to false certainty
a recipe for a slip that will flip and skip you helplessly
down a restless spin ending in the bin, where we all
has been. Time drips steadily, the win dips
behind a hill, a penalty for wasted sand as you grip and
hold on for reality, it rips away. Leaves you ill-equipped,
out on the street from your own embassy; but
take a pleasantry in this lost walk, for from the dreadful
from the spin that has left you thin and stricken with guilt from sins
you can look heavenly and re-equip with weaponry of the mind
body and soul. With that pace held within heart your legacy
will not be one of a man lost to ruin and stripped; no
you will be lovely.

Sonnet: The Wish of a Dead Heart

I am one who finds life wanting, wishing for one thing,
to unfurl from my ways so that I may take the pearl
steal the world from those of light, make them feel
quite the fright in the day as it is in the night, oh how I long
to bring my blight with a bite into their light; block the sun from sight
with my endless spite turned zeal by the steel of my years
I will make meals of them all, under my heel their fates will be sealed
tight; no wheel will take them in flight.

I yearn for the day I learn to spurn the sun
an’ delay the slay of it’s decaying rays, on that day
I will sway into the light to the suns dismay
for it no doesn’t concern me anymore as I turn
from a terror who flays the strays of the night into a slayer
of the day and feed to my dead hearts, content.

Into the Tunnel he Walked

Into the tunnel he walked
where a bundle of pain
and no ground to gain sat in wait,
the mystery the bait,
the fangs the bang of a trap.

Into the tunnel he walked
stalking something less than human
but perhaps it was a little more,
perhaps he should have soared away
instead of staying to sway the darkness.

Into the tunnel he walked
chalked walls of blood guided to the lair
the call of a monster, luring one like a liar
assuring the man victory,
when only horror was found.

Into the tunnel he walked
chest puffed to balk at shadows
proud gait the lock on his fear,
the light in his hand ready to sear
any black caught in his sight.

Into the tunnel he walked,
In the cave under the city
it waited with row after row of sharp white,
a height greater than the rest; the best
killer of the dark, where it’s bite is
greater than it’s bark.

Into the tunnel he walked,
never to be seen again.

Falling to Darkness

He wants to close his eyes

but cannot.

He needs to close his eyes

but with horror on the mind, cannot.

He wishes to close his eyes

but it is not granted.

He prays to close his eyes,

there is no answer; only the knowledge,

if eyes close, he waves good-bye to sanity.


He hungers for rest

but it does not come.

He hungers for relief

but his soul screams in fright.

he hungers for light in the dark

but the visions of terror are darker

than it all.


He wonders how long he can last

the evil basks in his doubt.

He wonders what the monster is

the evil trying to get out.

He wonders what will come

when the evil replaces his soul.

He wonders. . . .


. . .What will be left of him when he falls,

no longer the dove, will those he loves

pay the cost?

House of Lights

There is a house that sits on residential lanes

Just as the breeze starts to warm in the night

On days of May they say is when the crown

And the lights of this house shine greater than the rest

This house stands out as the best on the block

On those street lanes where families tend

An’ the old walk with canes as the grass bends

To the warming wind, creating a welcome sight;

When one should really not accept the invite.


This house sits on Garrison Boulevard

Stands in Center Street or by Oak Bay,

Dressing it’s porch with lovely bundles of hay

Giving that ol’country look, straight out of a book

With tall bushes of strangling branches which choke

The view, guiding one to an open gate of arched

Thistles, a menacing look of unique beauty

When nestled with the cookie cutter houses,

An appearance that glows bright with light in the night

Making it quite the sight, a bug zapper waiting for a fly

To take the bite.


There is a house that sits on residential lanes

In the night it beckons to one who is found wanted by the

Lights in the windows and the crown on the roof,

One who wanders the night beat to the warming wind,

An is not tainted by sin, a true innocent either it be boy or girl

The house does not mind, for its lights shine bright in the night

For the one it wants, young or old, rich or poor

The house does not discriminate as it sits on

Residential lanes as the bane of tending families

Of mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers,

For every year a dear is missed forevermore,

An the house grows brighter still

With every mourned soul.

Sonnet: Farewell Former World

With each step, I cast a bet into the night,

a gesture set to wave farewell to the day

which passes with the sun an’ rises with the proud man

of night. Their goodbye to the former world, a coil now

unspun an’ turned like a wheel outside of the spiral,

for the day is down; the night is up, my feet strike to the beat

of a farewell to the former world it has served well.

Now is the time to sell all the chips gathered from that corner,

mount an expedition into the new world, placed by the down of the moon

and the lifting of the sun, if only my hands could let go with such ease

of the bands forged in the bright heat that tie them to this former world,

just as my feet strike to the beat of a farewell; the rest of the body

must follow in the pace and tune set,

allow the former world to drift, farewell.


‘Say goodbye to where we don’t belong; living in darkness of the former’