Damocles, the imprisoned cat, is known to the spirits of forest and fen. By night, they bring to him the saving light of a golden afternoon. *** Art: "Cosmic Energy", by Remedios Varo
(Originally published as "Neverland" and "On Tormance we stand" ~ A cordial Hello to all who may see this, and may the day embrace you! From your history books, you will know that our ship Neverland left the vicinity of Old Earth 11,000 years ago, bound for the solar system of Arcturus. Neverland was constructed in space,... Continue Reading →
Down a choked and muddy stream, through dense thickets, warrens, and vine curtains, lay the charmed coven of Cain. None knew it, as it was bound with a spell of bewilderment. Through the attrition of years, most of its first thirteen souls had gone to grass, their bones and plasma powdered and cast into the... Continue Reading →
Embowered in dappledark the mushroom kin shake out their seasonings in a randy rain of spores A fallen pollen for the dusky earth Shaded with umbrellas of gills
On the second globe in great Alpheratz's sway, little Donelda comes to herself at the sound of trickling water. In the stream's iridescence, something bobs, circle-twirls in the undertow of an eddy. This day, the water is warm, and her thin fingers feel no change as she scoops up the doll. Raggedy Ann has made... Continue Reading →
What does it hurtto give way to imaginings,at least for a time?To close all the doors and windows,pull the drapes,and make some hot tea.To conjure some moorsand wuthering weather,hear a rap tap tappingat your chamber door,and the neighing and stampingof white horses.
There's a small cabin in the pines by a secluded lake in north Ontario. I had rented it for two weeks every summer for twelve years. The Belvedere it is called. When its owner passed, his wife wanted me to have it, so we made a deal and it is mine now. Its shingles are... Continue Reading →
Somewhere in great Andromeda’s arm, a thing’s found floating in a salient stream. The button eyes and sewn smile of a Raggedy Ann, transfixed by the burnished shine of minted moons and daystars. A girl of five, Earth’s earlybird, has come for a drink. Sees what she's destined to find.
Is there a ForeverWho can scope the great mindA yolk in an eggThen what is beyond the eggMonkeys and typewritersad infinitumThink your deep thoughtsand they surely will write ‘emStories of ourswill be amber-ingrainedand lain among flowersall freshened with rain
Old Man. He come every day at twilight time. I hears the bony drum, cicada’s hum. He wear raggedy clothes, canvas cap, yellowy beard. And his work he does. Cranks that gear handle round and round. Powers up the tiny lights. Pinpoints in the pinwheel spiralled sky of night.