My Manifesto

I denounce the belief in a superior race
___As it is a violent, destructive superstition
I denounce all patriarchies
___For they have made us unbalanced
I will always accept and support love
___Over hate, however it manifests
My body is mine own, and so are all
___Owners of their own selves
Call me woke, and I will point out
___That I am awake, and aware, and
___Paying attention
I will not be silenced
___Even through violence or terrorism
___Or lies
If you come at me with deified egoism
___I will laugh in your face
If you bow and scrape to wealth and social power
___That's on you, not me
I worship Nature from whence I came
___And to which I shall return
I celebrate diversity
___As uniformity bores me
I have my cultural identity
___But also enjoy experiencing others
And I decry the world being run aground
___To benefit profiteers and warmongers

untitled

Into the deep, dark night
I rode a stag
The wind blew through the trees
Causing the branches to sag
They caught at my garments
Shredding to a rag
But I cared not at all
For the Wild Hunt was on
My little part in it
Would soon be gone
I trailed far behind and below
The Horned One
And as the Goddess brought forth
The light of day
I grew so very weary
Slowing my way
But so it should be
For I cannot stay

untitled (from '22 or '23)

There was a time
Long, long ago
When I wanted to go
Into that sublime

Wherever is that place
Whether inner
Or outer space
For saint or sinner

Deep into the wood
As far as I could
No one to see
What I did me

WE THE MAD

"We're all mad here"
Said the Cheshire Cat
And everywhere I look
Corroborates the statement

Mad as a hatter
We all thrash about
Hating, swearing
Resorting to violence

Lawless abandon
Rules the day
Was it really ever
Otherwise?

Cracking heads
As the punchline
Minds reeling
Tongues spinning

Power to the people
Who can afford
To buy it
Sufferance to the rest

Lies hold sway
Crushing any truth
Like a scary spider
Denouncing any questions

On and on we go
Never reaching that
Light at the end
Is it just illusion?

Elegy for Mom (read at her memorial)

Once upon a time there was a dreamer who had a hard time finding her way in the real world. She worked hard, but was still too young when she gave birth to another dreamer.
She sang to him, took him to movies when he was still a baby, later reading to him. She taught him to read and write.
She encouraged his writing and performing.
Life was always rather messy, and chaotic, as she searched for a "safe place", tho' she could not create it, as it contradicted her independent, gypsy nature.
Into her constantly rotating orbit came my sister Lysa, and brother Adam. We became a team as Mom dragged us hither and thither.
Mom had a difficult love life, her romantic ideals being disappointed.
Then, having entered middle age, she met Phil. He became the string to her kite. Their children having grown and gone their own ways helped them focus on their life together.
Going back and forth between Hawaii and California, and travelling abroad proved to be a comfortable lifestyle.
They spent over 30 years together, until Phil's sad passing. Mom became reliant on help from others as her own health deteriorated, especially my sister Lysa, who took on the heavy responsibility of Mom's various needs. Lysa is one of the strongest people I've ever known, and her sharp and pragmatic mind has helped us all over the decades.
It is always hard to sum up a life. Mom long threatened to write her autobiography, but while she was a good writer, her forte was more in the old oral tradition. She could spin a yarn with the best bards.

An Old Vampire

There once was an
Old vampire
Who slept under the stairs
At the Witch House
As it is known in the neighborhood
When the Sun went down
He would rise from his pallet
- he had been too poor
... when he died for a
... proper coffin
... and found his pauper's box uncomfortable
... plus no room for it anyway -
He headed out into
The night
Not to hunt, but to work
As he was a night watchman
In order to make money
To help keep the Witch House
Going
The job is nice and quiet
In an old art deco building
Built over a displaced graveyard
So there are ghosts to keep him company
And play tricks on him
The tasks are not over taxing
So that his blood intake
Can be sporadic
And he doesn't need to fill
For being a gentle soul
- if it can be said
... that vampires have
... souls -
He abhors violence
- also having broken
... one of his fangs -
"Where does he get blood?"
You may ask
Within the fetish community
There are occasional volunteers
Or the thrill seekers
Here and there
Or stumbling upon a suicidal
Lost soul
"But doesn't that expose him?"
You say?
But who believes in vampires
After all?
His house is mostly safe
What with witches
And a werewolf,
Living under the same roof
The only trouble being one
Pesky, oblivious mortal
Self-absorbed in his neuroses
Funny how much more trouble
These mortals can be
His companion
And long time cuddle buddy
A cat
Brought to him by
The Goddess
With whom he bonded
So strongly
Her spirit remained
After her physical demise
The house does get
A variety of guests
Such as the werewolf's
Child
Who is also a shapeshifter
But of a different kind
The werewolf
And his witch wife
Help out the old
Vampire
When he can't
Manage stuff
Sort of adopting him
So his un-life goes on
While he reads voraciously
Listens to all kinds of music
And having lived through
The inventions of
Film and television
All the way up to
Streaming
He amuses himself
Well enough
And believe it or not
He has a particular
Fondness
For vampire stories
Whether good or bad

I am a hitch-
Hiker mis-
Guided on the mis-
Information Super-
Duper Highway