Unknown Gods (a poem)

Pitter-patter, rain soaks the earth
And I pray to the unknown gods
Asking for mercy, but they force me
To give up on idealized visions
Of future civilizations of peace

We all want a piece of harmony
But are we willing to pay the cost?
In the terrible frost of endless winter
We’ve become jaded and bitter

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Shadows, Light, and Myth (a poem)

There is no light without the shadow
There is no dawn without the darkness

In the primordial awakening, the Sun God
Was bathed in intense light and the blinding
Rays of gold accompanied his coronation

He met Mother Moon in the field, in the cover
Of the darkness, their naked, lithe bodies
Faintly shining by the light given off
From each of them, as they consummated
The love of the world

The shadows danced in the tall grass
And The Shadow Man peered from behind
The shadow-side of each of the Gods
Their murderous and lecherous sides

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Yearning to be Like the Gods (flash fiction)

Here’s a piece of sci-fi flash fiction about the hubris of humanity and the pursuit of super-powers. It’s about 625 words and has an estimated reading time of 2 and a half minutes. Let me know what you think!

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The Moon-Ruler (a poem)

The moon in his palm
He thinks himself a god
How can he be so calm?
Our feelings, he disregards

He can crush the moon
In an instant, just like that
Leave fragments strewn
Floating like acrobats

The moon-ruler must be stopped
Or it’ll be darkness for us
On earth, we feel mocked
Our beloved moon could be
Gone with just one thrust

(Photo by jasper benning on Unsplash)

City of Dogs (a poem)

Stray dogs rule this town

on other sides of rusted tracks

where train-cars no longer run by,

and broken needles litter roads of

utter urban hell –

hear dogs howl at nasty nightfalls

under black canvases of iron skies,

smell my rotten soul,

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Wormwood (flash fiction)

The gods often come in disguise. I know this, I know it all too well. But I forget sometimes. The slick salesman didn’t look like a god – far from it. He was a wheeler-and-dealer, a card shark. He told me so.

Jet-black hair slicked back, greasy with gel. White dress shirt, dark red tie that screamed “power!” and “too much testosterone!” What a bore this guy was. He tried to sell me a used car, something that wouldn’t get me very far, one that would creak, moan, die by the side of the road.

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American Shrine (a poem)

Traveling through America, in search of the Shrine

you know the one, mister, the place that encapsulates

our nation’s fears, dreams, triumphs + loathing –

some say the shrine is a shopping mall

Mother Church of Consumerism

but you know better

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