top of page

A bitter wind blows

into a slow motion

Slide show

An over exposed mind reel

Blasting in from the past

A watered down version

Of the man with the mask


A conquistador’s parade

in the faded fashions of yesterday


a procession for here and now

The past has gone underground

Tomorrow reigns nigh 

For a vibrant mind

Ahead of his time


So fine beneath

A waste land of shadows

Has the light grown dim

Where his dreams dwell


Perhaps a ship dwelling

A hull with no name

Witless and wandering

In these dark hours of pain


A maiden voyage through

The blackest inlet

Where there’s no outlet

Except for free will?

By Mary M. Park Et. al.            For STEPHEN KING   





the Fall sky ripe

with winters         announcement.          


pain is etched there too


golden yellow leaves

framed in a fierce embrace

against the thunder-grey horizon


I wait


in a quiet as cold and crisp as winter


an endless pause


and yet this place

is strangely beautiful

painted in the amber hues

of all that came before


the trees golden tresses fall

into stark oblivion

and the renewal of spring

seems an eternity



Golden gates

The way looped and spread

Between the darkness

To bridge the mists into


scintillate symbols

of days gone by to 

span the days ahead

hooves beating across

and within the bluest


to pierce the broken


our memories fly

beyond the solar system

into the very air we breath

forgotten highways

where soldiers fight

but there is no prize

our disgrace

the blood of giants

goldenseals to vast


the winds of change


bottom of page