The laws of the worlds are old and stern

 And the gods they give power are grave,

 But you are the child of a universe wild,

 And you bear no rules to behave.

 For the universe laughed when it spun out your soul,

 And it chuckled when it gave you form.

 It decreed with delight that no law, writ or rite

 Would put bind to the power of your storm.

 You are free of the laws that the powers have made

 Since we first called their Names to the sky.

 You are free in the ways of the Ancient of Days,

 And your power is greater thereby.

 You turn and the winds of the hurricane whirl,

 You smile and the lightnings dance.

 You laugh and the Fire flares hotter and higher

 As it sings to the deepest expanse.

 

I was spun from the whispers of gentler flames

 And my powers are not of your kind.

 For I stand in the heart of the Maker of Art

 And I joy in the forms Its defined.

 For the universe smiled when it crafted my soul,

 And knew joy when it gave me form.

 It wrote deep in my core all the creation lore,

 All the Rites that make whole and transform.

 You are free of the borders these laws have set out

 Where I welcome horizons laid fine.

 As I build within rules using Creation's tools,

 Adding ever more depth to design.

 I turn and the weave of the loom chatters on,

 I smile and the forge fires dance.

 I laugh and the Fire flares hotter and higher

 As it sings to the deepest expanse.

 

Together we dance 'round the Fire that lives,

 Together our powers are bright.

 For you bring the heat that advances the beat

 While I set the steps we alight.

 For the universe laughed when it joined our two souls,

 And it smiled as it measured its skill.

 It paused long at the worth of this balanced a birth,

 Then it gave us the Life of its Will.

 Now you tap the fires that living brings forth

 And I shape new worlds in their heat.

 We dance with the glow that our powers made grow

 To the song that our love makes complete.

 

We love and the world finds a place of retreat,

 We nest and they understand Home.

 We joy and the fear of unknowns disappear

 As they turn wond'ring eyes to the dome.

 We turn and the sounds of the voices draw near,

 We smile and the stars join their dance.

 We laugh and the light makes the future ignite,

 As it flies to the outer expanse.

He takes tribute from the dark and bloody land,

 Drinks secrets of man’s hard-won history.

 He hums with ancient tales and recent lore

 And brings the best of all to gift the sea.

 

His face is dark with age, his hair stark white

 From time and seeing round too many bends.

 He moves with measured speed to his own voice

 As through the past to futures on he wends.

 

Old Man hears the whispered tales the waters speak

 He watches with a million glistening eyes

 And blinded by too many sighted years

 He knows the rhythmed waters and their ties.

 

For they are past and future as they hum,

 The secrets of the ages in their bed,

 Held sacred by the trust all rivers hold

 Who cradle both the living and the dead.

 

His face is dark with age, his hair grows white

 With time and knowing secrets that men keep.

 Inexorable in his forward drive,

 He follows ancient paths as on they sweep.

 

So walk the banks then knowing him in truth,

 And listen to the tales the waters tell.

 Their whispered song holds power as they form

 The vast halls where the River Father dwells.

“Those who fly highest see farthest…and dive most quickly to their goal.” - Falcon

 

The future held but fears for the first few thousand years

 In which humans dwelt aware upon the Earth.

 The world was wide and strange and quite narrow was the range

 Of knowledge we’d discovered ‘cross its girth.

 

Fits and starts let us advance and so carefully enhance

 Understanding of the rules the gods had placed.

 But still fearful was our view of the little that we knew

 And we worked to years ahead with little haste.

 

Single moments change this course and recharge our history’s force

 To rush onward to our still so-distant fate.

 Such events roll like the tide and from them no one can hide.

 They empower us and move us to create.

 

Yet events are not the source of the power of that force:

 People swell the waiting tide with living fire.

 A pair of hands with eager skill when inspired can crest the hill

 And sweep free impatient fortune from its mire.

 

Much more recent now are crests as the waves build without rest

 Toward a future some now dimly start to see

 We transition towards the prize some still fear will compromise

 All the knowledge we have gained through history.

 

They do not realize the wonder of the joyful ringing thunder

 That has heralded the decades just now passed.

 Where we once feared to embrace it we now actively out race it,

 Building futures only dreamers once forecast.

 

As more knowledge we’ve retrieved, more and more have we perceived

 A contraction of the vastness of our world.

 We must look beyond the known, this blue cradle we’ve outgrown,

 To the wisdom of the Universe unfurled.

 

So seek eagerly the stars, for indeed they can be ours,

 And the Universe rejoices at our leap

 For, as history records, of humanity’s rewards,

 The explorers’ are the greatest we can reap.

He said his name was Hawthorne

 Almost it was Hawkeye, but his father,

 Who had a slave’s name and wouldn’t give that to his son,

 Chose Hawthorne to join his two worlds.

 

He said he played harmonica.

 This was a skill it was good to know

 Since entertainment was always homemade and

“It made ya popular with de ladies….”

 

He said he was a sharecropper.

 Living on Shoal Creek after the War

 When people still worked the land and watched the water

 Before the world changed.

 

He said he died in 1931.

 The Great Depression had settled

 Into a South still wracked by Reconstruction, and no one

 Had any work for an old black man.

 

He said he had no kin.

 No wife or children lived on

 To remember him or who he had been to the rest of the world.

 He died alone.

 

No one dies until they are forgotten.

 Remember that, and know its truth.

 Learn to be young again, Hawthorne, after sixty-eight years.

 And I will hold the trust of Remembering.

From host to guest the law is known:

 Be welcomed fair into my home.

 Be rested and refreshed as need,

 All rights of kin to you I deed.

 The nourishment of Hearth and Heart

 Surround you and with you depart.

 

From guest to host the promise rings:

 The praises of your house will sing.

 No more I’ll ask, nor more I’ll take,

 Than I know need, for honor’s sake.

 Fair words and kindness given all

 As long as I dwell in your hall.

Sing to the Empires that laugh at your stories

 And sing to the people who cry at your tales.

 Wander through worlds of odd people and creatures,

 Travel far seas with strong winds in your sails.

 

Burn under suns in a hundred wide deserts,

 And freeze through the winters in forests of pine.

 Bask in the praise of each city’s fair nobles,

 And drink your fair share of each city’s strong wine.

 

Charm all the folk who will pay for your playing

 And laugh with the ones who can only give smiles.

 Live in each day as if out for its glory

 And you, bard, will know the true worth of your trials.

I was speaking one night to the Universe at large

In a dream where a million eyes blinked from a million stars

I’d been Home, you see, visiting family

And I had a request to make – not for me, but for others’ sake

“Find them mates who bring the best of them,” I asked,

“Men who love their fire, but temper it with laughs

Men who love their strength, and help them to be sure,

Men who glory in their loves, love their glories to assure.”

“My sisters are fierce and strong and bold

They need mates like that with whom to grow old

So when you seek their hearts’

Other missing parts

Oh Universe of glory, love and joy…

Recall this sister’s plea and if you can then just for me

Find them men who love them just the way they are…

But will help bring out the glories of their stars.”

 

 

(d'na na nah) No fire in my belly

(d'na na nah) No song in my head

(d'na na nah) My ding dongs is missin'

(d'na na nah) That damn Muse is dead

 

There's only a blank screen

Where there should be prose

That Muse shrugs and mumbles

"That's just how it goes."

 

She's gonna regret it,

How she shut me down

Let's see her inspire

From six feet undergroun'....

 

A blade or a hand gun

That’s too quick for me…

Maybe poison a cup

Or a sting from a bee?

 

Suffocation or fall

Or a fixture miswired,

Drowning or impact…

Great – NOW I’m inspired!