His blue eyes (A Poem)

His eyes were like the sea after a storm
When the waves sweep swells southward as they stumble
Bluer than the gems of merchants guild’s baubles
Were those orbs
That fairies that haunt forgotten forest become bereft

Enchanted, bewitched, and bejangled
Are those who gaze upon them
Their cool color calms calloused characters
Into sweet lullabies

Yet under that cool stare
Burns a fire ferociously fixating on finding truth

Seeking simple secrets of the sojourner
With pen and paper and points to ponder
These cool coloured eyes careful and considerate
eyes that contrast this ebb and flow of fire and water

So don’t be bewitched by beautiful beguiling stare, the color which promises patience and ease
For underneath burns a fire most deadly my dear
In the depths of those dueling deep seas

River (A poem)

river Gubala

placid ebbing by
Mystic depths spiraling
strengths in undertow

Sister of the sky
one mission, forward, Semper Avanti
never the same as you were a moment ago

a leaf falls upon your face and swiftly goes
aloft man’s true time piece
from seasons pressing urgency
reminding me, things change
even when they stay the same.

Virginia lady, golden hair (A poem)

I woke this morning to the news that a journalist had been murdered along with her camera man. Sleepy, I scrolled through facebook media and ran across the video of the moment the camera man was shot, and the woman fled.

I found out later her name was Alison Parker, 24 years old. And her cameraman, Adam Ward, 27.  Both engaged. Both just starting life as they worked for WBDJ in Virginia.

And I railed against gun violence today on social media. Called out the hypocrisy of certain political figures and so on….I think the poignancy of today was America saw her final moments. She died, afraid.  And I wept.

So, i did what I know to do. The only thing I know to do these days. I wrote something for her called, Virginia Lady, Golden Hair. It’ll be a way for my poor helpless ADHD mind to remember her when I go to the ballot box.

I never knew your name before today
Sweet woman of the east
But I saw your candle flicker in an intimate moment
Before your soul departed beyond the strength of mere mortal reach

Virginia lady, golden corn silk tresses
A smile like the five o’clock sun
your soul shook the floor of my human condition
When what was said was said and what was done was done

Dear sweet beautiful lady
Oh how I want to have not learned your name
Yet You enchanted me in mere seconds
Brief breathless moments
And I wept for you just the same

Virginia ,they say, is for lovers
A state named once for a Queen
But the heavens tonight are weeping, unfettered
For the Golden haired beauty lost to the night
And the Royal you might have been.

(Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide.
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.)

Rest in Peace Adam and Alison. And to the family and friends of theirs, my deepest heartfelt condolences. America is here with you. God Bless.


I bow my head to the sea (poem)

I come to the sea at night
The sun  purple remnants in the west
I  smell the sand, golden, warm from the day
I taste the salt, brine on my tongue

wisps on the air

A thinly restrained chaos
to which civilization bends its knee
as the waves rushing passed each other
In foamy crests which lay down and then pull back

as it has done

for an eternity

I stand there at that brink
at the cool knife’s edge where water and sand meet
Arms splayed outward, an arrogant kite
Ready to be taken

I can hear the roar,  the power of wind and surf

wondering at its leagues and depths as forward it rolls

waking to the sheer power of its majesty

a place where giant beasts call home

in it’s cold, dark fathoms,

where ships lay strewn on silty sandy floors, forgotten,

it lays down and then pulls backward

the cool sand at my feet collapses

as if she means

to take me away as if I never was

I falter, my arms lower
Clasping hands come together


of my insolence, arrogance, and infinitesimal might

my face colours
I bow my head to mother, I bow my head to the sea

Beyond the Witching Hour

Beyond the witching hour,
thoughts lengthen tonight,
as they join the wind

The trees sway with springs first buds
darkness is heavy here
this side of the earth

I wonder about the spirits
pressing hard against the night
fingers grasping at the veil

their shouts but a whisper
just beyond the hearing

I listen
as my lover sleeps on

F.E. Feeley Jr
This is an older poem
edited by C. Atmar

Michigan Winters (A poem)

I remember the winters, and the snow late at night
with the world set ablaze from the moon’s silver light
I remember the stillness, the quiet, akin to death
flying heavenward, always upward, the heat from my breath

I remember how time always seemed to me,
suspended like ice cycles on the bows of fir trees
teardrops on maples, void of their leaves
limbs frozen over, as if laid barren by thieves.

I remember walking, those long wintery roads
yet unmarked by tire treads, or other folks I’d known
My feet would crunch and kick and I’d slide
I’d laugh as I stumbled risking my pride.

Oh, I didn’t’ care. There was no one but me
alive in the world, at least as far as I could see
the only tracks left behind me were mine,
no one watching, no one telling, no reason to lie

So when the stumble came, I’d let it come I’d roll in the snow.
I’d laugh, I’d curse,
it’s hard under there, you know.
There was no pride and no mission
No place I had to be. It was just the winter,
empty streets, my boyhood, and me.

Alone, not alone