Eternal War

Earth lives in sheltered comfort

from screaming bombs

missiles from hell

brought forth from the

greedy minds of moloch

of horror creation

where all die for the

religion of hate and control.


Those who leave the shelter

walk in their heavy armor in

alien deserts with

heavy swords of death

for the idolators of moloch

their face flesh burned away

bloody eyeballs seeing their

limbless bodies

impaled on missiles and spikes

of those who worship hate and fear.







die whores of moloch—–

worship him and die

a death deserved into an

empty abyss where

no virgin whores dwell.


Suffer your sad confused

soul to wander in raged

sadness from your own

golgotha and carry your

cross for eternity

where ego lives ——–


only your wretched consciousness

of your worthless earth journey where you

learned nothing———


be reborn endless lifetimes

into karmic suffering being a filthy fly squashed for

eons until you finally learn of love.

The Road

The road is long——

The road is straight——

The road is crooked and cracked and narrow——

I say the road is hard——

Covered with nails and glass

Sustenance long lost

To hungry coyotes

Who sleep with the white goddess

In her cabin by yesterday’s forest

She does not know the roads——

She does not know the pathways——

She has no need for such adventure

Or the infinite time of dead stars

No gross struggle searching

For answers to cosmic questions

Our universe hides in dark matter

Incomprehensible to those

Lost on desolate desert highways


Babylon 2017

A tattooed woman and the hog-eyed man

watched the parade of lost souls

strolling the boulevard

beyond the darkness

when three apocalyptic horsemen

on chrome chariots where home-

less held signs asking

for peace and redemption

from bad music and inane poetry

that permeated the polluted air

somewhere north of San Francisco

where tired old hippies

smoked hash from a forgotten age

when we all dressed in flowers and sage

and lived free of controlling kings

and sad lovers in gilt towers

south of Babylon

Angel in the Snow

Angel in the snow,

sometime after midnight.

15 below in Barcelona.

My full moon shed a frozen tear.


Angel in the snow,

what do you want to do?

You can fall in and out of love,

how can I face not knowing?


Angel in the snow,

our conversations were simply metaphors

for hearts lost a millennium ago in a faraway city

where too much distraction destroyed our course

through ages of quiet moons,

through ages of starless nights

in the darkness of our souls.

My Blog

FYI, for those who might be reading my blog, I will not be posting everyday, but sparodically. My time has become less as I am working with my publisher on my latest novel and am intently into writing my next. Thanks to all who have commented or liked some of my poems. I, as well, enjoyed seeeing what others are writing. Sadly, I just do not have the time at present to follow you all. Hopefully, see you later.