A Strange Occurance

Perhaps I dreamed that night
at which I looked out the window late

Seeing a dim light upon the street
there, a quiet, robed figure in black
with a hat upon his head

The rain as it poured seemed to write the music
as the man danced among the raindrops
light shooting form his fingers
and the ground shook beneath him

There, also out upon that street
another figure, dressed in crimson

the two seemed to be dancing
in a wild, rage of fury
terrible rays of light they shot at each other

I confess, I shook, afraid
there at the window latch
as I watched the two at work
but surely this, a dream I had
and not a story true

I watched in shock
there as the man in black, robed with hat
delivered that fatal blow

a terrible light that lit the sky
and alas his crimson foe was gone

And then, it seemed he looked my way
as the lightning split the sky
and then the next moment I watched
the street, it empty sat

I would not tell this dream I had
were it to end right there
for today, it seems I saw that man!
walking in the village square

he turned and tipped his hat to me
winked as I went by

and suddenly, my dream came back

I think perhaps I need some rest
this story could not be true

But then again

as I turned to still my troubled mind
and show myself my foolery

where did he go?

Fiction Science

Genetically modified
cellular regeneration

Interstellar communications
twisting atoms and quarks

Teleportation
travel though space and time
black holes, worm holes
space ships and aliens

Saving the galaxy
saving the universe

Technological insanity

Some science, real science
much fabricated

Such wonderful, perfected universes
ruled by incredible technologies

Will the world live to see such things?

Or are these incredible futures
forever, always mere fictional worlds?

Ghost Town

A quiet town
lost in time
with a tired, grey fog
on the ocean side

Not a lantern to the window
not a soul on the street
just the quiet, whispering wind
and the darkness of night

The street lights, flickering on
as the sun sets its peace
and the wind picks up speed
howling down the lane

Quiet chatter
behind the windows and boards
creaks without action
whispers without people

Critic

Sitting amidst the things we hold dear
shouting aloud the ones that are good
decrying those that fall short
we read and we watch with raptured eyes

Please tell us what is good
please tell us what to watch
what to not
think for us

Yet to dream of this legend job
for each finds their own interest
and finds the grass greener
oh how wonderful twould be

For some perhaps, the movie critic
how dreamy to be paid to watch the movies you hold dear
to another perhaps, the food critic
eating food for a living! How could this be bad?

Still others left to criticize
games, books, music, more
each seems to find that thing
seeking out the experts

But secretly I think
the expert is here within
when we take our experience
and look at life with fresh eyes

Yes, the things we find dear may not be popular
perhaps they rate on the lower scales
but there are gems to be had out of the limelight
find the critic's voice within

Unwinding Clocks

The clocks upon the wall
their hands, spinning
backwards, backwards
faster, faster

The room, spinning, dissolving
on a trip unlike any other

He stands alone
destined to repeat the fates
cursed with ability

Unknown to all but a few
silently working
often behind the scenes
pulling the levers, triggering events

A maverick of eons
yet from a time long past
unstoppable.
doomed.

With a snap of his fingers
he moves the mountains
vanquishing his foes
in seemingly limitless power

Embittered by destiny
a hero to some
a villain to many

He scoffs at all but the greatest challenges
and quietly struggles with the grand story

A man in black with crimson trim
with a silent, hidden face
and fingerless gloves

Perhaps you'll see him
if destiny calls
and the fates intertwine
wish not for the fates to be against you
as you do not wish for this opponent

Should you ever see his eyes
steel and gray
count yourself among the few
as death itself fears to look that way

Downpour

The lightning overhead
an instant light of the scene
daylight for a moment
in the midst of an incredible downpour

Boots falling like thunder
throwing puddles aside
as the man walks through the rain
heavy like the sky overhead

A wide-brimmed hat, dripping with rain
the steel, grey eyes peering out underneath
and a long overcoat
the rain slides down off his frame

His hands hanging down at his side
dark, black gloves without fingers
the rain, dripping
from his fingertips to the ground

A tinge of hair, covering his face
sticking out neath the hat above
dark brown with a hint of silver
seemingly young but aged

The flashes above give a hint to his face
dark and brooding
but perhaps this, a grin?
he stands as a mountain, mocking the storm

Techno Stream

A streaming onslaught of pixelated masses
ones and zeroes translated into wonderful worlds
people and places, springing to life on illuminated screens
as the humans drown out, in a technological overflow

Electricity becomes information
information becomes media
audio, video, entertainment and knowledge

an incredible wellspring
more data than one person can fathom

The collective grows, accelerates, like the universe

Come, dive in
they tempt with bright colors and flashing ads

Community?
Perhaps so,
it grows and moves yet with anonymity

This incredible place of wonder and danger
such potential, such a high point to fall from
we must ready ourselves
for the future is here already

Electric Distance

The widening chasm
it opens its maw to swallow us whole
enlarging the gap
ensuring the distance

An electric field of separation
a physical distance
an emotional displacement
barriers insurmountable

Surely there are so many things that stand in our way
if money infinite
if time endless
then difficulties would not exist

But the rewards, worth the effort
despite the gap
the dejected feelings
and the realization of separation

Even this technology
that speeds these words along
though it helps on some days
it may hinder on another

Alas I know the temptations
to slide into something far less than useful
to just drift along and wait listlessly
instead of getting up and doing the work

But energies must be funneled
and much left to do on this earth
so one way or another, with a dash of patience
it becomes time to sit and muscle out our daily bread

But what, pray tell
is my time most useful?

To write such words for the joy of a few?
To shuffle about and travel the distance?

A time of invisibility
and unfortunate possibility

So march onward still
perhaps the dawn of the morrow shines of adventure

Cannonfire

The crimson glow of a night on fire
a fortress taking heat and giving its share
as the cannons ring out from atop the bastion spire
and we wonder alas when will the dawn break

Reinforcements that seem they never will arrive
in a night that seems it will never end
soldiers that huddle as a frightened hive
praying that the cannon fire would end

Oh wonder it is should we despair 'for the sunlight's rays
wrestling with the sleepless night ablaze
in a battle that seems has gone for days
but that day shall come should you choose to stay this fight

For far too many have abandoned the fortress tall
to leave the many to die
though at such times the decision seemed so small
they have left it to us to take the heat

So when the night stretches long
and the cannon fire seems to never end
stand your ground, remember the fight belongs to the strong
for if you do not stand to fight, then someone else will

Overlook

The sun rose over the valley distant
the snow falling over the land
as Lance stood upon a cliff's edge
pondering the precipice of his fate
he scratched his chin and mulled his mind
a gleam in his eye as a hawk over his prey

A changed man a task makes
for there on the rising horizon
stood a knight of courage



yet every day he rises as any other man
every day he eats his breakfast and travels onward



Dressed in a heavy cloak of winter
white like the snow that surrounds
caped and strong, as determined as frost

he breathes just to watch his breath in the cold
to ensure that he still lives
that life is yet more than the dreams that haunt


He rubs his gloved hands together in the chill
ragged gloves of leather
fingerless and battered

Once an ordinary man who set upon a quest
a journey completed and a terrible end

Now his errand set
a guardian of old
a keeper of peace and goodness bright

Such a mystery, this lone ranger
living amongst the wild and remote
few he loved would recognize him now

death's doorway has changed the man that was left

Floating Point

Decimals
Numbers
Technology and Intricacy
Mechanisms and Machinery

Computing Power, Algorithms
Mobile Devices
Internet
Your Decisions Made

Lifestyles
Wealth and Power
A Whole New Game
A Whole New Prison

Every Day
Every Minute
Ones and Zeroes
Around Your Head
Around Your House
In the Air

Life Encapsulated
in Data Simulated


................suffocating ourselves.
take a moment
....breathe in real life

The River Pt. 3

Destiny, it seems
not always a glorious tale
not always an end we wish for
these thoughts rumbling through their heads
as they march through the muck and mire

The equipment, too heavy for this final leg
armors thrown off, shining in the marsh
swords and shields left to sink and melt
just a couple of average people
sick with pain and long overburned

Their resemblance to humanity fading
merely wild things of nature
forcing their way in a dark place
the snarls around them cannot deter them
they will not stop

Till at last in sight the goal of this terrible road
flowing wide and long in a land of desolation
the black river
its sight brings the chills
its sounds brings the sickness

Trudging forward upon its banks of hatred
they stare out upon the ghastly current
as their quest begins to convene
as their paths begin to converge
everything will come together quickly

Outstretching their hands over the chaos
an incredible white glow rocks the everblack night
suddenly, the scene is brilliant and quiet
as the cries of creatures nearby grow frantic
and are suddenly silenced

The moment has come
all courage required
as the opposition rallies its force
to overtake the rising white tide
and the two steady their hearts

Quietly, walking through the dazzling light
comes a man dressed in the drab of the river
his face blank, his stride confident
a devious look in his eyes
coming for the two men of light

The opponent has come
a weapon of a man, large and muscular
grinning snidely at the light
stretching his fingers out violently
as the young man turns to face him

The young man has no weapons
and neither does his opponent
for there by the river a fight will be given
to determine the future
to determine the fates

The young man will buy his companion the time
as he continues to blast the dark with all his remaining might
as evil meets determination
and the two become locked
in a hand to hand combat

The young man has lost much of his energy
his body even now is failing as the two opponents face off
one, a terrible mountain of strength
the other, a valiant on his last legs
blows quickly become blood

A boxing match unlike the world has seen
as the young man delivers the best he has left
an incredible blow to crack the ribs of an ordinary man
but this evil is much stronger
as he smashes the face of the young man with a hook like a hurricane

Clearly outmatched
the young man has not strength of his foe
perhaps not even the cunning
but the very definition of tough
he takes each blow, worse than the last

Badly bruised, badly bloodied
one eye barely opening and red
bones, clearly broken from the pain
but still he stands
still he fights

His foe, now the desperation sinking in
becoming increasingly harried in his strikes
determined to sink this peasant quickly
has found a match not like the others
a rough, lowly hero who cannot be beaten

Blows exchanged,
each cracking the jaws of the other
but the young man spits the blood out
and still he stands, fists flying
from a body that should long have passed

There, in the forgotten lands
miles away from the comforts of home
in the wilds of nature, amongst the violence of evil
the river's tide was stemmed
and the light swallowed the darkness one more time

Later, when the tale is told
of the two that left to save us all
little will be known of their terrible journey
little will be known of the pain, the heartache, and the sacrifice
those that fell along the way, long forgotten

But what of the heroes of our grand story
what reward for their valiance?
you will hear rumors and stories great
but alas nary a soul who knows for sure
for they were not seen as they once were

Perhaps the fight is never quite over
one epic struggle to another
perhaps you may see them far off again
the two white knights of legend
ordinary men of determination

Far greater heroes than when they once set out
I think perhaps they are still out there
When needed, they will come again

the white knight Lance
and his companion Joshua

The River Pt. 2

The grey sludge began to seep into the grass
as the two grew closer to their destination
their boots sinking with each step
as the green and beautiful trees
gave way to the expansive gray wastes

All left to remind them of where they came
a few scattered dying things
ghosts of plants that once thrived
now marking their deathbeds like gravestones
and still the eyes peered out from the distance

The sounds would come at night
and lie awake clutching their weapons they would
some nasty, terrible hiss one night
followed by a terrible cry another
but still they would wake the next morn and walk

Too late to turn around
the food, short in supply in these gray lands
and rations running thin
water, too, hard to find
as the black liquid began to flood their minds

His companion
a little more ill each passing day
his wound not healing the way a normal one should
his face looking gray
yet his spirit stayed bright

Wincing here and there from pain
but determined to grin a time and again
the young man taking heart
knowing their time on this plane
a temporal thing

Mere mummies, they seem
the walking dead in a cemetery world
remembering faintly the day they set off
brightly shining knights in armor brilliant
now broken and strapped about for function, not form

A path marked by violence more than hoped
footsteps laden with blood marks
yet the hero's welcome comes at a price
and much they have given
is their own

The young man's thoughts
adrift back home with each step
the maiden he left
the sad goodbyes
but for peace, much must be given

Running a hand through his hair
he unfurls his pack upon a dry piece of ground
one of the last he's seen in many a stride
their final goal is just ahead
perhaps the journey may end. Tomorrow.