Clockwork Angels

Clockwork angels
Heads of glass
Wings of brass
Hang flightless in the air
Hourglass is turned
They shift in measured stride
Blinking slumber from their workings
Their bodies stuffed with gears
That wound fill their bodies with life
And now they dance

The Creature

In the winter of the night

In solitary stands

a creature of earth and sky

Whose reach exceeds its grasp

In fires light that pierce the night

Heralds a day of atonement

When all is clay once more

The sea sinks deep in rock

The end will near

The Creature bows its head in silence

Poet Meshugeh

Hear the noise
The children playing
The honk the screeching
Birds chirping, laughter
Poet sits in wasted room
With sea of paper looming tall
Ink splats soaking
The sunlight moving on
Poet sulks moodily
Draining his thoughts with pen
Wind thru open window sweeps
The sea becomes a fury
Circling the poet viciously
Cunning quick cutting deep
Poet sits
In ruin waste

Wings

One wing of paper
The other of feathers
Flap one and you shall rise
Flap the other and you shall burn

Arbre

Winding twisting tearing growing

Ever life 

The slow staggering pace

Shaping time differently

Knotting wrapping binding growing

Outward creeping slowly