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I kept getting E-Mails about the poem "Buddy", so I figured, OK.
Yeeeeeeeeeeeah, boo-koo mistake! My writing blows chunks!
So, to spare you all, let us just pretend, that I changed my name:
"Hi, I'm Jack Squat....don't expect too much from me."
RATHER, I'll offer you some TRUE talents like Avalon, and, will just throw
in a tid here, a bit there, of things or sayings that grabbed
me in any way that was special.

"You Must Choose:
Do You Wish To See (Perceive) Nothing, Or Do You Want To See Thing As They Really Are?
It Is Not Hard To See Things As They Really Are, It Is Simply A Matter Of Tearing Down Walls,
Ridding Oneself Of Defenses And Presumption, Rendering Oneself Vulnerable, An Idiot, A Fool.
But It Is Not Easy To See Things As They Really Are, Because It Is Painful,
It Is Real, It Requires Response, It's An Incredible Commitment.
To Go Nine-Tenths Of The Way Is To Suffer At Every Moment Utter Madness.
To Go All The Way Is To Become Sane.
Most People Prefer Blindness.
But Most People Are A Dying Race."

.....Paul Williams


Some thing not loved by,
God, Almighty,
swings the censer
on this eve of vilest desecration.

Within foul pot
incense, most rare, burns by
smallest coal from Hell.

Snaking stench of primal decadence
loosed upon the mortal sphere,
beckons those who house
an ancient soul.

Moister than the rawest
meats whose lives still cling with
warmth and blood,
abandoned souls
refuse of Man's droll attempt to
save the self through
conscience, undenied
did wake the one
who preaches soon.

Aroused this first and final time
gluttonous cabal hasten at
the silent call reeking of
such feast to free dread
darkness from its
bright, bright dungeon.

Verse copyrighted: Avalon Butler
and displayed here with her
very kind permission.

Looking Glass, Nocturnal

When crickets' song be pasted fast
to wings which shudder not,
'tis silvered bath by Heaven's port
kind candle to Night's eye
whence dewdrops thieve prismatic hues
lest mortal Man may grieve.

No likeness, fair, nor idyll, sweet,
adorns Arachne's web;
not undue praise or virtues donned
delight him who beholds
thus misery erodes such heart
as spies her tapestry.

Dread scribe to Probity, she weaves,
like epic saga, foul:
of sins' moraine, epitome,
doth tangled web bespeak
black macadam loosed ids comprise
toward Doom's gaped maw guides still.

Verse copyrighted: Avalon Butler
and displayed here with her
very kind permission.


Tortuous paths did lure two blistered feet impaled with
thorns and prickers to nap on sylvan beds of crispin
leaves that whispered in the twilight.
Yet, Gypsy blood could not be wooed by rivulets forked from brambly dams.
Her wit piercing lore, though in its realm, defied the beast's enchantment.

With naught else save a hooded cloak to shield self
she trod past fiercest mutilation of those who scoffed this
full-orbed night, and let themsleves be seen.
Flaming torches, newly fallen, blazed beside the spoils, fresh,
of recent feasting strewn among yon carrion made silky white
with squirming maggots.

Moist nostrils flared, it sniffed chill air made warm
with scents of savory sweat so faint above the
sweet, sweet winds of rot.
Bestial strength this biped claimed who, wrought by hunger,
stalked its unseen prey.
Of savage mind, yet human heart, it bore the lupine curse
where crimson hue
death's bridal shroud
the predator's eyes did blind.

Damned to gorge from living souls who'd flaunt their naked lives,
it prowled in search of kindred, unbeknownst.
Not till the weapon tore its heart to loose the mortal pith
did wild eyes behold the visage masked in crimson hood.
And though a crippled thing upon the earth,
it raised one paw to greet the tears of anguish
its grandaughter freely confessed.

Verse copyrighted: Avalon Butler
and displayed here with her
very kind permission.


The garden pond is lovely
on such balmy summer nights.
Fairer than the warbling maiden,
lilies in the moonlight flourish.
Sensuous and serpentine,
the casual course of koi at play
who lure the naive guests.

Yet, when they gather closer,
and inhale at the beauty,
ghastly is the aura which
one's eye cannot perceive.

The tending maiden warbles
a match for nightingale's song.
Lonely is love's melody
with which she woos that pond.

For there, beneath the surface,
her love floats dead and bloated.
Two barren sockets blindly stare
while greedy fish consume his lips.
Tender lily roots hold fast
to liver, spleen, and flooded lungs
that rest upon his chest.

Verse copyrighted: Avalon Butler
and displayed here with her
very kind permission.

Waking up, it's cold and dark. Look around and see nothing but darkness.
Far away a distant light calls out to me in a soothing and familiar voice.
Saying for me to come and see the light. Walking forward, memories of a far
away smile guide my steps. I feel myself falling and yet still I stand.
How long have I been walking? It seems like forever and yet the light seems
to only get farther away. Still calling for me to come. Come and see the
light. It calls for me to hurry, I can't wait forever.

I press myself and start to run. Entire body aches in pain. The light is closer now, and
seems to encourage me with mesmerizing words of love. Running faster with
visions of a long ago embrace. The fearful tears that begged me to stay and
yet told me to go. Don't worry I say. My voyage is almost done and I will
be home to you soon. Looking up I freeze in terror.

Where is the light? Where is the angel of my life? Far away a glimpse of light breaks through
the darkness. My knees are weak. I can't stand anymore. Falling down the
tears begin to flow. Crying out for an answer. What force is this that
keeps me away? I can't breath, the darkness is strangling me. Fighting to
stay, darkness pushing me away. Going limp, the end is near. Fighting for
one more sound, all becomes quiet. I close my eyes and try to envision the
joy of the past. Try to see that beautiful face and hear that angelic
voice. Nothing. I open my eyes and realize all is well again. Lying in my
bed, I start to cry as the bars that imprison me become clear. Yet another
day with my inner pain. Another day closer to the end of all that is pure
and good.
Please let me go back to sleep.
Please let me go back to the nightmare that is
my inner vision.

(c)Colias Lore, USAF
*posted w/permission