Minor keys descending

herald of our doom

Soundtrack for the march of time

Serpents in quicksilver and smell of voodoo

spill from monastery gates

You’ve made me what I am

and I curse you for it

No purpose for a final chapter

to a tale already ended

in every way that matters

No thread of subtext to pull

that will revive this garment

All raiments have been cast to dust


Preludes, Op. 23

Suffer brandy’s somnolence in darkened chambers

Sergei’s stark keys sound empty

in hallways and upper floors

Notes to goad the complacent from smug defeat

Undercurrents of accusatory clauses

floating room to room

They seek compliant victims

Only deaf mutes escape

with their protest unspoken

and spared the humility of feeble utterance

drowned in the fury

Lamentations in Cardiff


Celtic crosses cast pale shadow

from dun light through mists

This wilderness of grey stone crags

or matted thatch in brown

To the cold brook where earth trembles

Find a mountain for your seat

Where bitter dregs may find your palate

pure water still will sate your thirst

from springs primeval

Where Arthurian echoes sound

At rail’s end the sea begins

and dreams of shame sleep silent

that we may forget


Wait… what? Vol. 48

Long before Turner Classic Movies I developed a fondness for the old “black and whites”. That is how I and my contemporaries used to refer to films from the Golden Age of Hollywood. Just as it is today the studios turned out a lot of real dog features, with only a handful having any hope of enduring.  One film from the period that has always been a favorite of mine is the 1946 feature The Strange Love of Martha Ivers. 

I stumbled across this film today and began to watch it for the first time in perhaps as long as twenty years.  If you have not seen the film I encourage you to check it out. I won’t give away anything here. For those of you who have seen and remember the film I have something to share.

In the story the young Walter (whose adult character was played by a very youthful Kirk Douglas) bears witness to a tragedy. It was one of those transformative events that may occur in any person’s life; a real turning point, if you will. At that point the young Walter makes a decision that will haunt the rest of his life. He decides that his play is to stay. He calculates that if he stays he will ultimately be rewarded. Now I truly understand the lesson contained in this story. There is no reward for staying. Those of you who know this film will understand what I mean.


A hangover’s prayer

All is quiet this New Years Day

when Merrymakers have gone away

This solitary silence

to nurse those wounds

inflicted in the annum past

A momentary ambivalence

exuberance that can not last

As digits on calendars change their place

A blank expression left upon your face

nothing’s really changed

but the numbers

A segmentation for memories to tell

A day prescribed for poisons to expel

Wake me when it’s Monday

Oh please, not before

A New Year’s resolution

not to do this any more


Alison’s Eyes


Lo-fi, Lo-res, analog primitive

stark and minor keyed

when recorded in mono

like a clay pot fired

on the last day of Pompeii

A final human gasp

of artistic expression

before ruin and enslavement

In vinyl, preserved ever fragile