If I Were to Die

If I were to die
and my hand were to hang
limply off the side of
this couch,
my cat would scratch her
face on it and she'd
thank me,
for relieving the itch,
with kisses.


Dear Friend, Lighten up!

Hello, my dear friend!
So happy to see you!
I've been working,
quite a while on the
Earth-quilt beneath you.
Do you like it?
I made it
from tree branches and
clay. I used to be
in a clan but they're
long passed away.
It's just me now, you see,
growing fruit on my
head--shedding bark
off my back. This rock,
here, is my bed. The
dead let new life be!
Be happy and flourish!
My dear, dear friend.
Have an apple!
Have a drink!
Let us watch the sun
rise and

Comment: I wrote this poem before I read the biography in the tarot-based “Faeries Oracle” and, though I'm still not convinced “faeries” are all around us causing things to happen, I'll admit I was a little freaked out by the way details in my poem matched the description in the book. This is probably a credit to the artist who drew the cards.
Milke à Muckle (aka A Mixed Blessing) is a grig of good family. As you have doubtless heard, grigs are merry-- so merry that they have become proverbial for it. They want you to be merry too, with a childlike open heart. Mikle informs us, Little things come in small packages.
Mikle and be foolish, silly, playful, and absurd... He understands renewing the spirit and re-creating the body and emotions... When we stop pretending to be adults for a moment...we can regain the clear, direct vision of a child... Milke reminds us that the past is past, gone forever, the future is just a dream, and now is the only time we have, moment by moment.


“Should we tell her?”
“Yeah. I mean. Yeah.”
As Emily continually attempted to coax the back wheel of the bike onto the wooden rail, the two, young men debated telling her the secret. This twisted rail, built from thin, flat wood (or very likely fiberboard), was coated with chipping white paint and, though it seemed sturdy enough, the boards nailed together were varied in length. This damned twisted rail seemed to be the only way out of this amusement park from hell. The way in which it ascended and plummeted mimicked neighboring roller coasters, but unless one was a young child, those roller coasters would be about as much fun as the zoo on a rainy day in winter when seeing part of an animal, behind branches, in the distance is considered a great success.
Emily had no memory of anything prior to this wooden obstacle and no thought of what was beyond it. Dragging the bicycle to different places on the boards and riding short distances consumed all else.
“Excuse me,” one boy called to her.
“You can't clean the counter if you don't have a sponge,” he said, calmly and with much confidence. She should have been confused, but in this hazy moment questioning the origin of logic would be highly implausible.