Gustave’s Lady

I visited Paris once
Treated her fine
Took the time to
savor her dark espresso
very respectably
in a sidewalk cafe
yet she spurned me
as an insignificant thing
Just another foreign speck
with dreams of mounting
her Eiffel Tower and
telling everyone
how it was
I got halfway there
then changed my mind
From a distance those
long legs looked fine
but up close I feared
I would see worn thighs
from all of the guys that
took the ride
to the top
before me
So I never did
the Eiffel Tower
I only admired her
from a distance
Her elegant frame
still chaste
in my mind
Dressed in
alluring lights
Piercing the
night sky

Fog Advisory

Events that have
passed into memory
are no longer real

Absent the moment,
the visceral
blood and guts
of being there
they are reduced to
colorful shades of air



Yet we choose
to live there
Lost in their
misty miasma

The Call

I overheard in a dream
that he was seeking me
and I feared it
in the beginning

Such is his reputation
as one intolerant
of failure or weakness
What need has he
of one such as me?

He has not forced
the matter, he’s
let me be
But even though
I cannot see him
I feel he didn’t leave

He’s watching

Always near

Tomorrow I believe
I will try to
speak with him
Know the purpose of his
insistent lurking
then decide if he
should stay,
or go

if I have a choice,
or have been chosen

Election Day

The ambiance was
down at the diner
A wraith-like fellow
in flannel arguing
to an indifferent other
as the children played
with their food
An older lady looking
every bit a banker,
dressed to the nines,
quietly enjoying a slice
of homemade pecan pie
while two rotund deputies,
the town’s finest
I presume, ate
for free in
a corner booth
What message would
I choose from this broken
run-on sentence?
“Over easy”
I said to the waitress
as I watched a
brown dog
pee on the
red hydrant
across the street
sipping my coffee


A dragon prow
pierces the shroud
of mist to
imprint itself
upon history’s
virgin pages

With bludgeoning fists

With axe and roar

The body of the leviathan
is the Viking horde

The grapes of their
wrath are forged of gold
reaped through blood
with the edge of a sword
they send the faithful
to be with their lord

Without regard for
the Christian’s hell
their victory comes
if in death
they die well
and the skalds
gather their children
their glory to tell

Of Zombies and Cellos

Been wandering this life
for quite a long while
looking for something rare
to merit the endless miles
And stumbling along the spine
of a serpent masquerading
as highway
I heard a cello’s sublime
from deep in the woods
while vacant eyed
zombies gassed up their
late model rides
and chain saws
at the corner store
for their trip to
the city
to carve out their
bloody living
and I paused . . .
as I often do
when I hear a cello
in the woods
and suddenly
I understood
If the sun rises
and the sun sets
and you are blessed
to hear a cello
in the woods
then life is as good
as it gets

See No Evil

There is a wolf in the sky
In truth, there are two
Both purple and black
as a bone break bruise

It is not rain they bring
Nay, a far harder thing
is loosed

But what does it matter?

What use making a show?

The abused and the tattered
already know and the
to remain so

Both eyes tightly closed

Name Change

Yes, this used to be the Dragonfire blog, but I changed the name to Odin’s Bard – since he has the mead of poetry I’m trying to get 😉 So, that’s why you see likes and comments from a name you haven’t seen before. Peace!