West By God

Wild, Wonderful,

West Virginia.

Beautiful state.

Lovely place.

I live my life

in this mountainous haven,

day to day,


the trees turn in autumn,

the bud in spring,

shroud in summer.

Winter set in some time ago.

October was blustery,

November was wet,




now March.

all the stunning snow.

It fell,

it wafted,

it blew,

it sailed,

it covered,

it melted,

it returned again and again.

I think I’ll move to Florida,

and watch West Virginia on TV.



Who Am I?

i feel like,

i’m not sure.

the words just aren’t there.


maybe just an ephemeral spirit

in an etherial plane of quasiexistence



sort of a plasma

inside a plasma.


it’s not so much i’m scattered,

more like fuzzy at the edges.

like a pencil drawing

erased and smeared at the borders.


just a few months ago,

i was apathetic.

but vehemently apathetic.

i could scream

i don’t care.


now i’m just kind of

apathetically apathetic.


i can’t say who i am,

i’m not even sure what i am.



This Morning


Bleary eyed.

The sun streaming in the window,

Wakes me with its warmth.

I’m dragging,


Much to do,

But bored to tears.

My neck is sore,

and my back aches.

The children won’t be here this weekend,

they are snowed in.

I want to be excited,

to feel alive,

so long as there isn’t much effort to it.

Amuse me.

Something happen, please.

My God,

I’ve become lazy,


Brain dead.

I think I must have gotten old last night.



Her Emblazoned Mane

I do not know her name,

nor dare I ask it.

I have laid eyes this night

on the most enchanting hue of blaze,

to ever cross man’s field of vision.

These magic, curling locks,

could belong to none

save a Celtic lass

of purest spritely blood.

And I have no doubt

that she is of the race

that so enchanted Odyseus, Hercules,

and Sinbad of lore.

Nor would I swear

that she is not in fact the very one,

the selfsame siren

whose enrapturing spell was cast

so very long ago.

To ask her name,

by legend her most intimate possession,

would be to risk,

to gamble,

perchance to shatter,

the very sorcery

to which I cling.





A stone idol

to the goddess Life.

Hard.  Unforgiving,

Enslaved by a diety

he adores but cannot touch.

She waits for his worship,

Worship he can no longer give.

She yearns for his passion,

Passion he cannot possess.

She longs for his kisses,

Kisses that are but stone.

And she listens for his heartbeat,

But it does not.

In her unnecessary enslavement

of her one true disciple,

She has enslaved





Why do you hate me,

and threaten me with Hell,

when my only wish

is to strive to do my best?

I desire but to live free,

exert myself to my fullest potential,

and die well,

as any mortal should.

Do you find my rejection

of your brand of mythology

so offensive,

that you simply can’t see me?

Is there an almighty god

who claims his hand is just

that denies all that I stand for

all that is free

all that is beautiful,

all that is true and fair

because I don’t follow his liturgy?

And because I despise solitude,

Because I shall not starve myself,

And because of my love for woman,

Am I doomed to eternal torment?

Is this then

what he calls justice?

Is this fair or true?

Can this be beauty?

Will equity condemn the young,

the ignorant,

the sweet of soul,

for not reciting the proper words?

If this is what your god proposes,

then I must needs pass judgement,

on the arrogant,





of your god,

and give pity to his lonely soul.



The Labor

Lou FCDFor five days,

and five nights,

I have toiled to the brink of exhaustion.

Sweat has poured

in buckets from my skin.

My mind has raced

and twisted and turned.

Blood has dripped

from my battered fingers.

And tears have flowed

from my bloodshot eyes.

My unseen foe,


has pushed me to the edge,

and I am weary to the bone.

My body shakes in fatigue,

and I feel I can continue no longer.

Were there a god

upon whom I could call

I believe I would be tempted

to pray for merciful Death.

I would be hard pressed

not to beg for her comfort,

her solace,

her rest.

But for now my race is over,

my work is done,

my toil now suspended.

I sit before my computer screen

and let escape a gasp of relief.

Thank God,

there is no school on weekends.




Lou FCD“Why?”

you ask,

“do you write so much

about woman?

Her soft lips,

blazing eyes,

tender touch,

flaming spirit,

and burning soul?

Why her throat,

bared to your teeth?

Why her breast,

filled with passion?

Why her hips,

shaped to entice your lust?

Why her person,

wild as untamed horses?

Why her chin,

more high and noble than any king?

Why her kisses,

more honest and devious

than any manchild ever born?

And why her song,

the hypnotic song

of the siren?”


And I,

in humility,

must answer,


“My good friend,

It seems to me,

You have answered

your own question.

What more stunning creature,

could enchant such a man as I,


As Woman?”




Lou FCDLit up by the shining full moon,

Enwrapped by the biting October wind,

Roofed by the clear bright stars,

Standing with the hard, cold concrete

beneath my feet of ice,

I wait.

Time passes in circles,

Each breath is hours from the last,

Each heartbeat stumbles before the next.

There is no traffic,

this time of night,

No passerby to break the silence,

No owl in this city

to keep me company.

My thoughts have traveled

a million light years and back,

and again,

they rest on you.

Reality swirls

and is an extension of imagination

From the dark alleyway

a stone rattles against a brick,

From the black shadow

your form explodes into the light.

Your passionate greeting

leaves me bonless



We walk to the river,

along the bank,

Saying much,

but nothing on our common mind.



The Three Bears

Lou FCDCute,


Is how the exercise began.

She was reading from a book,

The Three Bears.

As I listened,


I began to recall.

There was a day,

a time to be more precise,

when I told this story to my daughter,


Each and every night.

I spoke the parts,

Papa was gruff,

Mama was motherly,

and Baby was small.

Her eyes were wide,


Like each time

was the very first.

“Hot stuff will burn you, Daddy,”

“Porridge is like oatmeal,”

“She broke it on accident, Daddy,

That’s ok, isn’t it?”

Though I am not given

to public grief,

The tears flowed beyond my control.

Not that I attempted to control them,

That would have meant futile madness.

I make no apology,

for apparent melodrama,

I simply explain my loss,

my grief,

my pain.




Lou FCDHer Cherokee blood,

Her dark hair and eyes,

Her wild intelligent spirit,

Fighting to break the chains

Shackled on her in childhood.

Knowing what freedom was,

Yet afraid to test the water,

Fearful of the mythology

and superstition of her youth.

In my haste and excitement,

I pushed her into freedoom,

And in terror,

in shame,

She huddled back into her prison,

and ran away from me.



Untitled about my Father

Lou FCDI walked along the shore,

Thunderous crashing of surf,

against the rocky cliffs below,

Cold wet spray of water

against my face,

Salty smell of the mighty Atlantic

burning in my nose.

Out over the water

I could see the proud ships

of my homeland’s navy

Coursing through the waves.

I sat upon a rock

and thought a while,

Remembering times

when I was quite young

And my father brought me here.

I miss my father.

We were great friends,

He and I.

We still speak,

every few weeks.

I drive the many hours,

Once or twice a year,

to see him,

hoping to recapture that something

That doesn’t seem

to still be there.




Lou FCDQuestions,

fill my wandering mind.

Where do I go?

What do I do?

Where have I been?

What have I done?

Junctures and crossroads,

Backstreets and alleys,

Highways and byways,


There has been much pain,

much sorrow,


and gloom.

But, too,

there has been happiness,

joy and contentedness.

Days of sun as well as rain.

There will be more of all,

I suspect.

Though I face the future,

with all its fearful consequence,

I just can’t wait to go on.



Heaven and Hell

Lou FCDWild.


Emblazoned with electric flashes,

The blue flames streaking across the sky.

Thunderous silence of pouring rain.

By the strobe-like lightning

she danced across the field.

With her hedonistic pleasure

she compelled me to follow.

A silent zombie,

I traced her steps,

to the edge of the abysmally black forest.

Without thought or hesitation

I shuffled into the yawning deep.



Rising again,

to follow the dancing spectre.


and there again,

the glimpse of her form,

Enticing me,

in this midnight game of follow the leader.

For hours she led,

For hours I followed,

Til at last,

beyond all time,

we came to her abode.

In a perfect circle,

In a break amongst the trees,

Where the rain crashed,

and the lightning flashed,

Where the moon was black,

We stopped.

Centered in the circle of trees,

Within her now concentric dance,

An altar beckoned me forth.

As I approached the marble slab,

Her movements transformed,

From the insane,

to the insanely erotic.

I, the sacrificial lamb,

and she the acolyte.

I lay upon the stone,




It was here,

the spawn of Hell was conceived,

And here,

the concept of Heaven was born.




Lou FCDDeath,

She is a comin’

for every man but me,

I am not afraid of her,

Nor is she of me.


I’ve danced with her,

and laughed at her,

While jumping from a plane,

I’ve done things

that other beings,

have often called insane.


I’ll ride her tails,

through starry trails,

And skitter all through space,

And all the while,

I’ll fly in style,

And chuckle in her face.


If she wanted me,

I clearly see,

She’d done already came,

But I’m the thistle,

the fatty gristle,

That Death just couldn’t tame.


And since she can’t

or won’t or don’t,

I’d like to change my plea,

I’m still sure ,

I’m not afraid of her,

But I think she is of me.



The Cliff

Lou FCDJagged



and perilous.

I stand on the edge,

Staring down into the abyss.

Mesmerized by vertigo,

Enraptured by fear,

Enslaved by terror.

This is the pit,

The dark swirling mist of insanity,

where I search for my soul.

Deep within the pit of Hell,

Where phantasms taunt

and lure.

The siren’s song is sweet,

the cinders’ smell stings.

It is here that I flirt with Death,

Her hypnotic promise of orgasmic pleasure

Softly whispered,

Yet powerfully received.

She calls to me,

Enticing me to surrender myself,

release my grip on consciousness,

relinquish my hold on stability.

With her sensuous hips,

her luring lips,

her blazing emerald eyes,

she tempts me.

I am transparent,

my weakness naked.

Her dance is erotic,


sexual to the core.

I have found myself,

but I do not fall,

I jump.



The Vampiress

Lou FCDShe came to me,

From the darkness that she prowled.

Her black eyes

and razor teeth

blazed with bloodlust.

She beckoned to me

from the moonless night outside.

I could not help

but invite her,

for she held me,

mind and body,

with but a thought.

Her hunger had driven her to my window

and mine had led her to her prey.

I knew she felt my yearning,

my lust for what she could give.

She paused above me,

Astride me in my bed,

and I saw the vortex in her eyes,

The pit from which there was no escape.

I gladly bared my throat,

and my dark desire fed her ravishing need.



Daddy’s Three Rules of Life

Lou FCDDon’t be afraid to live,

If you’re afraid to live, you’re already dead.

Think for yourself,

Don’t let anybody think for you.

Don’t believe everything you hear,

Just because you hear it, doesn’t mean it’s true.

(Especially from preachers and politicians.)




Lou FCDI am not afraid of gods.

For if we be not gods ouselves,

And masters of our own fate,

What is the point of life?



Untitled 6/20/95

Lou FCDI come to you in your dreams.


I watch your fantasies,

Your nightmares,

Your hopes.

I am there, waiting for you to notice me.

When you see me, you incorporate me,

Add me to the backdrop.

I whisper your name,

And you smile.

You can’t believe that I am here,

That I am more than your mind’s prop.

I don’t mind, as long as you are near,

As long as I can hold you.

As long as I can kiss you.

I tell you I love you,

And again, you smile.

The nightmares have stopped.