bumble fluttering with petals for wings…

By tdf, January 25, 2022

This period of bother, some have aghast, solemn expressed of the agony I must be experiencing and am, and of the fertile ground for torment I was never expecting, ill prepared for, which I should be writing plumbing depths, and offering reflection.

I prefer to reveal the reaction to the snippets of pain I never suspected would become me, rather than in shared seeking relation of audience..brazen feral in slivers when listening to The Clash in Savers, peeking at the ‘Literature’ section, toying with the idea of placing Horror offerings within the Romance shelf…but Rock The Casbah infects me deeply…

My spirit may well be prone to HOWL,

I may well lean towards spastic poet,

and am very much a cynical bastard,

hellbent on revealing the HORROR of our situation as a species,

as a society,

I can passionately rant and rave,

at the self proclaimed LEFT,

apathetic to to be called the RIGHT,

when I seek Nature and Romance beyond all else,

yet find most,

pour energy into revealing the source of their hubris as CONNECTED…

and yet,,,

I am unbridled, unaspected VENUS,

so when my heart has any reason to believe that the very best we are capable of,


I prefer to get tipsy and listen to,

dance in my courtyard pew,

to this silliness…

We can be aware of the horror,

flap our flippers against the tide,

yet still chase the sunshine.

Dance, prance,

seek every chance to dance and appreciate whatever is love and soft and gorgeous…

That fiend of a SAge!

He reminds me,

pours poetic echoes of too many fragments of dreams I am surrounded by,

to avoid the suspicion,

that Right, Left, Anarchist, Facist, Pacifist…

its all labels…

herd baubles,

When all that matters to me…and the only tribe I have ever known,

is seeking that same loveliness of butterflies with petals for wings,


bumble fluttering,

creation, adventure and romance!


I could have been ended or far worse mangled,

which causes and forces a period of reflection…

yet I I dont wish to repair and return to exactly as I was,


all that has taken more demand of whatever purpose I can find,

is to keep seeking rainbows in caves,

yearn for a Woman,

echo of Minerva,

to whom I can become the moon to her Earth,

seek to make her glow,

and nourish all she wants to grow,

with me and without me…

for her mere glare alone,

her words addressing anything I could briefly ascend to be,

will bring me all the happiness I crave and need…

For I am well aware,

as a Man,

sometimes awful, sometimes of value,

I am at my very best,

when feeling my heart sing the name of a Woman…

‘its like I realised for the first time what beauty was…’

atavistic errant knight,

anachronism become playful weasel to not fit in,

but survive and aim somewhere to walk the greasy tightrope,

prancing between walking towards the waterfalls and never coming back,


who can inspire me beyond the waves and ducks and clownfish and thunder and lightning…

when making Her smile is stardust….




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