Hiking through the woods I seek my Moira.
My [Fae] Mockingbird wears a Fedora.
Red-Winged Blackbird pecking through the Flora;
Born-Again Opera Star is its Moira.
When a Seagull flies it sports an Aura;
Spiraling into Sunlight, its Moira.
At Dawn, the Crow Caws, Avian Torah;
Communicate, an Ultimate Moira.
Have you listen to a Kookaburra?
To be filled with Laughter’s a nice Moira.

MOIRA (moi-ruh) – the personification of Fate.



In the hall of a black and white photo
Doors open, shadows invite dreaming “SO”.
Like the wind, the black birds fly one and all
Casting shadows on my living room wall.
On searing hot days green grass looks yellow,
But within a tree’s shade, heat will mellow.
Contemplating the dark between tree limbs
Creates, within me, meditative vim.
As I watch birds gliding across the sky
Their Silhouettes, their Style, inspires me – FLY.


In the grass, alas, I see an old shoe.
Will the dew destroy this artifact’s glue?
And what’s the background, what’s the story;
looking for the footwear’s allegory!
Sunlight in the grass makes the dew glitter
and the eyelets in the old shoe shimmer.
Are those teeth marks I see in the leather?
Was this a chew toy for a dog’s pleasure?
Oh tell me the answer, for which I will wait
to find out what happen to this shoe’s mate!!!


(…hats off to Bob Dylan and his song, Blowin’ in the Wind…)

How many revisions must I walk down
searching for the metaphorical crown?
How many seas must a smart-ass seagull skim,
before basking in the tide’s baneful brim?
Yes ‘n’ how many times must a squirrel scream
before I FINALLY get what it means?
The smell of flowers is drifting in the wind,
disrupting the monologue in my mind…