(C) Copyright SNOWbear Productions. T h a n k Y o u F o r V i s i t i n g

The Oath

   When his son turned seven years old, Nadan told Kyon, “Son, people will kill me one day.”
   The boy looked at him and said, “No father do not say that.”
   Nadan continued, “I tell you this so that when it happens you will understand and not be caught off guard.  But they will and I wanted you to know that no matter what happens, I love you and am very proud of you my son.”
   His son assured him, “I know.  Gratitude father; but, why would someone want to kill you?”
   Smiling, Nadan answered as best he could, “Some people are afraid.  They only react from fear and not understanding.  They fear change.  Instead of love, compassion and understanding some reach out to hurt others they are afraid of getting to know.  The more you grow up the more changes are asked of you.  When you love others there is less of you and more of them.”
   “I will father, and they shall be humbled to tears and made to realize they were wrong.” Kyon answered.

   Exactly a year later to the very day Nadan was killed at the Oasis of Orid.  As Kyon lay beside his father’s body, he remembered his words.  Kyon stopped his crying and stood up.  Facing the priest, with his father’s blood still dripping from his unsheathed sword, he said “I am Kyon the son of Nadan, and I forgive you.  I am sad to see that you have not grown up, and everything you think you know about God; are not the lessons he wanted you to learn.  You may leave now that I may bury my father for your deed is done, and there is no one left for you to kill.”

   The priest and the four Tower guards were astounded by the boy’s reaction.  They left in silence.  Moments later the crowd that had gathered about and watched everything departed as well.   Afterwards, Kyon said, “Gratitude, Corlan but I shall do this task alone.”  With that he dug a deep hole in the desert sand and buried his father by himself as Corlan, his father’s man servant looked on and cried for his loss.  For he knew Kyon would never cry again; and for an entire year nor did he speak a word. 




   Rarely have the prisoners of Varlendur been given mention for they were the harshest example of the Mitharian King’s authority.  The duality of both powers: Kings and Priest merged in the shadow of the city’s once grandest lighthouse.  Known far and wide for its mystics and justice it became a feared forced to engage. Yet, it was the Priesthood and their secret rites that captured the most imagination and attention of the people and in time even those became more elite and elusive in their teachings before the people.
   Through the years the dungeon of Varlendur took on more prisoners.  Five was the most housed at one time. By the time of the sixth king twenty seven had already called The Tower their personal residence.
   Arabraken the Mordorian was killed in trying to escape which quelled any further attempts. Brandon Aladreth was held for the shortest amount of time, just nine days and was released.  Mornel Vanderqin was held the longest for nearly seventeen years.
   This is his tale.

      Another fat brown-haired rat scurried along the base of the smooth stone wall.  The two torches at either end of the unseen hallway flowed in through the barred window of the jail cell's oaken door.  Sandaled steps approached. Keys clattered about.  The lock tumbled.  From the flooding burst of light there came thrusting into the small chamber, from blackened silhouettes, a scruffy bearded young man.  Wearing but tattered cloths immersed in the rank smell of sweat the new comer was a vagrant for sure.
   Eirwe, the head of the tower guards opened the cell door directing the new comer inside.  Smiling, he said, “I have been summoned by the king, old friend.  I shall be back shortly.  Enjoy your new company.”  No reply came as the flood of light revealed an old man being a large rat.
   “So what are you in here for?” The new comer asked his sudden companion.
   Silence.  He was impatient.  
  “No tongue to speak with?” His question came with a bite.
   “My name is Craven.  Well seems the likes of me was bound to get caught-”  His offered introduction was cut short upon seeing the old man feeding the largest of the rats climbing on his lap.
   “Yes, just a matter of time I suppose.” He finished as the man before him gave the last crumbs of his meal away to the rodent.
   “So, how often do they feed us in here?”
   No reply came as the balding man just sat there petting another rat, smaller than the first.
   He sighed in frustration at not getting answers. “How long have you been here old man?”
   Still the quiet man sat amid his pets.
   “How have long they kept you locked away down here to go crazy, I wonder?” It had only been moments since his arrival and it was promising to be a long stay.
   “Did you kill someone?” Craven’s question almost sounded like a demand to know something, anything at this point.
   Getting nowhere, the new comer confessed; they always confess.  “Two years ago I…I was enjoying the company of a young lady.  Very lovely thing she was.  Then when her husband came home and found us together I tried my best to get out of there.”  Craven paused and slowly began again, “There was no ill will, just escape in mind.  He came at me and I brushed him aside.  But when he began hitting the girl, I – I was outraged and pulled him away.  His head was hit and he died.  I knew she loved him more than me and that understandable.  But we – well, I had to get out of there.  So I ran.”  Looking at the old man, feeding the rat as if he was not listening, made Craven continue.  “Well, I ran.  I left Dorshan and came to Uruk.   Before I knew it the authorities were searching for me.  I was told Mithar was a Sanctuary city.  At a tavern in Uruk a man told me his troubles and did he have them.  I told him mine and he said since I was already running he would pay me six gold coins to kill someone.  I did.  The times were hard old man and I needed the money to eat.  I did not learn till later the ‘three’ someone’s were officials themselves.  But the deed was done.  I had become a murder for hire it seemed.”  Looking out the barred door he said, “So then I headed to Sinjar and happened upon another bounty man.  I could tell this one was some official himself but he was looking to hire not apprehend.  He said he would take me before the King himself unless –“The old man only petted the rats as several had gathered around him.  Craven continued, “It was a boy.  He did not tell me at the time I was to kill a child.  But in my situation and under threat, what could I do old man?  I went to the Oasis of Orid and waited.  Thirty pieces of silver was good coin to have along with freedom.”  The old man exhaled as the rats left him with no more bread.  Talking into the darkness the talkative new comer finished, “Some boy named Kyon, he who was purported to be a witch or something.  I cut his throat in the night as he slept.  Then I ran to Mithar, seeking it as the Sanctuary city.  Questioned by some priests, I told them what I have just told you.  Then, the humorous part was when the king told me that Sinjar was the Sanctuary city and not Mithar.   With a smile he added I was to be hanged tomorrow in the square.”

   Finally, after all but one of the rats left, the old man spoke, “Mornel.  I am Mornel Vanderqin of Mithar’s eastern gate.  For sixteen years, seven months, twenty-three days and nine hours have Varlendur’s  guards shown me their hospitality.”
  “Goodness man,” Gasped Craven aloud!
   Ignoring the young man’s dismay, Mornel continued, “It was long ago, and for the sake of love that found me here.”
   Interrupting what sounded like the beginnings of a long story, Craven whispered, “Knew a jealous husband had to figure in somewhere.”

  The old man continued, brushing off the comment of the impatient youth, he began, “A long time ago, now that I actually recall those days.  We were going to live forever.
   My best friend Balinthane Silmeth and I were inseparable.  We had been co-conspirators of embracing the moment and exploring all the taboos of the world that our parents abhorred. We were young and fearless in those by-gone days. We finished the thoughts of the other and inspired the others imaginations with insights.  We loved learning as much as we did adventure. Yet in time his seemed to lead into more trouble than my own had the courage for. I envied Balinthane greatly for such ventures into the Lore of Lindol and the secret paths of her Priestesses yet. In time we grew apart and children become men.

  He was always in my thoughts and the biggest influence upon my thoughts. We corresponded by currieries and even then our brotherly bonds grew firm. Then there came a brief season when our paths crossed again in person.
   Balinthane hesitantly handed his friend poignant words, "My father received your letter instead of me. I had gone to into town and missed the messenger."
   Mornel caught the tone, knowing his cared for his aging father, "I am sorry he has been so ill as of late. - Oh - THE letter..." Then suddenly catching the full meaning of Balinthan’s word s added, "HE READ IT?"
"He read it." Balinthane
Mornel: "I am forever sorry my friend." Sincerely hoping the reminder of their status was not fully crushed by the secret revelations of passed deeds.
Balinthane: "So am I. But, he is my father and must come first."
   The next day we had cut off all ties with one another for a very long time.  Our open friendship before the eyes of his father had been severed. I freely accepted the banishment from brother’s love so as not to hinder the bond of father and son.  In accepting that role of instigator in the grave mischief that had occurred I knew wrath would soon find me. The local authorities came upon me and from the Lord Magistrate was I imprisoned within the very walls of Varlendur itself.
 The guard, Eirwe returned.  “You are being released.”
Stunned for a moment the old man gave no indication of change.
Carven repeated the guard’s words, “Mornel, you are a free man, you can leave.”
“He must have been here too long, afraid of leaving I suppose.”
   Seeing the last of his rats trail away the old man smiled at the guard who held the door open for him and looked longingly with a deep smile, “Thank you, for all your kindness.” The guard seemed to a smirk in return.
   Carven asked, “Where will you go? What will you do after having wasted all your time here?”
   Turning about he answered slowly. “What I have always done.  Live.” Then added, pointing to a rat standing on its hind legs begging to be picked up.  Mornel did not comply this time but added, “The rats taught me tenacity as they and time shall teach you. Good bye.”

   Upon leaving the Grey Tower's massive front doors the newly released prisoner saw his old childhood friend standing at the bottom of the steep stair. He had waited all those years later to see him, though they spoke seldom and never of the old grievance. He stood there all alone.

With each step the old man took toward the bottom ancient memories began to flood his thoughts. Memories before the rats, the beatings and the engulfing darkness flooded his mind. Finally many years later they came face to face. The old childhood friend's face was streamed with tears and a trembling chin. Yet all the newly freed man could say was, "I am so very sorry for the loss of your father, he was a great man."



   In a post middle earth world, a remnant of the elves stayed behind.  In doing so they developed a cultic history where idealist doctrines centered themselves as divine teachers.  Beginning with a boxed-scroll, the Watcher’s personal stories and later histories; these collected works became their sacred Scriptures.  The Keepers were called: The Order of the Red Brotherhood.  Their WATCHER’S BOOK and its forgotten religion witnessed the coming, not only of Noah’s Flood but the end of The Nephilim Age as well. 





The Last Days of Kyon

  When Kyon, the son of Nadan turned twelve years of age he revisited the Oasis of Orid on the anniversary of his father’s passing.  By now a small gathering of tent dwellers resided and many travelers passed that way.  Before the polished flat-faced stone he called to the people, “Is it not... ot the way


God is real or we are not
   Illuva thought of us long before;
We were a song inspired in love,
   a concept of purpose and joy.

He imagined the beginning of us
   before the end was even a dream;
Our gloom and darkest fears are but
   a smile – that we should understand.

Gracious beyond mercy, love beyond joy,
   and comfort when we are hopeless.



North winds blow bears and cold,
  from the Iron Hills of broken stones.
In the east are realms forgotten,
   with deeds now called ancient history.
To the south are the haunted woods,
   and mountains halls of dwarves.
Beyond the western rim of the world,
   are the Undying Lands upon the sea.
But here the Tower arises Godward,
   and his Brotherhood holds Order.


Linking it all together...

I've created a web site, well about eight in all and am now working on linking all eight together as one seamless site.  for a place to showcase my story and illustrations.
THE WATCHER'S BOOK is really the bible and backdrop/background for my characters to live.



   There was a poor farmer just outside the walls of the towered city name Shay. One day Shay told his wife, Anya he was going to market for more supplies. Walking with stick in hand Shay journeyed down the wall-stone road from Mithar to Lindol as was his custom. Up ahead was a single stranger. Shay thought it odd that there were no wagons or other people on the road, but he continued even so. From time to time the grey cloaked figure up ahead would slow down and turn to look back at Shay, all without a greeting or sign. Having his pointed hood up, no face could be seen.
    Shay called out, “Yo stranger, is there something wrong; something you need?” Suddenly to his shock the cloaked man burst into flames. There was fright, no crying out or any reaction of pain. The man kept walking down the stone road as before. Several steps later and still he walked as if nothing had occurred. There was no reaction from the torched man on fire.
    Shay ran to the stranger to help put out the fire. He called out, “For God’s sake man – let me help you!”

   In that moment the roaring figure of the burning man was utterly extinguished. The only remaining form was filled with a boiling, wisp of smoke. As the farmer approached and stopped the once figure of a man calmly turned to face the sure footed farmer and said, “ ‘For God’s sake”? Yes, yes you may help. Stand still oh child of man and know before whom you are standing for it is I myself; Illuva, the One and Always. I am that one you feared most and in a lifetime have come to know the least. I call you, oh child of man to go and tell them who corrupt my name they are warned!” With that the smoke was gone and the farmer all alone on the road.


Mayor Kalena

[The Watcher's Book: VENDURMAR]

   News came to the ear of the king one day, by word of his cup bearer, that the people had become too many and bored with life behind the walls.  “Their excitement of such new and different things, have made them complacent and in need of redirection, lest they begin to find pleasure in strife and rally against you.” 
   Clapping his hands the king called for his Spiritual advisor and Chef of Arms.  He shared what his cup bearer had said and agreed with his words, “Go out think on this matter for your selves and in one hour return as to what shall be done.”
   After they left Vendumar told the cup bearer to tell the kitchen to make a meal and have four settings prepared.  At the hour’s end a table had been so set as ordered.  When the Spiritual advisor and Chef of Arms returned they saw the king being served wine by the cup bearer beside him.  Vendumar asked, “Well, speak plainly.”
   The Chef Guard, Legandriel began, “Sire, it is true the entering people have overwhelmed Mithar, and their only intent is to claim homes for themselves with no regards to heritage or how the provisions came to be.  They have become drunk from the bounty, and yes sire rumors that the Watchers are less than once thought.”
   Looking at Vethdema, his spiritual advisor, “What do you say?”
   Vethdema echoed the same, adding, “Sire, if I may – a way of earning these ‘blessings’ might be devised that would encourage more willing citizens of our original intent as teachers to the ‘lesser’ men.”
   Vendumar smiled, being greatly pleased, “Understood.”  Turning to his cup bearer, the king introduced, “This man here, Kalena by name, had no fear in sharing this truth with me.  Because of that, and the respect I have witnessed first-hand; I name you as the Mayor of Mithar.  As the people reenter the city I think it would be best to see one of their own leading them. You shall be second only to myself.  Your greatest advisors shall be these two here.  As quickly as you rose surely may you fall; we all know this to be true.  Now, come you three dine and tell me more.  I am hungry for meat and your councils both.”

   Slowly over the weeks a teaching school within the tower was setup.  It also was devised that only those who attended such training were allowed to reside within the protective walls of the city.  In this way was the city regained from the Nasil without bloodshed; and the power of the king grew.  The basic need for masons to repair the southern wall, and teaching desert dwellers how to fish came as among the first lessons to be taught.  Later great houses grew out from the tower each with a degree plan and skill.  In time the Priesthood grew stronger devising coded lessons and password making it even more challenging to reside in Mithar Its wealth and prestige grew as well.

Kimashe and the Bleeding Stones

   In the early morning hours King Vendumar was awaken by a horrific nightmare but told no one of its details.  He called for his Councilors: Spiritual Advisor, Chef Guard and the Mayor of Mithar.  Though their conversations eased him back to a waking state, none could tell him his dream or its meaning.
   The Mayor said, “Forgive me O King, but there is one from the Nasilian camp named Kimashe, called a Seer by her people.  It is said that ‘she knows the unknown and can discern the yet to be’, sire.”
   Vendumar replied, “You are all good as you are but in this matter – bring her before me, but do not breathe a word as to why.  That I may know she is true or false.”

   Going out to the tent city of Slavath, a mile from the city gate of Mithar they searched her out.  At a blue tent on the outside of the settlement Kalena, the Mayor and two tower guards dismounted their steads as he called out her name.  From within the tent, she called them inside.  The tent looked much grander and larger on the inside than its small outside appearance.  Many colored veils and lit candles were everywhere, bones and feather and furs.  Rising from a pillowed seat a young woman said, “He has cried for three nights, but only this morning has he begged an answer from you and two others.  Even now he orders me to appear for a meaning of his woe.”
   “How did –,” began Kalena?
   But Kimashe replied in haste, “We must go.”  She walked as the three others rode horseback refusing to be lifted up.  Through the great statued gate, down the cobbled stone streets to the many stairs of Varlendur they soon came before the king in his tower.

   Behind the King’s throne the wall was a painted with a scene of the Great Departure; the boarding of the last swan ship.  For all his power Vendumar had no understanding of his own dream.  Coming before the king, Kalena introduced her, “Sire, here is the Nasilian Seer, Kimashe by name lord.”
   Kimashe stood dressed in a white hooded robe, both hands and bare feet adorned with rings and bracelets; she was covered in tattoos.  Her face was sand white, and hair black as coal.  Just as King Vendumar was about to speak, she spoke instead, “The bleeding-eye crows have nothing better to do than to torment you for the last three night of your sleep, and wrestle with your thoughts in the day, mi lord.  Shaken and crying in the night like an abandon child in a sand storm.  I tell you now oh King to command your scribe to write down all that I say; and the day my words perish is the day the dreams return worse than before.”
  Vendumar nodded, even as the scribe was already fast at his work.  Then the king asked, “What was the dream and its meaning, child?”
   “A bleeding eye crow sat on a huge cut stone lying on its side.  The crow flew to the ground as the pillar was raised.  Four times this happened.  Yet amid the standing stones were six bleeding eye crows walking about on the blood soaked ground.”
   The king was happy to have found someone who could tell him his dream but was in awe at who spoke the words.  The one before him was no more than a child of eight, but her maturity was more.  Vendumar inquired, “There was another.”
  Kimashe looked very grave, “Indeed there was sire.  For all six crows came together as one making a seventh larger crow.  The seventh crow had white bleeding eyes and a forked tongue like a snake.  The large, sharped tongue crow began pecking at a gold, ringlet-leaf crown, like yours.  It filled with holes and each one was bleeding, before it fell apart and melted into the blood soaked ground.”
   Falling back into his throne with great fright, Vendumar gasped, “Come wicked child!  Pray tell me surely the meaning of such disgust and mare as this thing you have made plan to me and all here.  These are the very things indeed that have so plagued me!”
  Both of her arms rose out and became stiff.  Her fingers went jagged and ridged as her own grey eyes began to bleed.  Suddenly her gentle voice sounded like that of an old man, “Six shall come, and four be slain and their black words shall see much blood spilt.  A seventh shall rise greater than the six.  Embolden by them the very king who hears him shall be the final one!”   After her prophecy she collapsed to the floor.  Upon standing she was as before.
  The entire room was much worried by her words.  Vendumar said, “No one shall speak against the king.  The king himself, alone shall reprieve or condemn any who do for that is what kings do; fate and judgement.  In this matter, I perceive you have spoken truthfully without malice.  We shall strive in our reign to cause only light, good and harmony to continue in -.”
   “What of Varlendur and the dungeon renown through Eriduah; and you as holder of its iron key?” Kimashe interrupted.
  Vendumar saw this was no child before him but something greater, “You have been afforded good will up to this point, Seer of Nasil.  Watch your words and tone thereof.  There is a reason and season for that key and its business is no concern of yours.  Thank you for your service; you may either return to your old life or begin a new one here.”

  “I shall return unhindered either way.”  As she turned to leave the great tower doors flew open on their own accord to the dismay of all.



Tales from the Nephilim age


Nephilim Age Forgotten

Upon a mighty hill I saw
covered beneath massive waves
vast oceans crashing upon oceans;
no where for a lone raven to rest,
no branch anywhere for peace.

The dead were awash
till the lands reappeared
and the waters receded;
only a handful remained
to bury the multitude.

For the world had turned
full face unto its arrogance
and a grave-shame unto itself
as pride and vanity were all about.

Eating without care or want
and drinking the filth of wine
beyond gluttony's ripe pleasure
was in everything they did!

For disrespect of elders or peer
fearless in the face of sin
eager to way-lay the innocent
even among the weak of kin.

The Land was without love
natural affections were meaningless
right living abandoned
in the face of perverse lusts.

Men laid with children or animals
as if alongside women;
and they forsook men
for the forgetful bliss of herbs.

The world was stumbled
in depth of greed and lust
they were washed away
that Nephilim Age forgotten!


Halloween 2015

Seems to have become our custom to go across the street to the Baptist Church for their "Fall Festival" on Halloween.  From 4:00 Pm to 6:00 PM it's a safer alternative to traveling in the dark in unlit areas.

The Great Hall

 In the seventeenth year following the Great Departure of elven kind from the Middle-Lands of earth; the dwarves ventured west.  In the west of the world of Eriduah the mountain dwellers of Mount Jebul and those left of elven descendants joined together to bond in a renewed friendship like unto the ancient days of old.   For seven days they talked, ate and shared of one another’s talents, gifts and hospitality.  Upon their leaving the dwarf Lord, Kwondol vowed to return and in a month’s time share a wondrous gift unto the elven children commemorating their renewed alliance.

   A month to the day Kwondol and his Masons returned to the elven port city of Mithar.  In four months they completed a grand structure that came to be called The Great Hall.   A domed house two hundred feet about and six stories high.  It was carved in the likeness of two hands with interlaced fingers; one elf and the other dwarf.  The thumbs were dropped away and tipped; the space in-between the thumbs and fingers were carved as leafed and woven vines.  Both thumbs were supported with spiraled columns.  A curved stair case lead up to the pillared thumb's porched way.  A solid oak, round door set in the middle.  Through the single entrance of the Great Hall's brief hallway one came to a lone chamber where three stagered row of seats lined the wall.  Three steps lead down to the center where the Elven star was inlaid in gold.  Along the domed walls were the Ax and sword Dwarven seal woven about vine; all inlaid with Mithrel silver.

Behind The Truth

   I was raised as a Jehovah's Witness for 13 years.  It took me two very long years of intensive personal Bible study to escape the clutches of the "Elder teachings".  Then I became a Southern Baptist for 15 years; 7 of that as a Lay minister, and 3 attending the Howard Payne University to be a Pastor, (but dropped out).  Then from much frustration and politically correctness burn out I left.  As a JW everything was deemed "pagan".  So, for another 15 years (2 in a 'teaching' Wiccan-Coven); I journeyed along a Pagan Path of self exploration.  About 4 years ago I returned to Christ.  I am also a big Lord of the Rings/ Tolkien fan!

(What do you think this is?)

   In the book I am endeavoring to construct, THE WATCHER'S REQUIEM; many of these experiential themes are explored through the examples of various characters. 


Creepy & Weird


Trinity: Do You Believe?


THE END Coming Soon!

HAVING been raised as one of Jehovah's Witnesses; the one consistent doctrine, amid their ever changing ones, is that we are living in the Last Days.  Through all the twists and turns along my Spiritual Path "prophecies" and the Last Days was difficult for me to swallow today.  But I do, believe that we are in fact living in The Last Days.  The Bible was for the Jews, by the Jews and to the Jews; therefore look at the Jews.  People have been saying forever that we are living in the End Times, but how did the Jews figure in to all those calculations?  The Temple. The Third Holy Temple is the Key to everything. People want to say Jesus could come at any time!  But how true is that statement?  Jesus fulfilled prophecies at his first appearing even in the details of his death and afterwards.  Therefore would it not just as equally stand that his second coming would be on a timeline as well?

The Jews became a nation in 1947, took over the temple mount in 1967, and began the Temple Institute in 1987.


TEDDYs home!!!

   Lithium or not I was on the verge of an emotional break down.  When the Vet Hospital informed us this morning that our new puppy had pulled through; even they were "surprised" by the miracle.  We were expecting Teddy to pass away from the ingestion of accidentally spilt medication and then left with a $1,200.oo bill.  Instead we got a shaved, living Shih tuz and a $600.oo bill, (and a 12 month plan to pay it off). All the way around we are blessed and beyond grateful and lessons learned with sharper eyes on our fur-baby.

There comes that time

There comes that time
in all our lives when we feel all alone
filled with sorrow or depths of shame
comes also the epiphany of clarity
as if alone in all the world
you were the one to figure life out
there comes a time when you're able to
laugh more than cry at yourself
tenacity, endurance and steadfastness
they all bred their own reward
from self doubt, and pity and loathing
to give rise from some secret
inward part of your soul to
love deeply, hope in bliss, and care in truth
there comes a time when
you just
to let go
to grow.


If only...

If only --
deep exhaling sigh
there was some way 
to have everything unchanged
changed and yet the same
as if --
deep cleaning inhale
two lives lived at once
one continuing forward
the other almost reliving anew
the music would be the same
yet events and feelings
all would be change
is that regret
I don't think so
just realizing more 
years ahead than behind
enjoying live for the first time
not regret just not fearing 
anymore the embrace of life


The Pink Zombie

The silent Voices are still -
there just quietly resting
beneath some slumbering haze.

Those hyper steps jumping about
characters desiring their stories told;
yet since Lithium entered their stage
She quieted them as if in waiting
That Pink Lady whose reputation
thankfully I have not come to know
has actually shown me grave respect.

I now call the characters when I chose
instead of them rushing upon me
clambering with demands to be heard
out of chronological order or care:
one is ethereal, tall and elven fair
placed in a Sanitarium's padded cell
as Steam-punk music is overlaid.

But now with my steady mind I can
craft their desires more fittingly
as should be done: Elf lords in his fairy
woods, the undercover reporter caught
off guard, and the airship well on its
way in tune for docking.

I deeply feared the drug would inhibit
my thoughts in a zombie fashion;
however, after Her learning curve I
see the haze is about my focus
not in view - I'm happy to create anew.


The House

The house down the lane
a cottage snug with warmth
its inner glow with love 
passion and compassion
an upstairs office
all filled with books
and treasures in every nook
invited to its inner sanctum
bliss resides and hope fanned



Our new little puppy, Teddy -like all puppies and babies will do- jumped at the opportunity to get into trouble, but this time an accident cost him dearly.  Alice's TV tray table was bumped causing her sorting of medications to go flying foot-ward.  Teddy ingested a Baclofen pill.  After an hour or so he began showing deathening signs of distress.  We took him to the EMERGENCY VET hospital and he's stayed over night.  I just called a few moments ago and they were extremely excited to report that Teddy is up and about walking, eating and used the restroom outdoors!!! Teddy is making a full recovery and we should be able to have him back home Sunday morning; after another night of observation and medicated rest. Praising God in all things; the joy and love of having "Fur-people" in our lives.


The New Pink

There is a new pink in my life
She makes my world go around
Instead of a myriad roaming thoughts
glances all about at wonders
rather than jumping to and throw 
from saddens to depths of sorrow
or kindhearted smiles to ecstatic delights
She filters my desires and distrust
my self loathings and disgusts 
into a manageable focused stream
demanding me to chart a course
for calmer seas and fair lands 
forgoing the drama of chaos 
Thank you Lithium


Water spout

AT WORK I felt the ground shake.  A ground crew digging a hold struck the water main which gushed everywhere!!!

The grandkids are spending the night; Savannah, Jamison, and baby Ember. We all stayed out on the patio for a long time it was nice seeing the world young eyes again.


   Many years ago I started writing an epic tale I entitled The Nephilim Age.  Many waters and even more bridges later I have begun yet another deeper epic tale; a Bible of sorts entitled THE WATCHER'S REQUIEM.  In the Nephilim tale the main character was called Fayendar.  He was a deseandant from the elves who stayed behind instead of fleeing with the others from the shores of (Tolkien's) Middle Earth.  I am currently in the process of turing the narritive prose into a long verse poem.  Here is just a small portion of what I have so far, and a link to where I have placed it among the grander story, (so far). Hope you enjoy.

He fled his father’s home
for the adventures of self-discovery
under the banner of a new king
who sought an elven realm afar.

Yet feeling betrayed to anger his
elder brother Calan pursued
the younger Fayendar with might of arms
of his own, to came against in strife
those rebellious freedom seekers heading east.

A great departure of their own
ancient forefathers had seen many
sail beyond the rim of the world
from the eternal lands of their
precious living-fair undead.

Those who remained behind did
fashion a new society of dreamers,
teachers and leaders of lesser men,
those weaker sons of Adam
who survived the gore of war.

From that lot of the frail
disenchanted ones of great loss
Fayendar, like Nadan before him,
sought only truth and a higher calling
more than rote ritual of vain ways.

Taking sides with his bitter dying father
Calan scorned Fayendar for leaving
under the banner of one called
king, by his own force of will was
uncrowned by Mithar’s Nephilim sons.

Yet Varlenfay proved his wrath against
the trolls and boars that fell
upon Lindol and its desolation
by which he gained his fame of might.

For from the Iron Hills north they came
with vengeance unknown with brutal
force upon their wild boar steads
the stench of trolls made their havoc.

Nine hundred fell that day yet by
Valenfay’s swift blade nine hundred
were saved and called him king
of valor as Mithar aided not their cause
. . . . . . . 

A work in progress...


The Watcher's Book of Books