Oblivious Short Stories

In the hour of the wolf, just before the dawn, when faeries doze and daze,
dance in haze,

I’ll catch your breath and squeeze to death, to birth, of young or aged,
of pleased or raged

I hear the feral Hunt with Gabriel´s Hounds
a summoning of peril pounds.

So where are you, to stop the blares,
of horns, of wolfs, in hidden lairs.

By the hour of the wolf I cry,
 a vivid call in a dour sigh.

Will lovers raise a bird songs phrase
to peel the moon in every phase?

Or will each word or twiddle wit or lie;
be a riddle, gently stirred and split with wry.

At the hour of the wolf I rest my mind
in a nest of thoughts that is left behind.
In the hour of the wolf the myth is entwined
to a cord of writhe to a hallowed bind.

On the edge of the grip of nothingness,
most people sleep not the less;

While others toss and turn,
awake in longing or in yearn.

By the hour of the wolf the urge will fade
As a crackle in our soul of what we made`

The Final Stop at Berlin Bahnhof Zoo

Final stop of the night in despair;
We young lions with frozen hearts and cigarette burned
wrists,

We are cutting presence by sacrifice to declare,
Our condemning of confining the choice by cold daggering
twists.

And you, brother lion, while you fail to trap the young
girls,
you are confused and forget of their belongs,

You ambush me, by giving them promises and pearls,
through myths and heroic songs.

I, who so recklessly left to the evil and blight,
the fate of my night stung love,
Was cold and blank to the urge of female invite
to the bait and smilings thereof,

But still I had to fence to defend
Against insulted squires of noble ascend.

Here at the stop of the final despair
I close my love by a sigh, in breath of the air.

I, a young lion, am pounding through life,
with the pumping of my blood against the steel of a knife.

It is as if the wind gave a message a shove
Of lucky days close to its brim,
My blood in a rush, I think I'm in love
- Of whom? – Oh, of every breathe, of every whim

I wished that everything in this heaven and on this earth,
Lie stretched near my heart like a maiden’s mirth.

Nor young or old
Warm or cold
Hardened and bold
Goes winning in a heroic strive
Against life in stoic thrive

So solemnly sad in a solid cove
In the bed of our soothed death
We call for the curdling candid love
In dread of our closing breath

So, then is your sorrow, of worst
when friends, you thought are cursed,
no follow,
left alone,
by hollow
head and bone,
apart
depart
no heart,
not nursed
but with ail and thirst.

In the dense of the hazels,


Far some quivers grows

Midst the shadowy painted appraisals,

an ancient presence glows.



I walk the olden path among others,

That also here did tread.

The place comes in within and in another´s

Where trace speaks in my head.



Clay, decay a coming dismay

Stones and bones bewildered astray



Descending in a slope with slender shrubbery

Depending on the hope of barren baneberry



Long lost, still fingers crossed



I the king of the wood in human hood



I gather with you Hecate, fairies and witches

Where magic, is turning, does tosses and twitches.



Do what thou wilt, not!

So as thou wilt do what thou not got!



Yield not a measure of every word and sentence

Wield your pleasure in not to be your repentance



Be beyond language, meaning and seeming

Where we are free from anguish and painful demeaning.



So here I close this theatrical act,

Amongst beings and animals, deep in the forest's dim lit tract



And now, let us all return,

to life, to loving among.

Where true meaning and mindful yearn,

and are all running along,

With forever inspiring and ready curiosity

In a never expiring, steady velocity.



Let your hope wallow and the hollow to be hear

But do not let the follow of heart be the follow of fear.