1991, POETRY, The Howling

The Hunt

The Hunt

All day we hunted, but found nothing.
All night we hunted.
Finally I stop, turn and naively ask.
“What are we hunting for?”
“I’m hunting for a man.”
“And what am I?”
“a Wolf”

All day we hunted, but found nothing.
All night we hunted.
Pausing in my stride,
I turn to her.
“What am I hunting for?”
“The earth, the moon, the sun and the stars.”
“You tell me;
I hunt man because my flesh is hungry.”

All day we hunted, but found nothing.
All night we hunted.
I stopped.
“Why do I not hunt you?”
“Because I hunt man
and you do not like the taste of his flesh.”

A little further
a spring bubbled up from the roots of an old oak.
She hesitates there.
Se knelt down on her knees,
dips her hands into the cool water
and drinks.

She reaches her cupped hands out before me.
“Here, drink.”
As the crisp water touched my chapped lips,
the morning sun shines down her blouse,
and the man rises within me.
I fell to the earth,
chatted with the moon,
dreamed of the sun,
as I danced among the stars.
It is hard to follow.

Name Giver whispered in my ear.
“when you don’t know where you’re going
and the want is always there.
It pulls in ways you may not comprehend;
however you are weak,
a slice of what you could be.
Remember that.”

All day we hunted, but still nothing.
All night we hunted.
The Huntress turns and naively asks.
“What are you hunting for?”
“A mate.”
“Why not hunt me?”
“Because you hunt man
and I will not;
for in hunting man,
it is not me you see,
but yourself.
Hunt yourself as you would me.”

All day we hunted, nothing.
All night we hunted.
She halts, and glances over at me.
“Why do not hunt for a She-Wolf?”
“Because it is not my stomache that is hungry,
but my spirit.
Isn’t that why you hunt,
you want something that isn’t before you?
A contemptible tower.”

All day we hunted.
All night we hunted.
She tarries,
reaches out and stops me.
“Do you secretly hunt me?”
“Sometimes I have.
Is it not the best hunt for the hunter,
to hunt the Huntress?
but I do not go for the kill.”

1987, POETRY, The Howling

I draw a moth

I draw a moth,
a hawk
dusty brown wings
never moving
life to paper.
It dies in light.
It comes to suckle the dream syrup
the nectar of light,
just before it’s caught in the fan
and spit out the window.
Wolf came to me,
long crazy black hair
dancing around his mouth.
“Why do you care what they think?
They only drain you of life.
Find those that give
by giving nothing to you,
but yourself.
Love those as you are,
not as you want to be.
Leave the acting for the Actors.

One must learn the first rule:
Always think for yourself,
keep control over your life,
the latter is the hardest part.”