The Old Wizard

The Old Wizard, Art by Alexandra Khitrova
Old Wizard, Art by Alexandra Khitrova

The Old Wizard
by Hugh A Tague

Born by the sea
the blood within my veins
flow with the tides.
Waves crash inside me
as fate plays out upon
Life’s great stage.
Rain dancing with soil
cleanses Wind-swept dust
from pillars reaching skyward
quenching life’s Sun-blanched thirst.
Gray clouds spiral above
filling with light and sound
the storm’s magic
is no longer silent.
My bones tremble
Ocean’s ebon depths rise
and the shore surrenders to her fury.
Gale-fired swells flood the land
calling to mind from which
all things have come.
Subject only to Time
the course of the storm
allows the ground to again
kiss the air soaking up the light of day.
Perched upon my mountain’s top
Time’s toll on my form evident
each droplet of future’s rain
forecast in the joints
that hold me together.
Like an Old Wizard
without a book of spells
pain’s relief escapes me

I wonder

1382382_575459349174361_49994687_n
Graphic Design by Diane Wilson

I Wonder

by Hugh A Tague

Pillowing clouds fill the night sky
back lit by the glow of the harvest moon
their edges bright as if on fire.

Like scales on a celestial serpent
the great sky dragon slowly drifts away
disappearing into the darkness.

Continue reading “I wonder”

Demon Domicile

Demon Domasile

Demon Domicile

by Hugh A Tague

My breath quickens
my palms wet with sweat
my heart is pounding
nearly bursting through my shirt.

Once vibrant Victorian dental work
hanging from the porch roof’s eve
beckons to a brighter time
when all my family and friends
were warmly welcome inside.

The spirits of horse and riders passed
stand vigil near the mounting blocks
forewarn me of impending despair.

The weather-worn lapboard
moaned when I tread upon it
as a gentle breeze
brings a tree’s limb to life
tapping against the railing.

With a demonic snicker
from an old wooden chair
immediately next to the door
sat a spirit whose likeness
resembled my great grandfather.

Now only inches from the door
the cedar shake shingles begin to quiver
chattering like every nerve in my body
the tree now angrily beating
the porch railing.

The floor under my shaking foot
feels as if it giving way beneath me.

My breathing labored
my whole body trembling
I reach for the door.

The specter with eyes wide
stands up next to me
his mouth opens and a shrill scream
fills my pounding head.

Unable to stand another second
everything fades to black
I collapse in the threshold.

Unable to control the domatophobia
the demon domicile once again defeats me.

Cyrano’s Insidious Deceit

Cyrano’s Insidious Deceit

by Hugh A Tague

His rapière merely an instrument,
one he need only play for a fool.
His swaggering panache,
few men, and less a warrior
could ever hope to own.

Wielding a pride-piercing foil of intellect.
Divesting his adversary of dignity,
shredding their vocabulary,
depriving them of all they once
thought themselves to be.

Lunging forward, Cyrano threads his foe,
releasing their soul’s bonds, leaving just
a mound of quivering flesh.
Short of a poetry-laced eulogy,
Cyrano’s passé concerto;
Le Rapière de Combat et fini.

Façade cloaked, Cyrano cast out his heart
painting a mirage with his pallet of passion.
Oblivious to the disfigured poet, the enchanted
Roxane sees only her paramour.
She sees only Christian.

Mortality concluded about the battlefield;
a cadet’s body, and the truth, forever lay cold.
Cyrano maintained le charade.
Roxane’s image inamorato intact,
she laments to unconsciousness.

15 years her confidant, Cyrano’s end in sight;
his final battle facing shadows.
The spectres, this time victorious.
Roxane found the truth as he drew his last breath;
Her heart now shattered twofold.

Insidious deceit, or honour among friends?
Lives self-sabotaged; Love and affection forever forfeit.
True love’s only antagonist: The Truth.

Savinien_de_Cyrano_de_Bergerac (1)

Freed By My Confession

66886_487566324630331_893396760_n

Freed By My Confession
by Hugh A Tague

Each deep dark secret
haunts me, body and mind.
So complete is its grip
death is a welcome cure.

Dissident of humanity
riddled with man’s sin,
each binding me more
enhancing my madness.

My surroundings stark,
void of all expression.
My repressed thoughts
match my prison perfectly.

A façade of ignorance
runs rampant inside me.
Compressing the guilt
compounding my disability.

Rising to the surface
a bubbling brew of evil.
It’s pending release,
I can curtail no more.

Then it happens!
My most sacred digressions
articulated for others to digest,
degrading my personal mask.

As the pressure subsides,
pure space, or grace is created.
Light penetrates the bowels
of my once darkened soul.

From the light comes a warmth
filling a cold emptiness.
An inner peace I had not known
freedom I begrudged myself.

My bindings detached I am
carried on wings of forgiveness,
freed from my personal prison.
Freed By My Confession.