Poet Samurai

The cold night gleams over the placid, glassy lake,
The wind is cold as dull steel
His thoughts are cohesive as is his will
The path before him empty.
Powerful strides carry him across the puddles of light,
The warm mat an unwelcome change in texture
He drinks warm sake and composes verse.

Cold. comfort. Inconsistent. Rough.

Little girls of all ages

Pigtails, Nursery Rhymes, Bloody razors,Bleeding eyes. Little girls of all ages, Expressing secret inner rages. Sickles and saws "Pat-a -cake, Pat-a-cake, Baker man,Bake me a cake as fast as you can" They sing,as they fling, Knife blades and each a sharp bloodied string. I sit there petrified and speechless, Watching them play with each other; unless were they playing at all? **The author dreamt this scene repeatedly in the winter months of 2004**