When man looses fun

Tink's ChapBlog ~ Tales of the Tribe. Mythopoeic Verse


Cold is the color

    of mid-winter hoar;

gold is a feeling

    I felt once before.



    I hereby declare

the end of involvement,

   unfairness of war.


So near and so far,

    too close for some,

one dearly departed

    from what once begun

as gold, now cold,

    in the hot humid sun:


This is your weapon;

    that was your gun.


The child knows his pleasure,

    when the man looses fun.




©2013, Marvin Loyd Welborn


View original post

Twice more the tale

strong sails

Thorn to the brow

Spare no sting

Pressed and weary

Doubting minds

Project the prospects


Lash to the back

Peel the skin

Opened and naked

Ravenous hordes

Forfeit the appetite


Nail to the wrist

Twice more the tale

Bruised and afflicted

Desperate soil

Drink the purest blood


Spear to the side

Grasp the air

Washed and forsaken

Driving rains

Caress the landscape


View original post

nice concept

Source of Inspiration


The howl is a sacred sound
lingering in the air like
early morning midst, filling
me with longing.

I would like to how like
that, throat vibrating in
perfect resonance, proclaiming
my longing for all to know
until at last I slide into
the shadows leaving only the
final not hovering in the dawn.

View original post