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Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Imperfection = I'm perfection = I am perfection

Do I have flaws? Do you have flaws? Shall we use them to rise above! Flaws are tiny imperfections. Imperfections are chaos. Chaos is tiny bits of perfection. If you overlay chaos upon chaos, you will achieve harmonic order. Hence, perfection is chaos in order. So, we are perfect as we are. {{{Imperfection = I'm perfection = I am perfection}}} A perfect mathematical equation.

© Dec 25, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Sunday, December 23, 2012


As the evening breeze carries dreams into the ethereal, I am left thinking of you.
You are far away, and the thought of you is all I hold this evening. I cherish this as if this thought my last breath, as a king that has only his most valuable gem to represent his realm, as if a dancer lifted on high with the shout of “encore!” at final curtain.
The haunting memory of your kiss echoes thru my soul, and reminds me of the depth of our love. Its wisps reach throughout this great expanse in its entirety, and slowly ease into every crevasse of our existence as if a fog engulfing a valley. In doing so, it stirs the sacred rites and ancient ideals of the fires of passion. I relive caressing your beautiful face with my eyes closed to insure a memory and solidify your features in my mind and heart. Tonight the air is like canvass and my fingers a feather-brush that creates one memory at a time until all that is before me is your face. But this is not yet enough to quell my desire.
The tingle in my spirit, as I remember your touch, inspires me to reach deeper into the night. I step to the edge and prepare for the fall. I remember the first fall, the first kiss, the first dance. I remember each moment. My being was caressed with your breath as you quietly whispered *♪ ♫ *♪ ♫ *I love you*♪ ♫ *♪ ♫ *
The flutter of my heart, as I hear the words you softly spoke so long ago, grants me wings and lifts me into the night and carries me to our island of dance. We are together again.
I love gazing upon your ageless features, the reflection of starlight in your eyes, the way you fit perfectly into my arms, the beckoning of your parted lips, and the floral essence rising from your flawless skin. I'm in trance!
Do you realize how enchanting you truly are? Walk with me to the mirrored sea and gaze upon your beauty. Startling, is it not? Truly angelic. You are the center of all that is harmonic, ethereal, and lovely. Creation perfected nature within your existence. All exoticness flows from you.
I am now content with my thoughts of you. I have told you all within my heart. Shall we dance, m’lady?

© Dec 23, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

NOTE: photo is a random internet find

Saturday, December 22, 2012



Writers old and new: Search that horizon for new peaks to sit and rest upon as you gaze over humanity. Look deep into the valley of inspiration. Explore the shadows. Listen to the leaves. Expose the underside of stones. Embrace the wind. Absorb the warmth of the sunrise. Experience the cleansing of a storm. Look beyond the magnificent. See the glory and majesty in the minute! Detach yourself from thought. Just breathe and become. Feel your wings sprout. Now you are ready to begin the true journey into the skies of literary genius. Let us embark…

Looking at the accompanying photo, I am drawn to the fog. To understand the fog, I must become one with it. I close my eyes and feel the thin veil blanket the mountain and gently embrace each imperfection upon its surface. Like the kiss of a lover, the brush of one existence upon another is intimate. The wind is a lover and carries me to many exotic destinations where I explore the landscape and leave the residue of my visit upon any surface touched: a rock, a blade of grass, a flower, or tangled lovers beneath a tree. I can go where humanity cannot. I can rest easy upon the mirrored surface of a lake or crawl deep within the fractures of a stone. I am now nature. I might dissipate for a time, but I always return. In my absence, the masses gaze upon my existence and speak of my beauty. I am immortal.

With our thoughts, we create matter.  Each letter offers form and the words carve a distinct shape. The movement of our quill stirs the air and lends breath, as our ink fills each creation with blood. Our love gives it life. We are literary gods.

© Dec 22, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Your challenge, should you choose to accept it; find a photo and chose a subject, feel its surrounding, close you eyes, and imagine being that which you have chosen.

NOTE: photo is a random internet find. Valley of Flowers in the Himalayas, India.

THE MADNESS OF GENIUS - Religion (excerpt from chapter 6)

 “God Is My Copilot.” I never understood the title of this book. As I sit and listen to the church and state bicker over “rights of individuality,” I wonder where it all began and why. If one is to submit to the will of the Biblical God, why just allow Him the co-pilot chair? Should we not let this omnipotent being lead our life? Keeping God as a copilot is using the Divine as a safety net. Not good from any point of rational thinking.
It all returns to the popular, “I’ll keep Jesus hanging around my neck, in case of an emergency.”
In all my years of religious immersion, I have met a handful of TRULY pious individual. I am in awe when in there presence. They have truly touched the crown of our Creator. Not one of them follows any form of manmade religion, yet all have a thread to the Creator. On the other hand; most that I have had intimate conversation with that belong to a labeled ideology are quite deluded and set in their twisted ways. Their social-induced stupor is not their fault, but their refusal to awaken after a shake from sleep IS.
The fire, brimstone, and gnashing of teeth terrified me more than inspire me to become a saint. The Protestant sermons slowly evolved into Stephen King-like nightmares. As I gazed upon all creation, I saw “demons” running amok and destroying awe and innocence. All the while, they were informing me how to be righteous. Confusion brewed a hurricane in my cup of tea. My search for the eye of the storm began.
Some are so blinded by the miasmic curtain of Immaculate Conception and flashy display gold, frankincense, and myrrh that they truly believed in the divine right of the church over the true word of our Creator. I do not believe that one can buy their way into paradise. Indulgences have slowly morphed into the more elegant word; tithes. Both are beasts of evil that breathe the ravages of guilt in the souls of the masses. That is the madness of genius; the wolf in the sheep’s attire, leading the flock to an unknown destination that changes with each self-proclaimed ruling family.
The idea of predestination, as it has been twisted, is another dragon that scorches the landscape of the soul. John Calvin interpreted biblical predestination to mean that God willed eternal damnation for some people and salvation for others. How can a God of love knowingly create and condemn a portion to eternal damnation? In all that I have learned and filtered through the wisdom of the elders; that seems pretty psychotic to me. If this God was given a psychological evaluation, I believe heavy sedation would be the prescription for such sociopathic thoughts and all prophetic notions would be dissolved into the ethereal realm.
Prophesies are the “means” planted in the subconscious mind and lead the masses to an end. Religious and secular ideologies change with each ruling empire; not only to justify the actions of the church and state, but to also expand and redefine the evils of the times. The masses have had their eyes of reason poked out with the red-hot poker of subjugation. Obey or be ostracized. Graze in the field of ignorance, under the watchful eye of the Sheppard, or find the blade of deceit disguised as truth in the slaughterhouse. The choice is simple; give in and give up.
Decades of pilfering various thoughts from manuscripts of faith and religion have left me with one, and only one, thought. The foundation of existence can only be discovered, seeded, nurtured, and matured through LOVE. Trust is the make up of this perfect atmosphere of truth. They say “One can love without trust, but cannot trust without love.” I believe this to be another falsification of thought. Love IS trust and vice versa; complete unwavering symbiotic entities that compliment one another. 
The polluted minds and souls of the masses have destroyed far more in the name of religion than any other reason. Salvation and healing lay near death in the streets of religious ideologies. The genius of madness is to extract one’s tormented soul from this stage of misconceptions and rejoin the freedom of unthinking programmed thoughts and return to the great expanse of love.
Yes, there are a few ideologies that preach hate, but one must remember that hate is part of love. Hate is the corrupted offspring of love. Hate is not natural. Love is natural. Hate is chosen, desired, wanted out of despair. When one hates, it is because one feel unloved, less than ONE with the universe. I have been to the top of Corporate Amerika and lived in the streets (by choice). I have walked with and talked with the best of the best and the worst of the worst. The one thing that all mankind has in common is the need to feel needed, wanted, loved. If one does not feel this, the heart withers and hate fills the soul. Many use hate as a shield to push away love because someone or something has made them feel less than human. Love can return light to a heart. The Creator is everything. The Creator is the ocean. We, as mortals, are scattered drops of the ocean. Like rain we will find our way back to the ocean.

 © Dec 22, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Friday, December 21, 2012

Will the world end? Doubtful...

As I sit here, on the eve of the end of the world, and reflect on the actual meaning of life, I return to the same question no matter which rabbit hole I venture into. “What is the key of understanding?” The end is simple, but the means continue to confound mankind. The old adage is not always right.
Love is the answer. Love is all there is. It is the source of light and peace. Being immortal or in the presence of our Creator is easy; we have no choice but to be engulfed in love. But we choose to separate ourselves from the source and try of produce our own raging bonfire of love from the cinder placed in our hands by our Creator. Humanity/mortality offers a test that many do not realize, and fewer accept the challenge. If you fail to learn to love as a mortal, how can you be allowed to roam the eternal halls of light with no internal love source? Light must come from within.
If you wish to be a star you must shine. If you wish to be a beacon, you must burn bright in the darkness. If you wish to know love, you must be love. You must burn with a fiery passion like never before imagined. Let love consume your heart, but maintain vigilance with your mind. Be aware and trust. Listen to your heart.
The key of understanding life and love is TRUTH. Without absolute truth, there can be no trust. Without trust, there can be no love. Without love, there can be light. And without light, there is only darkness. A cold and desolate expanse of eternal nothingness.

©Dec 20, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Is She...?

Is she crying?
A silken river of sorrow for humanity?
Warm rains from yesterday’s memory?
A trail of tears to lead me home?

Is she laughing?
A magic moment slipping from her soul?
Faeries dancing within her golden heart?
Butterflies gently kissing her neck?

Is she sleeping?
Falling into dreams of what could be?
Slipping into the in-between?
Perhaps a journey to join hands?

I pray I am there when she raises her head,
To seal the moment with a kiss
and a dancing of her fingers and mine
as they seek to find a melding into one.

© Dec 19, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic
 NOTE: photo courtesy of PL

Tuesday, December 11, 2012


Sitting here in the dark, only the ghostly hum of household life pollutes the harmonic textures of Mozart that waif through the air like tendrils of smoke longing to cross the auditory threshold and lift me into a melodic state of heaven.
The multicolored mood lighting emanates from a seasonally dressed tree awaiting tinsel to grant it a silver headdress. Marching soldiers and ballerinas dance among the strands.
How peaceful. The cool draft from the chilly outside night slithers across the marble tiles: reaches and grabs my feet for a moment and then vanishes to reappear again in moments for another strike. I believe hot tea is in the cue. Could a cup of chamomile be the serum that removes the toxin of bitter cold from my toes? Ha ha! Comfort would only arrive with tilt of a hand. Focus on ink.
I settle in to write. My inkwells are moist, my quills stand ready, and my parchment beckons. Let us begin the journey into the moment.
As the violins caress my soul, I am reminded of your gentle laugh. The flutes turn to whispers of “I love you,” as the brass cries out in passion. I found you in the music, elements of you beauty reside in such classics.
I gaze into the kaleidoscope pin-picks of light that seep through the darkness and enter my consciousness. The blues reminds me of the sky that offers the oldest of love stories. Luna and Sol in the endless game of seek. The red becomes the tail-lights of so many cars I followed and fell into their trance; wondering if you’d ever be beside me as I slipped into the night. White dots become the stars under which I long to hold you close. The green and orange light the stage for the soldier and ballerina that waltz around the tree; trapped within their own existence longing to be freed A kiss from their counterpart would grant them a life together. Forever dancing arm in arm around the tree or laying side by side in a mostly forgotten dark box.
The ice vipers that strike my feet remind me I am alive and vulnerable to many things. The elements, stampeding elephants, and emotions. All are bearable and capable of being fended off for ages except emotions. The empty ache of solitude snaps me back to the present.
The longer my senses are teased and heightened; my thoughts of you become clearer.  Why are we worlds apart? To offer the glimmer of hope to a life of love that is seldom seen? To set before us the mystery of language long lost? To send us seeking the missing piece of the puzzle of ethereal love? Yes! Yes! Yes! To quell to beast of passion’s urgent roar and dull it to a sensuous whisper that trusts and tames the soul.
Yessssssssssssss. I love you.

© Dec 11, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Monday, December 10, 2012

You and I

The Elysian Fields shall be our arena this eve. A heaven, an earth, a field of harmony. The soft zephyr winds will sing of the old gods, interpret our dance, and whisper the forgotten notes of love. We will sway with the flowers and fly with the Fae. We will leave a trace of our love in our wake and give the immortals something new to contemplate. They will rewrite the books when they discover a new tenderness. They will shed tears and cleanse the wicked. Sages of old will reach for their wither and cracked quills to start anew chapter in the story of love. Mankind will be given redemption. We will offer a new meaning of love.
We will sit at the edge of the stream of Okeanos, and tempt Zeus with peddles as we disturb the pure waters. The mirror will quiver and sparkle in rhythm as we laugh and love in the flowers of truth.
Rhadamanthus will come seeking your beauty and I will rush him away. My queen is my love, my life, and my soul. We are one forever more. I shall be intoxicated and write of our love upon the rings of Saturn, and chisel my oath in the ice rings of Neptune. Sol himself fails to burn as hot as my soul since your touch.

© Dec 10, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Wednesday, December 5, 2012


The drone of the jeep engine was easily as lulling as the purring of my Grumman F8F Bearcat, affectionately referred to as “Papa Bear.” This borrowed mechanical monstrosity was as drafty as my bird, and each pothole I seem to find (I think I found every stinking one) was the equivalent of a quake from an aerial bombardment blast. When would it end? This quest of mankind to rule the world as it slowly killed one country at a time. Never, I supposed.
I let my thoughts drift back in time to a day between the Great Wars. Every American boy dreamed of joining the military, traveling to an exotic country, and falling in love with the most beautiful woman on some beach under the light of the silvery moon. Didn't every land of exotic beauties have a beach? Well, at least that is what my buds and I fantasized about day in and out. After school we would get our nickel Cokes and run to the orchard. Laughing as we ran and staging mock dog-fights in our jet fighters! “Vroom! Pft! Pft! Pft!” Arriving in our sanctuary, we would collapse under a giant apple tree and await a Newtonian moment to fall upon us as we discussed our understanding of world politics. Taking turns we would surmise when and where the next Great War would occur. We would offer our heroic tactics and plan to save the world; and of course, the beautiful damsel in distress. I always chose France, because I had forever wanted to kiss a woman atop the Eiffel Tower. The guys always laughed at me and called me “Romeo.” Those Spring days were some of the best days of my life. I miss Russ, Jeff, and the others. Where are they now?
{{{screech}}} Whoa! I had almost passed the place as I swam in the warm mental waters of yesteryear. There it was! The most well kept secret in all of war-torn France, the infamous “La porte du Ciel!” I had paid a pretty penny to get directions to this “Gateway to Heaven” getaway. It's story better be prettier than the cover! This place looked like a dive. But what should I expect in a country ravaged by the evils of mankind’s aggression. Rumors in the wind had it that this was the last place in France one could get a good shot of single malt Scotch to warm the belly while listening to a true siren melt your heart with her songs of love. I had seen a lot of dames and ogled twice as many gams, and had yet to near internal combustion. We shall see.
The blue smoke drift upward in spirals and fought for existence in the same space occupied by the airy musical notes that drifted through the room from the band hidden in the jukebox. My Zippo erupted light into the shadows and I saw the house was full tonight. As I gazed around, I saw German officers, Italian soldiers, French, English, and fellow Americans; all under the same roof, at the same time. Had there been a world truce? Was the war over? I should be so lucky. Wait! I think the day is Thursday! Was she going to be there? I had heard that a woman with the voice of and angel and the body of Betty Grable performed here on Thursdays. Was this my lucky day?
As an eerie hush fell over the unlikely calm mix of cultural diversity, one of the German officers locked eyes with me for a moment. What was it I saw in his gaze? Was it a tear of humanity shadowed and hidden behind secular and religious ideologies? Yes, I believe I saw…
*♪ ♫ *♪ ♫ * Je t'aime *♪ ♫ *♪ ♫ *…My thoughts and life itself were interrupted by the most ethereal voice I had ever experienced. I turned my gaze from the stranger in the SS uniform to the swaying figure upon the dimly lit stage. It was as if her voice had permeated my being and was caressing my heart. The song slowly moved deeper into my essence and left a blanket of love’s residue covering my soul. All the wounds of war were forgotten in that moment, both psychological and physical. After her number was over, our specter of light disappeared behind the side-curtain of the stage. A strange din arose that was not too unlike having my aircraft strafed with bullets. I looked around to see the crowd banging steins and glasses on the tabletops, chanting “encore!” She was gone...
Glancing around, I wondered, “How many of these patrons were here creating memories vs those reliving them?” A whispered voice from behind me answered, “Votre choix commence maintenant.” I felt a hand come to rest upon my shoulder at the same time I realized that I had spoke my question aloud. I started to quiver. It couldn’t be her. I closed my eyes and tried to shake the scotch-created phantom from my mind. Wait! Phantoms don’t speak French. I slowly opened my eyes and turned to see it was her. I fumbled my only French, “Parlez-vous Anglais? Je suis désolé. Je ne peux pas parler Français.” A tiny sigh escaped her lips that lit up the entire room. “Very good French for an American,” she laughed. “Shall we dance, or do you plan to continue drowning yesterday in your Scotch?”

© Dec 5, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Dark vs light

There was a time when I thought darkness would overtake light. Each day I sat in dread and knew the night would eventually quell the light. I gave in and accepted the dark as being prevalent. I grew morose and melancholy. I lost hope.
Each day I would sit and watch the darkness hide under my bed and in corners. I would…wait! The darkness was hiding from the light! The day I noticed this I stated watching and wondering. Could I have been wrong? Could it be the opposite? Could the light of day come and vanquish the darkness of night?
During the night, I saw no light hiding anywhere! I saw the tiniest of light screaming and tearing through the darkness! A million stars poking holes in the fabric of the night sky! A flashlight stabbing through the veil of night! A television hissing its light through the quietness of a room full of night. I was wrong!
Light is triumphant! There are no dark spots in the days sky called “srats.” A beam of light can temporarily be blocked, but a shadow is permanently silenced by light!
I had found hope again! I began to understand that I had been allowing the illusion to win the mind games. No more! The light will always make the dark hide under a bed, behind a bookcase, or in an abandoned corner! Darkness falls, the light rises!

Dreams of life

As a little boy, I was read "1001 Arabian Nights" time and again. The girls that danced in silk for the sultans were always a fascination. They were always described as swaying exotic goddesses dancing in silk that played like tendrils of smoke upon their lithe figures. Bejeweled, they glittered in the torch-light like diamonds offering brilliant flashes under the sun. The music slithered up your body like a snake and teased your ears as if the serpent was lovingly flicking your desire to join the dance.
Now I have the honor and pleasure of knowing and writing for one such lady. She is not Scheherezade and dances not upon sand for Sultans or tell stories to please. My dancer is a princess that dances within the majesty of marble halls for Kings and Queens and tells stories with her fluid body. She alone is the treasure of the Arabian Desert.
She does not dance with empty eyes like a puppet without strings. Each movement is full of passion and emotion is the night in which she elegantly sways. Each sway turns dreams to ash and set reality ablaze with the fires of truth. Sands from forgotten times fill the hourglass with virtuous thoughts and a love lost to the ages as the granules of modern torment slip through the cracks in space.
I stand under the moon and slowly close my eyes, shutting out the visions of the day. In my mind, the stories of the past whirl in the wind like a dervish, dancing with the realities of today. All at once they become one and lift me within their shimmering eddy on leave me floating on midnight clouds of silvery light, surrounded by twinkling pin-pricks of starlight. Whispers of "I love you," carried in the wind, now caress my ears where the flickering tongues of snakes once teased. I feel her reaching for my soul. There! There! There in my heart! I see her under a evening sun! Smiling, waiting, wanting me to be within the dancer’s embrace and melt with her into the legendary melodies lost with a lamp not yet rubbed.

 © Dec 4, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic
NOTE: photo courtesy of PL

Monday, December 3, 2012

The little things

The secret of all the little things; when one gets taken or forgotten, there are plenty more to reflect on and enjoy. If all you have is a big moment to focus on; when it is gone, there is nothing but a void.
The little things are the important things in life. Be happy with many little victories, they soften the heart and add colors to love. The big thing hardens the heart and shadows love.
A nightly thought from little ol' me.

NOTE: photo is a random internet find


There is a whisper of something in the air,
a hint of magic from a time long forgotten.
Was it sultan girls swaying with zills?
Or could it have been my imagination?

It's so nice when the wheel spins,
and shows what hides behind the shadow!
Was it a light reflection in the evening?
Or was it really your soul in the window?

The endless love of Luna and Sol
turn day to night and back again.
Was it a promise of eternal love?
Or was it our mortal misconception?

Hearts of ice warmed with fire
discover old ways replaced by new.
Bleeding souls merge to a sea
flying free and flowing true. 

I offer my soul and hand in dance,
let us seek the sacred truth.
Was it a kiss ‘tween wind and flame?
Or a misunderstood swaying of two? 

Let us seek this dance…

© Dec 3, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

NOTE: photo is a random internet find

Wednesday, November 28, 2012


The glow of candles
Descend into the darkness
Beginning the journey to dawn
{{{come to me}}}
The shadows of trees
Rise toward Luna
Yearning to touch the stars
{{{take my hand}}}
The essence of beauty
Adrift before me
Reaching to lead me through
{{{walk with me}}}
The promise of tomorrow
Settles in my soul
Lighting hope’s beacon.
{{{kiss me gentle}}}
The touch of flesh
Stirs forgotten dreams
Releasing love’s whisper.
{{{dance my love}}}
The hint of Sol
Calms the passion
Turning and returning.

© Nov 29, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic


Concentric circles of regret reach out as leaves fall like letters of love never written and come to rest in the pool of tears cried over second thoughts. 

NOTE: photo is a random internet find

Monday, November 26, 2012


Attempting to write of your beauty,
I gaze upon your elegance…
Your silent whispers and smile,
set aglow by the light of the moon.
I find myself stealing summer winds from your hair,
to offer the breath of life to my words.
As the sparkle of starlight from your eyes
illuminates the beckoning parchment,
I prepare the sacred transference
from inkwell to immortal script.
The tears of endless passions are collected
and mixed with pigments of dreams.
Infused with the blood of thought
to add the magic to my words
Subtle prayers cast to the open skies;
“Oh Great Creator I ask
for an eternity with her in my heart.
Let me never lose sight
of my source of inspiration?”
The dawn brought favor
with but a gentle kiss.

© Nov 26, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Sunday, November 25, 2012

An offering of Hope...

For all those hiding in the shadows and embracing specters of doubt; I offer a threshold, so to speak, into the realm of spirituality and faith. I do not speak of the god that has been twisted and corrupted by secular and spiritual ideological fanatics. I do not infer that there in only my interpretation of a god. All faiths are bases on the foundation of love. Love is the primary and repeated com
mand in all faiths. Each faith has a god. Each faith call him by different names. Each faith and culture speaks a different language. So, is it possible that our understanding and representations will differ slightly? Any person of the slightest of wisdom will agree with this. It is fact and has been proven time and again. So, I say we all rest and embrace peace and love and listen to Blaise Pascal, "Why not believe in God? If you believe and you turn out to be wrong, you haven't lost anything. But if you don't believe and you turn out to be wrong, you lose everything. Isn't believing the safer bet?"


The world fell out of focus
Colors faded away
I looked for the promise of rain
But clouds got it the way
I sat a moment to reflect
Found years had passed me by
The cloak of sadness dulled me
Lost me deep in time…

{{{ticking of time}}}

I chanced a gaze at Heaven
There stood a sunny sky
I shrug the shroud of torment
“I am alive!” I cry!
The journey to inner reason
Seldom has perfect rhyme
The mountain leads to freedom
Dunes of sand a waste of time

My past is my prison!
But my future is my liberator!

© Nov 25, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Notes~ I know it is simple, but I am giving my mind a break from deep thought for a moment...returning to elementary tactics...ahhhh...

NOTE: photo courtesy of PL

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Memories of sand...

I used to imagine a beautiful lady dancing in the sand. Her colorful fabrics and hair blowing in the wind; elegance set aglow by the sun and moon. Hypnotic melodies from long lost masters touch my ears, painting the air with the harmonic sounds of dreams.
The childhood illusion has given way to reality, but the lady dances in lit halls of ivory before crowds instead of Sultans. Starlight has become spotlight and hints of music now orchestral. But through all the changes in time and space, her exotic intoxication remains.
I need not 1001 nights, but a single moment to embrace fate, and brush her lips with mine.

My Tyrian queen adorned in silk,
sways to the desert world.
Shimmers in the sun’s eye
like the rarest of gems.
Her little smiles and whispered affections,
like nectar of the gods.
They put thunder in my blood,
and a challenge in my soul.
There are a thousand stars in the night,
a million diamonds in lost mines.
But there is only one she,
I seek to find her heart.
All languages known and many long forgotten
do not contain the words I need.
To paint her forever in the skies
a testament to the Heavens.

© Nov 24, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Friday, November 23, 2012

ART, in and of itself

The great thing about art in any form, is that there are two sides. The outside which is felt by the observer. They allow it to permeate the soul. Then experience a moment caught in time by someone else. It takes them back to a precise moment in their life. The artist has touched magic in the observer.
The other side is the inside. The perspective of the creator. The artist touches "magic" within themselves and lets it transform into an expression which is then shared. The artist places feeling within this masterpiece to stir emotions and the ashes of forgotten dreams in others lives. The artist offers a piece of his very existence in every piece of work.
There is really no "host and symbiont" relationship in art.  The relationship is mutually beneficial. Without the observer, artists would have less reason to seek out that internal gift; without the artist, the observers would forget the sweetness of life.
The perspective differs in each if us and that is what makes mankind so unique. I don't want to be a replica and I don't want to be replicated. I want to be an individual that offer my uniqueness to the world. I want to see the individuality in each person I meet. Walk with me. Let your magic touch my essence and let mine touch you. After all, we are ONE.

NOTE: photo is a random internet find

Thursday, November 22, 2012


Love exists, it is just been made into a mountain and all our natural climbing gear has been anesthetized and buried in the dark recesses of our minds. The glamorized soothsayer tranquilize us with secular and religious ideologies of fanatical proportions and turn love into tangible items, and then put on a shelf and sold to the highest bidder. While many sit idle and wish they could afford to "love" someone. Love used to be real, but the corrupt realized a great source of commerce. The well of love was poisoned. The creation of the "chocolate apology" arose. After the seduction of money, the rest is history. Valentine's Day is a hoax and a load of crap! It is a day of legal theft. If you really love your partner, every single second, of every minute, of every hour, of every day should be "Valentine's Day." But the producers of seduction keep our focus on the glowing of the dazzles and sparklies. Entranced, we blindly follow along and work, worship, and then waste the one item that we have been brainwashed into believing makes the world go round; the almighty dollar. How sad. No wonder many where love has gone. It has run and hid among the mysteries of the past.
Is it chance that the first four letters of evolve are evol? A mirrored "love." To evolve, you must love. Get busy with it, get jiggy wit it, or how ever in the heck you do it! Just do it! ~ LOVE ~
It is time for society to get that long overdue cranial-anal-ectomy and and breathe fresh air again!
No more of the Great Chocolate Apology! "Here is a box of chocolates, dear. This is proof that I love you! Gotta run. TTYL." No! No! No! Show you love your mate with the brush of lips, the gentle touch of a fingertips, the look that bleeds love into their soul without a sound.
Intimate whispers in the darkness of today's world will return the spark of love into a great pyre of passion, restore light to the world, and chase the soothsayers of wickedness to the shadows within the forest of corruption.

© Nov 17, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

NOTE; photo is a random internet find

Wednesday, November 21, 2012


I have a question for all the lovers of classic art; music, poetry, painting, etc. The question is for those that seriously understand the connection between the artist and their subject. The bond of trust, respect, and admiration evolves; a sacred chord that resonated between the two souls, forever.
Both artist and subject expose their inner being to each other. The artist offers his raw spirit to be engulfed and tries his best to create a worthy representation of the subject. In turn, the subject allows herself to be ensconced within his scrutiny and puts her heart and soul into his trust.
A true ethereal relationship between an artist and subject develops over time. This is how a masterpiece comes into existence. Am I correct, or have I deluded myself with the hazy teachings of secular and religious ideologies? Is there less of a relationship, or more of a spiritual bond? Have I narrowed the margin of truth to a mere paragraph? If not, I must return to the classics and reevaluate my understanding. If so, I beg the question: Is it morally and ethically proper for an artist to fall in love with his subject?

NOTE: photos are random finds on the internet

Tuesday, November 20, 2012


 By morning my quill rewrites fate
The ink becomes reality’s script
Wishes are wings that lift us to heights
Adrift in a world of yesterday’s dream
Above the oceans that once stood between us
My breath turns to wind that teases your hair
As solemn whispers caress your heart
Letters of wonder become whispers of love
Buried desires evolve into dance
Passionate sighs become tender kisses…

Tomorrow we dance arm in arm…

...the wait is over...

…only if…my quill was a god…

© Nov 20, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic
NOTE: photo courtesy of PL

Monday, November 19, 2012


Now I settle into dissecting life, love, harmony, melody, creation in its entirety, and reconstructing my existence with letters I have stitched together with threads of magic as I understand it. I am allowing Cecelia Bartoli to lift me on her wings and carry me into the skies. She will take me to my destination across the seas to dance with my inspiration....


I am afraid if I try too desperately to describe you with mortal words that I will peel away your ethereal beauty. Too many words decay elegance. So, I will be just breathe a sigh of awe and know that the heavens understand.
 © Nov 19, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

NOTE: photo courtesy of PL


I am fire
I will kiss you and set your spirit ablaze.
I am water
I will shed a tear and cleanse your soul.
I am wind
I will whisper and touch your heart.
I am earth
I will rise before you and kiss your soles.
I am that that was…
I am that which led you here.
I am that that is…
I am that which gives you dreams.
I am that that will be…
I am that which is love eternal

Take my hand
We will become ONE.

© Nov 20, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

NOTE: photo courtesy of PL


Are there mortal words to describe such beauty? Yes, but they elude modern comprehension. Beauty such as this has not been seen for ages, hence the tongue's inability to create such melodic descriptions. Long ago, the world was filled with such elegance, but mankind transformed love into lust. Desire to greed. Passion to violence. Creation halted such inspiration. Mankind pined for its return. Our Creator hesitated in allowing perpetuation. In the stead, an occasional gift is bestowed mankind to spark inspiration, but all understanding and description are lost in the beauty of the rising and setting of the sun, the blooming and aroma of the rose, the perfection of a bird's sweet song, the magic of a butterfly kissing a bloom. All of these things combined are near the idea, but the grace of the tongue's dance with words to lend verbal enchantment to this majestic touch of awe is lost. Your beauty is divine.

© Nov 17, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic
NOTE: photo courtesy of PL

Sunday, November 18, 2012


My Sunday started wonderful. A cool breeze brushing my skin with the sun's warmth stabbing through in chosen places, birds singing back and forth trying to find a chorus to agree upon, shadows of butterflies dancing upon the walls, and a whisper of a rose upon the wind...mmmmm....

Another wonderful day of inspiration is upon me. The strange, yet wonderful, blanket that shrouds me is the fact that I am in the city, but all the beauty I mentioned above quiets the raging sounds of cars, commerce, and convenience. Cloud nine is my writing throne.

When you have an endless inkwell, filled with the tears, passions, and hope of a beautiful woman...inspiration and creativity is endless and boundless...

Prepare the parchment, love is the quill spreads this ink for all to share...

What is life, if not love? For pure hearts and the learned, from the moment of conception, love is the factor. Love creates. Love lives, love breathes, and love transfers. Love never dies. Love is a communicable condition. If you love someone or something enough, it will love you back. As you spread love, it grows exponentially. Don't believe it? I challenge you to commit to the theory and try it out for a month. Take notes, minus the mind's prefabricated ideologies of what you think love has done to you in the past.

Now, I must clarify: there is a difference between love and lust. Love is a pure heart full of love; love is a touching of hands, a careless dance, a brushing of lips, passion spoken without a sound, tears of happiness, a gentle embrace, or being perfectly at peace in the presence of another. Lust is an empty mind desiring to be filled with the promise of any of these intoxicating phenomenon that is observed in  the behavior of others lost in any of the aforementioned activities. Lust is the need to be loved; it is the hollow, lonely, cold, barren streets of desolation and abandonment. Lust is an empty beaker that only needs to be filled with love. Real love.

Unfortunately, too many believe that all they have is a glassful. Thank you modern day society for this false illusion! In actuality, we all possess an endless carafe full of unconditional love. The more we share, the more is shared with us. Picture this: you are at a party serving drinks, not government Koolaid, but a love tonic. As you wander around the room you notice some laughing and sharing their pitcher of juice. Then there are those hiding in the corner just holding onto their pitcher. Which would you feel more inclined to refill and join for a drink? The people that are sharing and using the love given. Lesson learned?

I know that few that read this actually need it. My friends and family are full of love. It was written because I am a vessel to script as the thought flow through me. Perhaps I will print copies and pass them out on the street. Have a beautiful rest of the day.

Peace, love, hope, and inspiration to all....

Saturday, November 17, 2012


As the calm of the evening settles in…
(I missed you)
{And I, you}
The stars begin to dot the heavens…
(I need you now)
(I am yours)
Luna shadows flow again...
{You are so beautiful}
Violins create within….
(Come to me)
{I am here}
Release of cloth to the wind…
(Hold me close)
{Time everlasting}
Love's petals begin to open...
(Touch me, love)
{Until the dawn}
Where do I end…
(Kiss me with fire)
{Forever and a day}
Where do you begin…
(Love me with passion)
{With all that I am}
We are forever one…
(I love you)
{I love you}

© Nov 17, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Friday, November 16, 2012


Last night I bottled the once thought gentle breezes and cast them back to the Seven Seas toward the Island of Sirens, for the lost souls to find and maintain. I scribed a note with the names of the 4 winds for remembrance and acknowledgement. I shall miss the torment of my love for the waves of their embracing aura. Now the howling winds are contained and the song of the spectres can be heard again. I returned a favor and now am even with the tormented spirits. I am an empty man, a free man. ~DBC 2011


Whether at school or at home, the beatings were regular and as much psychological as physical. There were other minds games and tortures at the house that still seem to wake me up with cold sweats. One of the most damaging mental terrors was being “sent to the spiders.” The Southwestern area of America is riddled with black widow spiders. Our hall closet always had 8 to 10 hour-glasses within, at any given time. The closet was roughly 3'x 3'x 8.' It was the storage for all the jackets, tools, fishing poles, etc. once a week, I would be locked in the closet for 10 to 15 minutes. Before being shooed in, I was warned “don't move too much, they will see you body heat and get you.” The mind does terrible things when you stand statuesque in the dark waiting for a black widow to bite you. Terror has never had such sharp claws as those of the anticipation of something dark and evil that never comes.

A memory

Between the ages of 22 and 24, I chose to live on the streets in Colorado. I had no car, no money. All I possessed was the will to experience life thru the eyes of others and an honest heart. I found enough work to keep myself healthy. At night I would go buy a few bottles of wine and visit the local rail yard. I would find the train "hobos," and give them wine in exchange for stories. There were frigid night of below zero wind with no place to hide from the cold. Bones would ache while the skin numbed to the blasts. There were days after days of freezing sleet that battered your coat/blanket until you were so wet that it didn't matter anymore, you were ready to succumb to the icy fingers of death that crept all over your body. The temptation to just lay down and sleep came often. At night we gathered around a "fire barrel," that the boys referred to as "Satan's Eye." They said the only warmth they could feel was from the temporary opened portal to Hell. They hated the reference, but they said that the fire in the barrel represented Satan watching and laughing at them as they struggled to make a living in the "land of the free." I met fellow named "Frostie" that had been riding trains across the country for the better part of 60 years. He froze to death in the winter of 1991. I was saddened that i ha lost such a dear soul to the Heavens, but his suffering was over. Over those 2 years, I could have bailed out and returned to society but I wanted to know the road. I wanted to feel it, breath it, taste it, live it. I did, and I am grateful.  Those "bums" and I worked and survived 2 brutal winters with less than nothing. I walked away a more caring man that knew more of the depths of life. I learned "humble."
There are hundreds of stories like this that occurred over that time span. I plan to start adding a story a day in my notes...

Enlightened Ones?

I am amazed and confused at the same time. So many tell you to: "Forget the past. Get over it. It is gone. Don't look back." And then they end their affirmations with something of their past in the same vein. I don't get it? Did your speaking of something bring their focus back to their "experience," and their tutorial is a quick wall to shield the memory in their mind? I used to have someone close to me tell me all the time to forget my ex,"A," and in the same breath he would rage on about his step daughter, "B". I wasn't angry, just talking. He was upset and very emotional when speaking of "B." It's the old "Do what I say, not what I do." OR the more recent, "Take my advice, I'm obviously not using it."

I see so many "enlightened" individuals speak of forgiveness and love and then see curse someone in anger minutes later. And then they claim, "I am only human." OR "Can't I have an off day?" I guess they can, but others can't. It seems being ascended is not all it is cracked up to be, it tends to bring posers out of the woodwork. And they do love to brag. It seems some are just professionals at "hiding" their stuff, they never really get over it either. And it usually stays hidden until it is need for an example, which only they are allowed to give. I had one tell me, "I am not out to try and heal anyone. I speak my mind and people can like it or go somewhere else." Really? What a loving soul. Then why are you in it? Sounds like a scam artist to me.

And then there are those that think the rest of us are stupid or blind. Yeah, they have some of the crowd fooled, but not me. I see right through them. I lived with a master manipulator/liar/deceiver for 13 years. I just act dumb to see how far someone will try and get over. I feel the deceit dripping from every pore of their essence. I love them and pray for them, but they will only change when they love themselves and want to change.

Yes, there are good ones out there. There are great people with words of wisdom and heart of gold. But there are also wolves in sheep's attire. Be careful before you give whole-heartedly into another's philosophy. I would suggest creating your own ideologies based on the best of the best and set your own standards. We might be ONE in the Universal sense, but remember..."You came into this world by yourself and you will leave it by yourself." So do something positive and worthy of yourself! Be remembered as a truthful, ethical, and loving being. Not a lying, manipulating, deceitful fool.

Lost Souls

Yes! I have spent my time walking among the shadows and hiding in the corners of obscurity, to steal a glance in the soul of others. I have bought wine and sat with the train hobos to hear their travels. I have near froze to death around a burning barrel as the winter wind threatens to solidify me, so that I might mingle with the homeless and feel the look in their eyes. I have sat among thieves and prostitutes, only to hear their tales. I have sat next to an addiction and never had a desire to partake, but learned how emptiness needs a replacement. I swore myself to secrecy of names, but found humbleness yet rich delight in the spice each has added to my life. There is no such thing as an "undesirable," there is only a "lost soul" here and there. It is up to us as humans to correct this and make these souls feel wanted and loved.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

cosmic surfing

Cosmic waves ease upon the shores
Taking away black sands of time
Once white with pure hope and love
Mankind has placed shadows within
Twin moons bless the starry skies
Offering a beacon to wayward eyes
The clouds of deceit and illusion
A veil that my love wore thin
Upon the raging seas I stand tall
Expressing subtle immortality
I command the winds of fate
From time’s darkened origin.
I am light, I am love
Created of the sacred fire
I offer hope to all of faith
Feel the grace of my healing hand.

© Nov 15, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

NOTE: a bit different than my usual write. A friend gave me an idea and I ran with it.

IDEA FROM: Tiffany Gillies Paten


“I’m OK,” she tried,
But shadows tell the truth.

“I'm tired of trying.
I'm tired of crying.
I know I've been smiling,
but inside I'm dying.”

Sounds of sadness paint the present
The drops I feel are not the rain,
instead small worlds of perfect pain.
A cloudless sky collects her tears,
for essence of a rose’s lovely thorn.
Her beauty borrowed eons past,
to lend the world salvation’s kiss.
Come to me, my little one,
I offer rest within embrace.

© Nov 15, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic
NOTE: photo courtesy of PL

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Shall we dance?

We have danced across oceans,
tangoed before crowds,
waltzed in the wind,
upon rain filled clouds.
I searched the world over,
sought far and beyond,
within a magic forest
I found our own private pond.
Shall we dance m'lady?

© Nov 14, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic
NOTE: photo is random internet find

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Advice for young writers

 Keep stretching those wings and taking to different skies! The more diversity you experience, the deeper the day and night becomes! The deeper the day and night become, the easier the words will flow. Rhyme and reason are for young writers. Iambic pentameter flows smoothly, but free verse is universally harmonic! Both styles are loved and revered! And although iambic pentameter is easier to write, readers feel more in tune with free verse. It is perfect in creation, but seldom in rhythmically without flaw.  Much like our mortality. 
  Every writer is still learning and perfecting the craft. The greats are usually not recognized until postmortem lividity has come and gone and there is little left but bone dust . I believe one day you will be a great writer. That is why I tend to suggest you attempt new things. It is like going to a gym. The workouts include exercising ALL body parts. Same in writing. Explore all the emotions and fill each inkwell with experience. Immerse yourself in an emotion when you write. Become that moment or object you are writing about. Feel it exist.

The subject of the day is Opportunity Cost:

 Opportunity cost is the cost of any activity measured in terms of the value of the next best alternative forgone (that is not chosen). It is the sacrifice related to the second best choice available to someone, or group, who has picked among several mutually exclusive choices. (Wikipedia)

So often we complain about not having enough time, or money. Most of these shortcomings can be overcome by self control. Of all the things I learned in college, this is the lesson I use on a daily basis. I feel it is one of the most valuable lessons in life.

As a writer, I must decide if I am going to spend two hours enjoying someone else’s imagination by watching a movie, or will I spend the two hours delving into my own creativity. I usually choose the latter.

As a consumer, I gave up smoking and drinking years ago. This not only saved me a few hundred dollars a month, it also saved me future monies on health issues. The extra money could be used for many things. The healthier body goes without saying.

As a human, I had to elect to dissolve the resentment toward my ex-wife, if I ever wanted to have a meaningful relationship. This also reduced my stress levels. The chance of amorous adventure has replaced solitude. My ulcers are healing.

Opportunity cost exists in every decision we make. Be it 3 hours on FB, an hour of online porn, a few hours of on-line gaming, a gallon of ice cream, a candy bar, or an affair. I am not saying all these things are bad. I am just saying before you spend an few hours playing, insure your daily duties are done; before you buy that $20 CD, insure you have the gas to get through the week. Any choice you make has an alternative. The most difficult thing to do is realize the positive outcome of giving up one action for another. So, think twice before you make your next rash decision or indulge in your habit.

NOTE: earlier today, someone messaged me and asked of my "best learned lesson in college." Well...there you have it. Fell free to message me any questions and I will deliberate and indulge. Thank you.


I stepped to the edge
The precipice of love
Gazing deep in her eyes
I prepared for the jump…

I hear taunting voices
Call out warnings…

“Look, there is no safety net!”
“No shelter for a storm!”
“No life line tether!”
“Only a thorn-covered stem!”

I stopped for a moment
I smiled and replied…

“Caution in love is untrue!”
“I’ll dance in the rains!”
“Love is a freedom!”
“The flower quells the pains!”

Taking her hand,
I turn to my lover.
Is she ready to chance,
a free fall into forever?

We step…

© Nov 13, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

NWO is not about Obama. It's bigger than that.

Good lord people! You are thinking small. This is not about Obama! He is just the puppet in office. If Romney was in office, you would be all for this! It is about the NWO! It is about GMOs. It is about the Bilderbergs! It is about world domination by the rich! The Elite are the ones initiating the divide and conquer tactic. Whatever! So be it! When it all falls into place, we will still be here for all to run to for help! We are not one sided. We are ONE! The other day one of my liberal friends said, "let the Republicans fend for themselves in NE, like us Dems had to do in New Orleans." Really? That is love and compassion? If you feel this way, you are lost. You are one sided! You have fallen victim to the brainwash that the Bilderberg empire  has been seeding for centuries. I will pray for all of you. Blessings of peace and love to you all.

The American dream used to stimulate people into action. "If I strive to be a cut above the rest, I will rise above the norm and become wealthy for my family and generations to come. If I dedicate my time to education and master a trade, I will be wealthy for my family and generations to come. Now, thanks to the abuse of FDR's "New Deal Plan," the Amerikan dream is being a recipient of redistributed wealth, a half ass education, free pain-killers, and a daily dose of McDonald's. Why should I aspire to used MY imagination so others can cash in on it? I will jump on the band-wagon with the other sheeple!

It is not always about "stepping on others to get ahead." Knowledge should be shared, yes. But I would rather have someone trained in medicine perform surgery on me as opposed to someone that is efficient in crocheting. All live above their means. Amerikans waste more than other countries consume. I agree all should benefit, but I also agree in a system where ALL contribute. Even if it is "menial." Pick up trash, wash windows. Etc. When I ran McDonalds...there were numerous "homeless" or "poor" people that came to my store. I let them clean the windows, pick the trash from the landscape, water my plants, etc and I would feed them. Some called me an asshole for making them work. WTF? They were offering a service as was I. We had a verbal/heart agreement. I met one of those people years later when they were working again and they remembered me and bought me a cup of coffee and we chatted for hours...

  I am all about the love. I am not anti-Obama, I am anti-Bilderberg. It has nothing to do with Obama. That is what they are using to divide us. As long as they can keep it a racial issue, the people will be divided. It is about the division of the people and the government. The people of Iceland rose up and usurped the sitter of their throne and re-established a system OF THE PEOPLE, BY THE PEOPLE, FOR THE PEOPLE. Media coverage was blocked to the US, because they know that the Americans are tired of Amerika. No offense intended to anyone, but arguing over Obama and Romney is like focusing on the junkie in the alley-way to combat drugs. OBAMA is the peon place in office by the Bilderberg dynasty. While society argues over the dope fiend in the street, the fat cat manufacturers picks their teeth with our bones. It is so much bigger than this! Forget Obama! Forget Romney! The EXACT SAME legislation would have been pushed through! Research the Bilderbergs. Research the Elite! Research the Illuminati! Research the Masonic legions! Research everything. Small things amuse small minds. They have brainwashed us into thinking small. Think BIG! For God's sake! Wake up! Wash the brain!

 I find it amazing that "racial" issues fall away until politics is brought up. I am of Jewish descent. We can talk about suppression and abuse if you like. I think slavery began with them making bricks for the Egyptians and their pyramids. If you believe everything you read. I refuse to be boxed in by a deceiving government of puppets. Oh! By the way, I had relatives murdered in Auschwitz. That has NOTHING TO DO WITH ME! I am alive right NOW! I catch flack every day for being Caucasian, but I let it slide off my back! THAT IS NOT THE ISSUE! I am against the government! I would be posting these things if my brother were president. I hate corruption and the secular ideologies that have brainwashed society! If we ignore the growing evil of the Bilderbergs: no president, Dem or Rep will be able to stop it!