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Tuesday, December 24, 2013


There is nothing worth living for
there is nothing worth dying for.
Your reality was accepted by me
my reality you called fantasy.
My thoughts once were forever free
your cruelty chained them for eternity,
My dreams of shimmering dust
turned, by my tears, to rust.
Removing the "us" from "Muse"
you left me alone with "me."


© Dec 25, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Monday, December 9, 2013


What our words might fail,
our passion fills that empty space.
When our passion fails,
our Muse takes the fall from grace.
Why our Muse appears to fail;
our understanding was flawed.
How our understanding fails,
our dreams are ignored.
Where our dreams fail,
our words are hollow places.

As poets we try to interpret the dance
‘tween tree and gentle breeze.
Embrace the delicate sway
transformed to shadow, from flame.
Open our heart by way of ear
and hear the whispering winds.
The tales it tells through the years
to the leaves on trees it bends.
We try in vain to master the tongue
forgotten to time’s lonely song.
But we watch and understand
what passion is destined to become.

We stop
We notice
We listen
We understand
We share…

We are…poets.

© Dec 9, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Monday, November 18, 2013


The perfect diamond has no imperfection…
The guiding compass offers flawless direction…
A perfect vase, has not a mar or break…
The flawless verse, offered for love’s gentle sake…
The perfect day ends with a kiss…
A flawless night begins with bliss…
A perfect “this,” is all in the mind…
A flawless “that,” you’ll never find…
Butt no one is perfect, not white or black…
We think we are flawless, but we all have a crack...

© Nov 18, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

NOTE: photo is random internet find

Sunday, November 10, 2013


When is a stick not just a stick?
When dancing in the hands of a master.

The alphabet attends the poetic dance
as single letters longing for embrace.
The writing stick soon finds rhythms
as the dance of verse begins.

The colors bleed from the rainbow’s end
Upon the canvas created by man.
The drawing stick redefined
in the understanding of one.

The orchestra stands by ready for flight
to carry love’s passion into the night
The rhythm stick sways to and fro
directing the rise and fall of notes.

Or the stick could be the magic sword in the hands of its inspired childhood master…

© Nov 10, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

NOTE: photo is a random internet find

Monday, November 4, 2013

a little on love

Love may be ignored for a time but it will not be denied. Love is eternal. Love will persist long after all else has dissipated back into the elements. Falling in love for an hour should have the same intensity of a decade's inferno. Hate is just the bitter twisted roots of the once beautiful bloom of love. With enough nourishment, the roots will return to beauty and once again hold the flower firm.

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

I Am, yet I Am Not


My name was whispered as time was born, 
will be the last echo as it comes to an end.
Of my body, the earth took form,
The wind borrowed my breath,
my tears became seasons of rain and fire.
I am not of magic, magic is of me.
Within my soul rests the core
that engulfs the eternal sphere.
When your desire reaches for me
I will dance like a mirage
And vanish…
I am, yet I am not…

© Oct 16, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic


I am a god through creation,
yet I am not the God of Creation.

Letter by letter
I turn whispers to sighs
and place them in the empty spaces.
Word by word
I shape images onto parchment
and leave time lost between moments.
Page by page
I yearn to search behind the shadows
the secrets summoned by fire's glow.

the gentle whispers that beckon…

© Oct 17, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic


Murmurs spill the ink of passion
as I write into the night
upon wisps of desire.
Your eyes feed
on the blood of my words
like a starving vampire.
I seek not the body mortal;
it is your soul I wish
to cast upon passion’s pyre.

your heart, the wick, which ignites…

© Oct 17, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic


The dance of longing
between flame and wind
consumes life’s stage
as shadows pretend.
Illusions of need
hold the lines,
truth transforms
within love’s confines.
Love engulfs with each drop of wax
morphing tears of pain
through memory’s collapse.

rains offer, yet another, morrow

© Oct 21, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic


I am the beginning fog that finds
all secrets hidden within shadow,
The ending rain which falls
to expose the depth of sorrow…
There is no truth to time,
to think is to exist.
Memories trapped within each tear,
(the bloodletting of mental pain)
Shall be my crown and sceptre
When I end the war and reign.
My thousand years in a moment shall trump
your moment in a thousand years.

The sand becomes the glass…


Passion searches between
the beams of the moon
Longing to touch the remnant
of chords left out of tune…
There is no time for lies,
to think to create.
Singing birds orchestrate
the lust in harmony’s song.
All worlds stand enchanted
as time begins to unwind.
Recurring moments of "now"
strip “was” and “will” of all need

The glass needs not the sand…


The immortal elixir stirred and poured…
I drink of myself (am I not a god?)
Giving from life eternal, as I am life itself
all love returns from whence it came
Taking scripts old and new
to flow once more in endless storm.
Offering no tears of repentance
yet receiving the rains of salvation.
Cascading effect of eternity
falling forever back upon itself.
A mirror gazing into a mirror,
never to begin, never to end.

The is no reason to chaos…


I am the light you seek in darkness
and the darkness that stains the light.
Encompassing the spectrum
there is no end, ad infinitum.
Order seeks not the offer of reason
chaos offers no reason to seek.
Of one another extremes do tend
to remain on the dance floor of thought.
I am blinded by depth of mans’ faith
yet see through the shallowness in his mind.
Greed perpetually feeds on passion
as passion attempts to purify the need.
As the dog chases his tail
the god curtails the chase.

I am, yet I am not the answer…

© Feb 18, 2014 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic
NOTE: Subtitled "The Spirit of Poetry" (in 8 parts)

Monday, October 14, 2013

Jimmy Dorsey - I Hear A Rhapsody

Beautiful song. Takes me back, so long ago, to that hillside chateau in France...where I first saw true beauty. Her elegance swaying between the music adrift the night winds captured my soul’s desire. Her lips moved so softy with words that my ears heard not, but my heart understood. All the madness in the world slipped away that night, leaving only the serenity offered by holding her in dance...

Sunday, October 13, 2013

Suicide? Not today...

It has been said by many that the greatest use of our imagination is through thoughts of suicide. Many fail to embrace the unknown. Afraid of what hides under the bed, listens from behind the curtain, or lurks in the dark recesses of the closet. The imagination can lead us through those dark places, into the shadow of shadows, and on to the other side. Death is only a threshold to another life, but be not hasty to give this one up. There is no other existence like this one. A moment in chaos leads to understand the eternal realm of order.

Allow Me Entrance

I could lie and say "I love you."
But where would that lead?
To the realm that needs another lie.
I could tease and say "I want you."
That might achieve a moment of bliss
but that would fade and die in time.
I could taunt and say "I need you."
Would that open you up
for another prearranged line?

I want to know you before knowing
Speak the words without sound
Touch your darkest secret
And find that forbidden ground.

Allow me entrance and stay
in your heart's cathedral.
Show me the skies you paint
with the dreams in your soul.

Then and only then
I shall kneel before your altar
Kiss your sacred chalice
And attempt, your passion, to stir.

© Oct 13, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Saturday, October 12, 2013


Last eve heard a tiny bird singing words to the world,
“history does not remember the things that do not happen.”

I fell into thought and lost myself to time,
let the slow dew of never fall gently from my cheek.
The stormy sea that slowly surrounded me
was alive with waves of “never to be.”

We walked; the rain not touching our souls,
We danced; our fingers never entangled,
We kissed; with no brush of lips,
We fell; without rhyme or reason,
We loved; missing its impassioned embrace,
We spoke; never making a sound,
We promised; things that were never to be.

Oh how I remember the things that never happened,
and I shall hold their memories close.

© Oct 12, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Friday, September 27, 2013

...of fire

Slowly she sways and seduces,
the hissing serpent of fire is subdued.
No longer able to consume by gentle caress
the flames bow and join her dance.
She enchants a thousand rhythmic tongues,
entrapped in one essence.
The elemental fire now flickers
in trance, hissssssssing…
She controls the passion
Feeds my desire at her leisure…
She is…

© Sept 27, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

NOTE: photo is random internet find

Autumn, My Doorway To Inspiration (The Falling to Winter)

As I sit beneath the ancient trees
and watch the Autumnal rain of colored leaves
gently fall upon my books
and parchment,
I feel the goodbye kiss
of the Summer
in the cooling winds.
Soon I will be hiding in shadows
from the harsh bite of Winter.
By candlelight,
I will long for the elegant dance
of beauty
between butterfly and flower
a testimony to Spring.
It is in that icy cocoon
that my mind remembers
days of youth and wonder:
The awe of chasing fireflies,
The sweet smell of baking pies.
The Eagles singing songs of life,
counting stars so high in the sky.
From my window
I will relive it all,
if only for a moment.
Then once again,
enchanted will I be
by the molded piece of wax
that accompanies me far into the night.
The flame that dances upon the wick
slowly ignites
the embers of passion
stored deep in my heart.
There, and only there,
do I find beginnings;
the creation of of a new inkwell.
What great gift of inspiration will nature offer this pass?

 Sept 27, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

NOTE: photo is a random internet find

Sunday, September 22, 2013

In-sanity's Genius

My mind reaches deep into the gaseous expanse of thought. The echoes of the past flow through the now and into the future, then return to tease with fragmented motes of infinite possibility. Consciousness condenses the wisps of the forgotten into droplets of things soon remembered, causing their gentle rains of madness to slowly fall upon the roof of my sanity.

Day by day, I find this thunderous rhythm more difficult to avoid, the lulling beat of serenity within the quiet of the maelstrom of sound pulls me back into the night.

It is of this darkness, lending enchantment and life to the lights that dance across the horizons of understanding, that draws me to colors outside the lines of reason and grants me free reign in the true realm of in-sanity’s genius. Releasing the man-made constraints that contain the areas explored within the endless mental caverns of the esse, I have found a home in the wilderness of my mind.

Ahhhhh…ahahahahaha...wanna play?

© Sept 22, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Monday, September 16, 2013

Today's thoughts after conferring with the Red Squirrel

Good morning/afternoon/evening/night wherever you are. Blessings of peace, love, hope, inspiration, health, and prosperity.
Albert Einstein once said, "Imagination is more important than intelligence." Whether you agree or not, the importance of imagination far exceeds the need of intelligence. Granted, intelligence is needed to an extent, but the powers-that-be only allow a politically directed stream of "knowledge" to pass through our school systems. The power that has been the driving force in humanity's evolution has been the inspiration of dreams. Intelligence is learning what others have done in the past, imagination is creating your own mark for others to learn from in the future. I challenge you to not only feed your intellect, but to nurture your imagination. You never know what you might leave behind as you create that first step toward something new in the world of wonder.
And as for children in your lives; do not force your ideologies upon them. Do not hand them stars, let them learn to reach for the Heavens. Teach them to express their own understandings and desires. Teach them to live, love, and laugh. Do not chain them to existence and the mundane.
And help all humanity learn to hope and dream. Be kind.

NOTE: photo is random internet find, text is my thoughts.

Sunday, August 18, 2013


Although you loved me but a moment in eternity;
know that I loved you an eternity in each moment.
You may or may not still love me,
but I will always love you.
Once you were in my heart,
you were alive forever.

Everything I write of love
is infused with a memory of you.
Your smile brought light to the darkened room.
Your laughter kept the walls from closing in.
Your whispers held loneliness at bay.
Your kisses fed the fires in my heart.
These memories guide my hand,
and offer a certain truth to my love.

You are as much a part of me
as my soul is of the great expanse.
I cannot miss you
because you are always with me.

~One love~

© Aug 18, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Sunday, August 11, 2013

I remember

I remember soaring the skies of eternal love with "her" at my side. The indescribable feeling of being ONE with another. The intoxication, yet complete awareness, of love. And then the falling. The falling. The falling. The plummet from light to darkness. The pain. The barren eternity of missing her. The torment of the soul. The agony of feeling incomplete. The questions, "Was it me? Was it her?" The temporary madness of self introspection and self destruction of sanity. The screams. The dreams. The loss of focus. And after all humanness has been burned away, the purity of the soul remains and we remember that we are more than flesh. We are spirit.

perhaps...perhaps not...

I search the winds for a trace of my Muse,
her song no longer reaches my ear.
Her whispers fails to stir the air or
offer animation to my quill.
All I possess is a memory of a memory;
now blind to the hint of her presence.
The blackness of my ink,
a shadow of a shadow,
does not lend curves to my lines.
A loss.
There are no smiles or sighs between words,
only emptiness.
Trapped in the thought of a thought,
becoming lost time’s movement.
I was in love with the idea
of being in love.
That was enough for a moment.
To keep the smallest element of hope alive,
must I believe there was a thread of reality?
Perhaps not…

© Aug 11, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Wednesday, July 31, 2013


Long is the night I sit and write of my devotion to the elders. The ones that touched the Crown of Creation and let its existence become known to me and all mankind.
I fill my chalice with blood red wine and fall into a trance as moon and star dance upon the surface of my nectar of the gods, the elixir that loosens the tongue and frees the mind. The ceremony has begun. I dip my writing instrument into the ink and gently set my hand to rest upon the parchment. The wind, whispers of those masters of yesterdays, slowly sets my quill into a rhythmic dance and leaves trails of thought in its wake.

With my quill and ink, I reach into darkness
To tame, from the mirror, the vicious beast.

Come forth Mr. Hyde, no Tears, Idle Tears.
It’s Midsummer’s Night, let’s count Bronte’s Stars.

Let’s weave the Knight’s Tale, slay with Sir Gawain.
The Tyger burns bright, Dream Within a Dream.

The Faerie Queen laughs, as Jabberwock howls
Grendel comes seeking those who’ve gone a’foul.

Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind an Ode to Solitude.
The Darkling Thrush might sing of morning dew.

Oh! The Last Duchess, She Walks In Beauty
a Meeting At Midnight, is This Poet’s Dream.

Your whispers are heard, and etched in my mind.
Your blood’s in my ink, your breath in my lines.

Thank you my many Masters!
I keep your spirits alive!

© July 31 & Aug 1, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Emotional Pendulum

I know a sadness, a grief, an emptiness. Many days I sit so empty and wonder "why." All the beauty and depth of life is drowned in anguish. And it is in that pit that I remember: the deeper I allow myself fall, the longer the climb back to the surface of sanity. The only thing that keeps me going is the pendulum effect of emotions. The further one swings in one direction, the higher you will counter-swing in the other. The periodic motion of emotion is constant, but certain situations can be shortened or lengthened by adjusting the amount of thread you allow yourself. If you are scared, you allow little lead, so the magnitude of the beat is shortened. If you are gung-ho and allow a great amount of slack, the displacement and beat will be far more reaching.

The gravity of any situation pulls you back from the extreme plateau upon which you dwell and completes the period. A beat becomes two. A pivot soon redirects your inertia and has you finding a new perimeter, but there is a restoring force that slows your swing into the opposite realm. If leaving a beat of pain behind, the slower the entrance into love’s beat once equilibrium is reached. The deeper the love becomes the more intense a pain if lost. The sadder a moment, the more joyful a satisfaction can become on the rebound. And so on…

To understand any emotion fully, one must also experience the opposite. 

Remember: The darker the night, the brighter the fire.

© July 31, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

NOTE: Through the physics of perpetual motion, one must experience both the positive and negative swing of the pendulum to maintain a proper balance. So, do not fear great pain, because great love is an equal beat away.

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Daily ponderings

Intelligence is what you learn in a book. Wisdom is the sense in which you separate thought from emotion. Logic is the reasoning between intelligence and wisdom. ~ 2013 DBC

Tuesday, July 23, 2013


I have been consumed by solar flames
And frozen within the Plutonian realm
The winds of time have left their scars
And I embrace it all.

I have fallen into the pits of Helheim
And soared to the heights of Valhalla
Dined with the heroes of old
And I remember it all.

I have sat upon the summit of greatness
Walked through the valley of shadows deep
Lingered in the Forest of Fae
And I cherish it all.

I have juggled a thousand thoughts at once
Teetered upon a thin line of words
Dissected a single word to create anew
And I craft it all.

I have roamed the stone halls of a castle
Wander aimless in streets of sorrow
Wondered what it all was for
And I stoppered it all

I written a thousands words of love
Spoken and whispered them time and again
Burned with a passion of blinding fire
And I offer it all…


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


There is a force stronger than magic,
pulling me into the darkness of night.
The music beckons me to follow,
and enter a dream between the light.
The rhythm of the trance breathes,
essence of jasmine and rose oils.
Offering a hint of time forgotten,
caressing my weak and weary soul.
I try to fight the might of destiny,
and break the spell that binds.
Failing to comprehend the strings,
that guide my feet and hands.
No jinn bottle in the sand,
to hide within the folds of the day.
No destination on a flying carpet,
I am falling away from fate.
Then I see her in the distance,
swaying with the desert winds.
Now I know the power was love;
the heart is where this story begins.

© Dec 28, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic


You are in my arms, yet not here
I feel your whispers caress my skin,
The sun above says you are not there,
the waxing moon agrees you are no sin.

Entranced I fall into a quiet rhythm
as time marches on and sets the beat
The elasticity of this moment reforms
moments remembered touch others forget.

The day submits to night, as I prepare
crossing the threshold to enter the fires.
I dream of your soft breath and kisses
engulfing me within my own desires.

You step from between the folds of dreams
and offer the dance of flame and wind.
As I move to become one with the rhythm
I forget where I end and you begin.

Forever is lost, yet trapped in a moment
each tear we offer, a lifetime past
The world as we knew it no longer exists
we’ve set aside humanity’s mask..

...and we dance.

© Jan  3, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

For my Muse, my Erato, my inspiration, my love...

8/5 of life

I’ve rolled the stone of Sisyphus
time and time again.
Tried to gather all the secrets
hidden in the wind.
Whispered words passed through the ages
left to lead us all:
“The hidden key to life is love;
every wall will fall.”

Painted beauty fades slow in time
seen by naked eye.
Within the spoken art of words
golden eggs reside.
Nature speaks through the wind and fires,
cleanses with the rain.
All that’s hidden will be revealed,
remnants from the pain.

I sold my soul then bought it back
genius to the trade.
Wandered through the deep night of day,
watched the darkness fade.
I then held a farthing candle
to the midnight sun.
Yet, all the madness of my world
never came undone.

And as my sun begins to set,
yours begins to rise.
The things I found within my world,
offered from your eyes.
The beauty of all creation,
begins with your smile.
Dreams that taunt my reality,
were you all the while.

© Feb 25, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

to touch your soul

Touching your body sparks embers of lust.
Touching your heart fans the flames of love.
But touching your soul consumes with the raging fires of inspiration.

Every element of your existence
is engulfed in the passion of my craft.
I spill ink for days on end and watch
as the parchment burns with a mere touch of my quill.
Each page hold a lifetime of love.
Each drop of pigment
encompasses a story of its own.
Each moment; an eternity, contains.
All lost to the vacuous flames of life.

I quickly sweep the ash into my inkwell of genius/madness and continue.

Eternal thoughts drive mortal actions.
Far into the chaotic realm of madness.
Will it end?
Only when the perfect combination
of letters and words are found;
those that keep wax from melting,
poison from devouring,
and breath from fading.

The sighs of forgotten sounds
give birth to speaking with no words.
Those gently whispered harmonics
that gift you the immortality
of not just a singularity,
but an entire constellation.
You are heaven.

© May 25, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic
NOTE: words are my own,  photo is a random internet find.


A smile in France “sourire”
A laugh in Spain “reir”
A holding of hands in England
A kiss in Czech “polibek”
A whisper in Denmark “hviske”
A love in Italy “amore”
A gaze in Holland "staren"
A hug in Israel "לחבק"
A promise in love "♥"

It matters not where we stand
Or what language we speak
As long as our hearts are one
We need not speak at all…

Jan 20, 2013

Monday, July 22, 2013

Returning To Sea

The wrath of time has silenced the heart,
my eyes no longer see.
The beauty of life that bloomed at dawn;
ash, by dusk, at these feet.
Adrift in the storm and lost in thought,
the winds no longer sing.
Gales now destroy the love once whispered;
shattered by echoes’ ring.
Shadows of mem'ries hide in the mist,
taunting with lullabies.
Dancing in and out of my conscience,
replacing truths with lies.
Timbers are fractured and sails are torn,
Davy Jones is waiting.
Into the waters, seeking their depths,
pain now slowly fading.

© July 22, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Sunday, July 21, 2013

Waking thoughts 7/21/2013

I have lived many lifetimes, touched many souls and had many touch mine, roamed the corridors of the heavens lost to some men, created new pathways for all mankind, and died to live and now live to die.
I have mastered the art of "becoming." Sat quietly as a rock, flowed smoothly as a country brook, left my mark like a howling wind upon a mesa, and lit up the emptiness like a nova.
Sadly, the element I seek most plays a celestial game of cat and mouse with my esse. The lost language from the temple of love, where mortal words fall to dust beneath the melodic whispers and ensconcing caresses of the eye upon another. I know it exists. Memories linger, yet cower in shadows. Afraid of being reborn into this world of mortal greed, lust, and violence. Perhaps it belongs not in this realm.

Saturday, July 20, 2013


My spectral weave is deep in the shadows where many fear tread. That is where the strongest thread of love yet discontent sit withered in the forgotten expanse of time. But then again, what is time? Parameters drawn by the conclusions of those that thought before you and I took corporeal form. Alas and anon, the truth as we care to craft it will be look upon and questioned by those of wisdom that do follow. And then again again, have our suggestions not been heard, or not yet thought? Crafty beast this "time" creature is. Master and understand its depth and magnitude and one should rule everlasting.

 © July 20, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

NOTE: photo is random internet find

The Chase

I run from things not out of fear, but out of compassion for the pursuer! I know the ecstasy of the chase. There is desire, longing, passion, and life within the chase. A purpose. A need. An emptiness that burns with the expansive cold of the void. And then the elevated sense of self-worth after the catch. The longer the hunt the more intense the pleasure. The chase offers the hidden element of life that would otherwise perish with the lack of want. I feel I should allow others to enjoy it as much as I.

~ DBC 2013

NOTE: illustration - Lawrence Beall Smith's "The Chase"

Monday, July 15, 2013

I am a writer

Some say being a writer is easy, others claim it to be difficult. I think of it as a wonderful enigma, so easy and yet so difficult. The "words" part is easy; the decision of what "subject" you write of is the difficulty. There is a sea of thought in which to pull from.
I wade in the pool of dreams daily with my thoughts in the shimmering waters. As the currents change, the flow and the shapes and sizes of the small eddies differ moment to moment. My desire to write a tale of each entity stirs so much emotion that I find it difficult to focus on one singular manifestation. Oh the madness...
I sit back and reflect, only to find the task even more challenging. My thoughts cascading like a waterfall. Individual ideas represented by a single strand of water. I do not see a single flow of water, but a body of thousands of strands of liquid identities. The one to grab and focus upon is the challenge.
It is not just water, the clouds in the sky, or the woman sitting next to me that stirs my desire to write to no end. Everything known and unknown brings me to this chasm. Crossing is a new adventure each time, because each trip is its own and worthy of its own description. Where do I start? Oh where? Understanding is the starting point. Not just comprehension, but the act of becoming...
To comprehend the mechanics of anything, you must become that thing. The mind's eye must focus on the anatomical make-up of the subject. Acknowledge each individual molecule. Accept the existence of the known and the unknown. Open your being and enter the desired target. Feel it breath, move, live. Grasp the concept. Morph. Do not think...transform. Humble yourself. Become other than what you are, for a moment. Then you will be fully capable of understanding. That is the first step in receiving the gift of creation. Once the journey begins, it has endless possibilities.
I have seen places you never may be, and walked upon sands that are now seas. Watched mountains crumble into beauty, and flowers turn to rust. I flew without wings to worlds uncharted, and strolled down unknown streets. I've stood at the edge of time and gaze across forever, even embraced immortality and release it back to time.  I can take you to these places, but you must take my hand. Trust me, I am a writer.

© Autumn 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Saturday, July 13, 2013


OK people! It is REALLY time to wake up and smell the crap the government is shoveling into your house!
This Zimmerman case ended exactly as the government planned. They WANT racial wars to break out. Another step toward instituting a police state. If we fight amongst each other and kill each other, that condones their killing us. Genocide in protective attire. It is what they want to do. The media sells hate and the masses buy it.

There is a BIG shift in power coming soon. The elitists hate that we are coming together spiritually and will do anything to divide us. Every few years they will instigate the “whites” or the “blacks” into a rage. And every time, it works. It is time to put a stop to the madness.

Let me give you a few examples:

March 3, 1991 Rodney King beating gets mass media coverage and incites a riot.
Aug 20, 2008 – A 230 lb black male attacks and chokes an 85-year-old woman in an elevator. Little media coverage and whites scream “reverse racism.”
Aug 2011 -Hundreds of racist Black youths attack Whites at Wisconsin State Fair. Again, little media coverage and whites scream “reverse racism.”
July 13, 2013 Zimmerman found not guilty. World media coverage and Lord knows what this will bring.


The weak minded sheeple will fall prey to theses fanatical ideologies, while the strong minded will stand strong and we will defeat this evil tyranny that is brainwashing and destroying our world!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thursday, June 27, 2013

Are you surrounded by idiots?

I am not sure what to think on this. I hear so many people rant, "I am surrounded by idiots." My mind always battles with two responses. The first being, "You must enjoy it, you frequent the same places every day." The second thought, "Perhaps it is your charge to awaken the from their stupor and enlighten them." I usually go with the latter and get visual displays of fingers or cuss words offered for audio delight. I smile and walk on and usually hear "idiot" tossed my direction. Ahaha...
It always reminds me of the character that walked into McDonald's and said, "I have been coming here for 15 years and you guys screw up my order every time. You guys are idiots" Wow! Really? 15 years? Hmmmm...
Perhaps the other person has just lost something important to them; a loved one, a keepsake, an important document, etc. Maybe they are just not as knowledgeable as you in a specific area. My mechanic might not be able to talk quantum theory with me, but I am lost when he speaks of the intricacies of a transmission.
My point being, be a leader of fate, not a seeder of hate.

© June 27, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

NOTE: photos are random internet finds

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

The Past, Present, and Future

My Muse and the universe whisper the ancient secrets the writers of old left adrift in the great expanse. I hear them beckoning. {{amor est clavis}}}

 {{{a'alatahn sharhaa o'sahnu sai'fhanatah}}}

All the greats that have come before me
have rewritten the boundaries of heaven.
Their words building like storm-clouds in the ethereal
growing heavy with the dew of beauty.
Byron's "She Walks in Beauty" sheds light
Poe's "A Valentine" colors in shadows
Barret-Browning's "How Do I Love Thee" adds depth...

I lift my quill high in hopes of inspiration.
The eddies of past words swirl and swirl
and create a maelstrom of thought.
Letter by letter the rain does fall
and settles into pools of verse.
My contemporaries join me in the dance
under the lightning and thunder.
The present slowly douses
and saturates with literary intoxication
as we offer to the future
our homage to love.

© June 18, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic
NOTE: photo is random internet find

Thursday, June 13, 2013


 The nature of evil is to turn a blind eye to other evil and wait in hiding to devour those weakened by hopelessness and fear. Do not stand by blindly and allow such atrocities to occur. Such is the vice of cowards. Be noble and fight for what is right and good. Doing no harm to another, and protecting the weak are traits of the strong. Evil has cast its shadow upon mankind long enough; it is time to chase it back into the shadow so that it may cower in and of its own existence.

Wednesday, June 12, 2013


When anything is whole we consider it "in order" or perfect." When this subject is shattered, we claim it "broken" or "chaotic." Whether it is our life, our love, our dreams, or any tangible artifact. So, it stands to reason; enough chaos, overlapped, becomes order. Physics and logic both speak this as truth.
If I offered you ketchup one day, mustard the next, relish the following day, then a bun on the fourth day, and the hotdog on the final would probably be upset because you know the endgame. But each offering is part of the perfect American baseball food. Each challenge you face is part of life's endgame. Perfection is the endgame. We will reach it. Each of us. We will all end up in the great expanse of order as one. So relax and carry on.
Next time you find yourself in a "chaotic" moment, just remember that it is part of the make-up of "order." That is why it is claimed that, "Things happen for a reason." It is the journey toward understanding perfection and entering the realm of immortality. Take it in stride baybeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!

Monday, June 10, 2013


As I gaze into your eyes
I see timeless beauty trapped.
They cry out in silence “Love me for me?” 
A tear escapes and slips down your cheek,
Without notice takes a freefall into nothingness.
As it shatters on the silken sheets
I hear a thousand unwhispered sighs
Fill the emptiness between us.

As I reach for your hand,
I sense an urgent hesitation.
Unspoken questions arise, “Are you a dream?”
Being as real as you want me to be
Searching passion for truth
My heart sets the rhythm
Our fingers tango until entangled
In the lover’s seam.

As I touch your lips,
Tasting tears of yearning
I hear you quiet plea, “Is this forever?”
Eternity lives in every clock tick
Forever in every breath.
Come to me, my Muse, my love
We shall together embrace

© May 10, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic


When great minds gather, much will be discussed, debated, and discovered. Many find debates/arguments to be negative conditioning. I believe the opposite. If someone challenges a thought, what do you do? Ignorance will sit there and fume. Wisdom will research and redraw conclusions, either by deepening the expanse of knowledge on said subject, or changing thought patterns all together on the matter. Be a thinker not a stinker. 

Friday, May 31, 2013

Star Gazing

Dalion’s quest for spiritual knowledge had become a ritual. Five short years living with the Navajo had rekindled his desire to uncover his Native American roots. The Navajo traditions had awakened something deep within his Cherokee blood. Sometime during the year of 1976, Dalion’s spirit had left his body in search of something far greater than offered by conventional education or religion. Through the years it seemed his essence was still in Arizona trapped on the Rez, searching for that guide to release the torment of this existence. Many cultures and many interactions later, he was returning to Red Mesa in hopes becoming complete and finishing his journey.
“Yes, yes,” he thought, “I’ve been from coast to coast and still haven’t found ONE all enlightening religion.” They are all in conflict, even the ones that claimed to be peaceful. Some claim the holy day to be Saturday while others declare Sunday. Predestination was thought outrageous centuries ago, yet many still claim we all have destinies according to God. The ONE thing that really got to Dalion was the claim that God loves all and is a loving God, yet he knew from the beginning that ¾ of humanity was going to burn in this place called Hell. How could a “loving” God create a species and condemn over half of them to perish in such a horrific manner? All the “Christians” that I pose this question, call me “Luciferian.” Whatever! There is more to the big picture and Dalion was dead set on finding it. He wasn’t sold on the idea of reincarnation, but had vivid memories of past lives. He laughed to himself, “I might have been a knight once, but I damn sure ain’t coming back as a water buffalo! Too Hades with secular ideologies! I will find the path to enlightenment if it kills me.”

The pounding drum beat gets my heart rate soaring in rhythm and ready to ride again. The horses breathing heavy and the hooves pounding.  Leaning back, I feel the rain run down my face and neck, under my cloak, and down the small of my back. I have missed  riding in the rain. The creak of leather and the pounding of my heart within my armor, fighting to be heard above the rain against my breastplate. The clank of swords against shields in ready for the attack. I hear the horns and spur my mount forward, prepared to enter a night of flesh and blade.
“Aaaaarg!” Dalion wakes up with a shout. Sweat pouring from every part of his body. “Not again,” he thought. “Jeez! When will these nightmares stop?” He crawled out of bed, noticing it was 4:44 and headed to start the coffee. 4:44? “That’s 5 years straight,” he thought. What gives? The marble floor was as cold as the cutting wind had been in … Where the hell had he been? Forgetting the clock his mind wandered back to the dream. Was it a dream or a memory? He felt so connected to the dream. It seemed so real. As he reached for the carafe to prep the coffee Dalion noticed a trickle of blood land on his forearm. He wasn’t ready to face what he might see in the mirror, so he anxiously finished the caffeine ritual before trudging off to the bathroom.

Another excerpt from STAR GAZERS: The journey within the journey

Sitting cross-legged in front of Dalion was a very old man. He looked to be at least 300 years old. The wisdom of his years had elegantly creased his face with wrinkles. The peace that flowed intertwined with his word offered great knowledge through a soothing medium. The medicine man told him to complete the internal journey and find peace of being. Dalion closed his eyes and began the sacred introspection.
“Am I what I believe I am, or could I more? Am I less? Am I living a dream and dreaming my reality? Should I stay within the boundaries that everyone else has set for me, or do I fly free and explore the unknown to discover my true self? Too damn many questions. It is time to forget the ego and search for the well of peace. No more focusing on the past voices that scream, ‘You should have never been born. You are a loser. I hate you. You are not worthy.’ I am tired of hurting and resenting. I need to cleanse my soul and forgive all the negative thoughts that others delude themselves with before transferring those same messages upon my shoulders to bear. The 7 labors were given to Hercules, not I. It is high time to shrug the yoke of hate and dawn the harness of love.”
Dalion looked at his outstretched arms and saw wings of fire. He stole a glance at his torso. His whole being was aflame. Phoenix! He knew he was burning off the outer shell of the ego. He was ready to fly again. He was a new being with a new beginning. Dalion looked about and found himself standing on the precipice of a chasm between two great buttes. He closed his eyes and leaned into the gentle wind and was lifted high above the desert floor. Serenity filled his being. Total peace was within his existence. He felt so alive, and cleansed. Dalion opened his eyes only to find himself back in the sweat lodge and the old man replaced by a raven. “What a trip! Time to get outta here!” he thought, as he stood up and left the depth of the dimly lit structure and walked out into a cool breeze of the Arizona thunderstorm. Dalion jerked awake. “Damn, these dream/visions are getting intense.”

I am beginning to realize that there is no right or wrong, only our perceptions thereof.
I had a vision that I was standing with the woman that has been in my thoughts as long as I can remember. We were looking at an apple. We both knew the fruit was red in color. She said to me, “If you could only see the apple through my eyes.” I focused, and my soul entered her body for a brief moment. What I saw changed my perspectives on life itself. I saw the apple, but it was blue. That put a crack in my ideologies of right and wrong. What I saw as red, she saw as blue. Just because two people see the same thing, it might be quite different in each of their minds.  So every right is wrong and every wrong is right. I understood something of the ancient wisdom at that moment. Throughout the next 10 years that wisdom was touched by Fibonacci and grew exponentially.  There is only ONE.

Dalion recalled reading Brian Greene’s The Elegant Universe some years back and one line has been haunting him since he waded through the thick book on the Super-string theory, “How can a speck of a universe be physically identical to the great expanse we view in the heavens above?” He knew the answer before he finished the question. Through the fabrics of love and time, all things are equal. A rock has the same qualities as a star. Ions and anions. Everything that exists is there to regulate and fill in the holes of our existence. To add color to this confined corporeal life. To help us understand the all encompassing expanse of love. Love is where we originated and where we will return. That is all that really matters. So, a speck of a universe IS physically identical to the great expanse through the filter of my heart. Molecules. Atoms. Dalion was beginning to feel weightless in mind and body. He knew he was on the right track. D.D. Jent had once told me, “There is an unseen order to chaos.” He was so right. All the knowledge and wisdom of the ages are converging and offering a map to the next elemental plane. What everyone thinks to be layers of chaos actually create a pattern of order.

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

today's thoughts on writing

When one finds their way into the heart of a poet, the blood and breath of the troubadour become saturated with the other’s existence. The sojourner becomes a Muse. Sometimes for a moment, other times for life. Their journeys become one, inextricably bound. When this occurs, the other is now infused into the ink and lives forever in the words of the bard.
Many believe ink to just be a dark liquid, but it is a mixture of the blood, sweat and tears of a writer and many times, the Muse as well. It is part of who they were, are, and to become. It is their life perspective. Each crafted piece is of a life, love, or loss. That is why many sit entranced by the words after scripting. Reliving or experiencing for the first time. We are leaving part of ourselves upon the parchment. Gently blowing to help seal the emotional journey within the creation, they are releasing the hidden winds of their soul to encapsulate the mentioned moment of inspiration; quietly whispering a final sentiment. Each write is a sacred entity and deserves an individual ceremony of self acknowledgement, appreciation and a nudge into flight. That is how wings are formed. That is how they fly. How we fly.
There are pieces I have written that every letter of each word is savored like a delicacy stolen from the tables of Valhalla and brought back to mortality via the Bilröst Bridge. I feel omnipotent for a spell. Haha. Other times, the words written seem illusionary and even fantastical, so much so that I feel euphorically silly. Then I realize how mortal they are and return to my literary perch to chisel into more of the alphabet, seeking that perfect arrangement. The endless quest.
So many people write, so many different ways. There is no right or wrong way to write…there is no trying. There is only doing. It is a part of each of us. Whether a journal entry or a song is penned, you are a creator, a crafter, a master of the moment. Write on!

© May 28, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

NOTE: words are my thoughts, photo is a random internet find

Wednesday, May 15, 2013


 There is slight of hand, trickery, smoke and mirrors; but that is not the magic I believe in. The moments that shape our lives from birth to grave are the magic that is real. Watching a butterfly crawl from a cocoon and take its maiden flight, a falling star, a sunrise at the Grand Canyon, a kiss blown to us from afar, our first kiss, holding hands with our love, laughing with a child, watching children play, listening to a song that takes you to another time, or just watching raindrops gather on a window and wondering if they are tears of some forgotten soul. Whether you experience these things first hand or witness them through another, they each have a profound effect on your being. We have been taught that there is no such thing as magic, except that which you pay for and is little more than deceit. The real magic exists and occurs every moment of every day. Look around and remember that magic is what you make of it, not what someone else tried to sell you. One must close the eyes and open the heart to experience magic! Trust! The eyes of a child are closed to doubt! The heart of a child is open to complete acceptance! That is the key! 

© Oct 27, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Monday, May 13, 2013

I am love

Peel away the thin layer of man-made illusions and accept me for the true raw elegance that I am. My mortality will wither and fade, but my spirit will live forever. I don’t want to live in your mind’s eye; I wish to reside in your heart and touch your soul. I fall with the rains and use them to craft your tears. I swirl in the mist and pass without trace. I am the magic in music the caresses your memory. My whispers so quiet, you swear a breeze from afar. As eternity thrives within each moment desired, empty time become lost in the years. I am love. Do not forget me.

© May 13, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

NOTE: photo is random internet find, words are mine.

Saturday, May 11, 2013


I see fire in your eyes;
flames of passion
ignited by friends, lover, and all that stand in favor.
I see remnants of ice on your brow;
from winters past and forgotten,
left to be turned to tears in the summer breeze.
I see an ocean of compassion in your eyes
that you offer one drop at a time
to heal the scars and decay in the world.
I see reflection of earth in your eyes,
as you gaze across the landscape and ask,
“Where did it start? When will it end?”
I see Luna in your eyes,
the creator of tides and air that send men to sea
in search of love and treasure.
I see love in your eyes,
a tender caring
and genuine light from within.
You possess the eyes of a Goddess.

© May 11, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Written for my lil sis Ami.

Friday, May 10, 2013

the soldier

The queen's maidens dress her,
as the king's men get bathed;
all adorned in flowing red.
Crimson rivers echo
far from ballroom laughter.
Silk kisses skin
much softer  than iron.
Hands fasten gowns
whilst a blade unbuttons flesh.
Deceitful rule expands
as the the truth withers thin.
Monarchy chokes on fat
the soldier starves
and takes his last dance steps.

© May 10, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Monday, May 6, 2013


Each time I gaze upon your elegance,
I realize why I became a writer.
Although many see the beauty in the world;
they cannot comprehend its depth.
They seek with their eyes, not their heart.
As a crafter of the alphabet,
each letter I choose is a sculpting tool.
Touching deep the essence,
and slowly creating an mental image
for those who are blinded by mere lust.
I see not just a lady of monumental beauty.
I see the majestic beginnings of the day in you.
You hair like the flowing grasses,
dancing in the wind.
Eyes like the open skies,
the portals to the cathedral of your soul.
Nose and cheeks,
offer the hint of the gentle rolling hills of the countryside.
Your lips,
the gateway to Heaven.
The graceful movements of your body,
fluid as the Seven Seas under trance of Luna.
A rhythm of the perfect evening,
set to your heartbeat.
You soul an expanse of love,
an elixir of pain and pleasure.
The pain in my heart for the blind,
the pleasure for those that see.
You are beauty.
You are my Muse.

© May 6, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Thursday, May 2, 2013

the language of humanity

I am rich in friends, culture, wisdom, intellect, and the gift of writing. I am eternal. I shall live forever. This "mortality" is just another language in the form of being. A way to experience and share love in yet another realm of existence. The tongue of the corporeal. Other accents of life do not endure sorrow or pain, yet they do not know of the pure joys of forgiveness nor the depths of love. I would change nothing in this time I have spent Earthbound. The aches and pains have sharpened the beauty of it all. I understand all its wonder and majesty. I am alive.

Wednesday, May 1, 2013


 No matter what has happened in the past, it should never dictate the future. That is why so many relationships fail. We have been raised in a time where lawyers rule the waves and teach us to have thin skin and always set up a safety net. That is why no one can "fall" in love these days. They know there is a safety net, so the fall means little. Falling in love is the euphoric faith that your lover will catch you and as you fall, and vice versa. So neither ever needs a safety net in place. Each others wings of love keep both flying and falling forever. Trust helps your mates wings stronger. Deception withers  wings; not only theirs, but yours as well. Be truthful, be faithful, be open. Be in love and enjoy the fall.

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Each of us is the author of a unique story called, "Spinning My Cocoon: Reaching For My Wings." Individual "life threads" are unique in circumstance, but the same in effort to redefine destiny vs acceptance of fate. I have fallen away from fate and chose not only walk the rocky path, but search for clues to understanding under each stone along the way. We each choose our path and the level of difficulty. We can fight the inevitable or we can learn to use it as momentum to carry us to distant shores and new resources.
Don't let daily tasks and hurdles distract you from the end prize. There is nothing like the weightlessness of flying free without any mortal anchors called regret, resentment, hate, worry, etc....
So spin those silken threads of mental order and understand that chaos is just unrealized piece of the puzzle. You will make it, unless you choose defeat. You have the quill in your hand. You can dip in the inkwell and add to your metamorphic being, or you allow the winds of uncertainty to carry your inked feather to a dark place and remain lost and in search of the power that burns within you.

© April 30, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

NOTE: photo is random internet find

Friday, April 26, 2013

Dancing moonbeams at the chateau

 I am on my way to see my girl at the hillside chateau. I feel like a schoolboy again. Nervous and yet vigorously energized. My feet tried in vain to keep pace with my heart. {{{quiver}}} Perhaps tonight a kiss. We shall have a drink in the last booth, the only one with a window that is not painted black. Although it had been darkened so the Gestapo cannot see the candle-light and semi-festive atmosphere, they found the place anyway.But they do not bother the keeper, so long as no American propaganda is spoken.
I will find her easily; she is the only dame in the place that the candlelight dances in the eyes of. I sat one night and stared for hours as the candles grew dim in her eyes and the glowing streaked down her face with each tear. She is so beautiful. I am lucky to have been shot down in the area. And if Geoffrey and his lady had not pointed me in this direction, I would never have met my childhood love. Amazing how destiny seems to work out.
As I enter cross the threshold into my “escape,” I see the fire in her eyes. She smiles and moves toward our booth. It was “her” booth,until I came along. {{{smiling}}} As we touch hands, the bartender brings our wine. He moves away and we turn our attention back to each other. Our love is spoken without words as we gaze into each others eyes, souls. I wonder what she is thinking. Perhaps the same thing as I; “When will this damn war be over?When will the world find peace?”  We turn and catch a glimpse of the moon through the tiny crack in the glass. A tiny beam of moonlight screams into the dark chateau and dances on the table as the band starts to play our song.  We take a sip of wine and then step to the dance floor dance. The night has begun…

© April 26, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

NOTE: photo courtesy of PaM

Wednesday, April 24, 2013


Children are accused of daydreaming and they admit to vivid undertakings. Here is my daydream from two days ago while working a jackhammer through an endless layer of limestone:

{{{rata-tata-tata…}}} The vibrations of this jackhammer, combined with the blazing heat, and the smell of crude oil as the powdered limestone pours from the hole I am digging, demand an escape. I lean back a bit pull off my goggles and safety mask., chancing to take in a long breath of hot Texas air, for relief. Ha! None found. The humid air is something along the lines of attempting to breathe water. Oh well. “One more blast oughta get me there,” I say aloud. {{{rata-tata-tata…}}} I lean into the hammer to get a good bite and hit a pocket of fine powdered limestone that engulfs me in a cloud of dust. My eyes burn, my lungs refuse the assault. But I am no longer under the Texas sun, I am in the skies over France in the summer of 1940, in my Grumman F8F Bearcat, affectionately referred to as “Papa Bear,” engaged in a dogfight with enemy planes. The “rata-tata-tata” of my machine-guns was part of a memory of being home and working my construction job in Austin, Texas. I do a quick visual check of my bird. She seems fine on the inside, although getting a bit stuffy. I check and see my pic of my penpal, “Habibati,’” still tucked into my altimeter. What a miracle if I could actually meet her while in France. She and I had been corresponding since we were pre-teens. Had it really been 17 years since I received her first letter? {{{ting ting ting}}} Whoa! Back to the present. The enemy were showing no mercy. Searching the skies I realize the plume of smoke is emanating from bullet holes in my engine. Oil streaks across my cockpit canopy. My plane has been hit and is burning. I need to set her down. The heat is intense, trapped in this small flying war machine. I look below to see only trees. My only choice is to bail. I always hated jumping out of perfectly good aircraft, but now I realize why the practice was necessary. I gently tuck my lady’s photo in my flight jacket and yank the canopy release. The acrid taste of smoke, the dampness of oil droplets, and the tongue of flames from the burning engine help make this an easy decision. “Bonzai!”

~more to come~

© April 22, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

NOTE: photo is random internet find