Prelude To Winter

I remember the way my eyes changed
When she told me she was going away
There is only so much time for love
She said before making her getaway
Like watching blood spill across snow
Before gathering its tinder and fuel
Caching its twigs deep within my chest
Saving them until spring to light aglow

When time crowns the winter as king
And sends out his sons Nyx and Hypnos
Even the trees give offering to darkness
Molting velvety summer jade dresses
Shedding naked their fluttering voices
My fragile flickering candlelight of hope
Pursued by mad packs of fang bared growl
As I dream of your face and angelic glow

So far away from now

Words: Cara Feral
Photography: Cara Feral

It’s Not All Doom And Gloom

Cops push out addicts
Living under bridges
Then talk them down
From jumping off them
Suicide rates are leaping
But it’s not all bad news
At least the stock market
Reached another high

Welcome to the new norm
Please distract in place
The CEO of Pfizer just sold
His shares for 5.6 million
On news of a fabulous jab
While outside my window
I saw a guy find salvation
Inside another kind of stab

Clean air, trees, and animals
Live more inside memories
Than anywhere else now
Once the polar ice caps melt
It’ll be another place to drill
But it’s not all doom and gloom
Elon’s gonna save the world
By sending man out to mars

Creativity tilled to vacant lots
Where kids used to play tag
Games like hopscotch or jacks
Red rover and capture the flag
Lone statues of imagination
Rotting in teenage wastelands
This is the zombie apocalypse
Without a single shot fired

Millions with no food or homes
Even more without any work
Yet everyone owns a phone
Why do you think the Nazis
Gave every family a radio?
But it’s not all doom and gloom
Sony came out with the PS5
Jails come with joysticks now


Poetry By: Cara Feral
Image By: Steve Cutts

Good News

I am thrilled to announce that three of my poems have been accepted into an upcoming publication called, Creation and the Cosmos: A Poetic Anthology Inspired by Nature by Raw Earth Ink!!! This book is set to be published winter of 2020/2021. Her blog is awesome as well, and I encourage those who don’t already follow her to do so at https://taracaribou.com/.

I will provide more details once it is completed and ready for sale.
My many thanks and appreciation to Tara!
This will be the first time seeing my poetry in an actual book. And I am giddy as hell about it.

Here is one of my poems that will be included.

The Lepidopterist’s Muse

She fell upon my hardcover
book on the lives of caterpillars
from a wispy cedar tree burl
I scared away an excited robin
and some boys with fishing poles
I watched her crawl back and forth
doing a 50 leg two step on my arm
She began to weave a golden chrysalis
forged in the loom of transformation
Someday soon she will emerge
unfettered in chaotic trajectories
Draped in winged coruscation
like an angelic stowaway
tucked safely inside
Buddha’s hip pocket

Image: taken from Pinterest no copyright infringement is intended

The Pendulum

As above
So below

As is love
So is hell

As is ritual
So is chaos

As is truth
So is masked

As is beauty
So is plastic

As is art
So is war

As is heaven
So is work

As is wonder
So is reason

As is steel
So is skin

As is soul
So is body

As is earth
So is sun

As is birth
So is time

No. 13

They are onto us so let’s hide away
Inside hidden fox-holed motel floors
Intentionally mislabeled as room 14’s
We can take respite inside conch shells
And spiraling sunflower inflorescence
There’s a theomachy being waged
Between logic and the imaginary
They march infantries of symmetry
Illuminated by torch lit superstition
Mandating even numbered divisibility

They say they want to do away with you
They malign you as the Devil’s number
They ridicule you and degrade your sum
They’ve quit naming building levels by you
They banish you like black hue cat fur
Then stake paths under ladders as taboo
They impugn you, chide you as a betrayer
But even if they refuse to utter your name
We know you are calculating and implicit
There is no way to longevity and fortune

Without counting the number thirteen

Election Day


Every four years there’s this sporting event
Preceded by campaign promises and vows of roses
We choose our bread, circuses and the president
We mark our ballots while holding our noses

Like the spectacle of a matador at a corrida
Dirt gets kicked up in front of a confused bull
The bullfighter starts a dance waving his muleta
Obscuring his sword covering our eyes with wool

Bulls are colorblind, he wears red to hide the blood
Which is exactly what the electorate wants to see
The candidates debate, argue and start slinging mud
Once the bull hears enough it charges for the nominee

The politician deftly steps aside while waving his cape
He holds out a ballot in one hand while hiding his blade
We see it all the time the rigged game and lack of escape
The matador stabs us in the back the voters betrayed

After all what good is an election without the malice,
The cheering crowds, the spectacle, and the hypocrite?
On election day get in the arena and cast your votes
Let’s make a change to the flavor of the same old shit

My Resume And Resignation

I am qualified to lie
I can secure the account
I can punch a clock
I can torque a wrench
Turn a cheek, twist a screw
Shuck some corn
and fly a kite

I can push mounds of paper
And squirm in an office
I can shove bricks in a wall
Or another nail in my coffin
I can lift with my legs
Or use my degree
Break my back
And work to be free

I can shoot a gun
I can shoot for the stars
I can shoot myself in the foot
And get a paycheck for fucking
things up and my boss’s spouse

I can wear camouflage
I can hide in a jungle
I can follow orders
I can pray to God
When I’m down
in the shit

I can drive a taxi
I can drive you crazy
I can drive a hearse
Or chauffeur a Bentley
I can be super drowsy
And operate a forklift
I can be the old timer
working graveyard shifts

I can integrate and differentiate
I can balance an equation
I can do it for science
Or out on vacation
I can cook and clean
I can mop the floor
I can pick broken bottles
out of bathroom urinals

I can walk the picket line
I can walk 9,000 miles
I can walk him right
out of my mind
I can walk out on stage
I can run from myself
I can run away scared
Then return to your house

I can kill some time
I can murder hope
I can heal my cuts
Then watch them scar
I can hike up backwoods trails
I can climb up mountains
I can climb up 30 ft ladders
I can fall for any boy or girl

I can sell beer at rodeos
I can sell records in Japan
I could sell an ipod to a native
If I hadn’t already sold out
I can sleep through life
I can sleep with one eye open
I can sleep outside
for six months straight

I can survey spotted owls
I can change out towels
I can run a fixed bed reactor
I can speak all day to customers
Or talk dirty as a phone sex actor

I can always get a job
But my preference is to split
Leave my boss a final note
Give two weeks and quit

Words By: Cara Feral
Image by: Steve Cutts


The Insane

I saw Jesus singing today
His salvation shivering
In the cold and the chill
His tent propped across
A shiny shopping cart
I feel his hypnotizing eyes
Dance like a charmed cobra
Daring me to look his way

He was sitting in full lotus
Playing a Tibetan brass bowl
Soaking wet in the chanting rain
Reminding me of the Buddha
It’s a circus sideshow everyday
As I ride by hazy Scobert Park
The drug addled and starving
Mixing with the mentally ill

Man can live just fine here
On bread, grass, and needles
Somedays overzealous cops
Harass him and his followers
You don’t have to go home
But you can’t stay here
The pigs say with a laugh
Knowing that here is his place

It’s a crime not having a roof
Yet the ones that take them
Go unpunished and praised
Some days he smiles at me
As I bike past riding to my job
He reminds me of Diogenes
The Alexander the Great in me
Knows I’d be him if I wasn’t me

“At least they know their crazy”
I think to myself as I go to work,
With the rest of the insane


Words and Photo by Cara Feral

Paper Tigers

I keep my paper tigers close to me
Anxiously pacing, illusory and untamed
Like the last remaining satyr in the world
Crumpled wads that are all bark and no maws
Gilded divertissements that tiptoe around
My real demons and the elephant in my room
Like my fear of getting chained to comfortable
When all I dream about is running as fast as I can

I’ve starved with ecstasy like a cracked beast
I’ve drunk from the chalice of Pan and Dionysus
I’ve thumbed the burnt scar of Her ripped umbilical cord
I’ve built temples in her euphony and clung to crow caw
I yearn for her embrace of juniper and pussypaws
I’ve felt a visceral connection to the call of the wild
This earth, this ocean, this air, this tragic silence
This body. This benevolence. This only wonder

I wish I could be like the others, muzzled
Domesticated, milksop no memory of free
Everyone is so sick but not with the virus
I see a pandemic of Stockholm Syndrome
Folks falling in love with their mobile cells
And elegant decorum of their zoo eyed, glass walls
Problem is that I have kissed the lips of the sky
I’ve feasted on her marrow and milk, I am her blue

Like when we were cubs nuzzled in pounce and purr
When by tooth and claw only the strong survived
Instead of calling an Uber for Taco Bell drive thru
My claws stained regret from suicide by paper cuts
And from folding my demons into origami butterflies
Praying one of them zags free past the catcher’s net
And takes a hold of the frayed ends sailing into the sun
Unraveling the scarecrow of man and burning it down


Words By Cara Feral
Image: From Istock by Getty Images

Runaway Trains

There’s this divide
Thirty seconds wide
Trillions of commercials long
Most everyone I have ever met
Want to save the planet
While filling up with gas
Or vote to save the environment
But refuse to leave their cars

Boy! Howdy! Hooray!
Americans and their cars!
Pickups with smoke stacks
Louvres, tinted glass
Chrome molly, mud flaps
Glasspacks, four barrels
Let’s open them up
Sideboards, tailgates
Hummers in Hummers
Driving under the influence
Of petroleum and work
Guttled. Oiled. Greased
Like the skid marks
Of the American dream
Texas longhorns martyred
On hoods of Lincolns and Caddys
Bentleys, Benz & Beamers,
Endangered animals
Like Jaguars, Cougars
Pumas and wild Mustangs
Their symbolic effigies
Now hood ornaments
Memorialized trophies
Crowing bumper stickers
Of precious places drilled
Like high fives after rapimg
Mother nature face down
The exploited names
Emblazoned across grills
Of Tundras, and Yukons
Safaris, Range Roving, Denalis
Pacifica and the Outback
Pathfinding Expeditions
While masturbating
To Car and Driver

Or maybe you prefer brains
And batteries over brawn?
Like Teslas and Nikolas
Smart brown cars
Future Faraday’s
Volts and Priuses
Their cobalt bricks
Carried on the backs
Of Congolese children
For 2 dollars a day
The smart money
Is on lithium mining
Just ask the dead yaks
And cow carcasses
Floating down rivers
From contaminated
Drinking water
Be sure to plug them in
Every night to charge
With dirty energy
From dirty coal
And natural gas

Frack like you
Just don’t care
And drill baby drill
Like you’ve never done before
America has gone green
Like the color of money
From sea to benzene ring sea
America the disposable
We demand twice the torque
Acceleration, towing power
A quarter of the gas mileage
A fraction of the stopping power
Of these unstoppable,
Habitat choking
Self destructing,
Planet suicide,
Co2 gas emitting,
Runaway trains

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