Fluffy
by Ted L Glines

About this "healing" and those herbs,
this spirituality,
they don't fit my lifestyle
or my teen reality.
Who wants to be a Shaman,
a Priestess or a crone,
those things take too much study
and oughtta be left alone.
Forget my streetside language,
my wordin' and my spellin',
I found no spiritual insights
in anything from Llewelyn.
Gimme a book 'bout creepy spells,
and an Altar full of Tools,
and I'll be a happy hexer,
a "witch" among toadstools.
And if my spells don't ever work,
don't care a whit about that,
they make for thrilling stories
on  Messenger and Chat.
Don't wanna know 'bout Goddess stuff
and astrological nodes,
'cause it's far more giggly fun
turning boyfriends into toads.
Gimme a dark ole banishing spell
and one to bring me love,
and I'll be in witchy heaven,
grinning to stars above.
Gimme a Book of Shadows
and I will be like Buffy,
just out there chasing demons,
quite pleased with being fluffy.

Author's Notes: A tribute, with tongue-in-cheek,  to  all the witchy kids out there, being happily fluffy on thousands  of MSN and  Yahoo groups ... instead of doing drugs. A high-five  to all the fluffbunnies,  and, of course, "Hugz". We do tend to  take ourselves a bit too seriously.

Fly with Angels
by Ted L Glines

Hail! Darrel,
And  Welcome to you!
You took so long to come home.
So many years
Laying in  bed,
Helpless, unable to roam.

Remember the days
Of your vital strength;
The man that you once were,
Before a gun blast
Took you down,
And years became a blur.

It's hard for a man
To live like  that,
Attended in every need;
Flat on your back,
No limbs that moved,
Your days were endless, indeed.

Your son and your daughter
Miss  you tonight,
And your wife is grieving sore,
But they know you've passed
From out of your pain
And your spirit is free once more.

So, Darrel,
Hail! To thee,
We greet you with delite.
You've come to the  Land of Summer
And you fly with Angels tonight!
Forever Blessed Be.

Author's Notes:  9  January 2004, Darrel Burkeen died,  after years of being helpless  in bed as a quadraplegic (no feeling below his  neck) . A retired  U.S. Marine, a robust man and a wonderful father and husband.  An  active man who loved the outdoors, driving, and guns. Darrel was  shot by his  brother and lived the remainder of his life in the  cage of a non-working body.  This poem is a requiem, a crude Rite of Passage for a good man. May he rest in  peace.
Semper Fi

Flowers
by Ted L Glines

my life alone
wearing alpha cloaks
predator smiling
telling ego jokes
an arid desert
virtual humor
intellectual chess
moves with no meaning
machines toiling toward no goal
busy emptiness
at end of endless day
demanding full retreat to
---you---
bright laughs
making fun of life
value birthing warmth
silly giggling me
resting in your arms
heal me from the wars
kiss and make it well
I grow strong again
your rainbow self
obscures my drab world
in the bleak midst
of lifeless life
my flowers grow
in thee
your blossoms open
---me---