born in the gleam of God’s adoring eye . . .

 

 

‘lo, through a Crack in The Sky

( a Rush, of Wings )

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the Albatross,  whose name has always been Steadfast,  holds within his unwavering eyes the first pristine spark of a SunRise,  now bringing the long-awaited promise of the return of The Light of Day down across the fields and the forests of the Land of Because, down through the corridors of the human heart,  where once was whispered the Music of Angels,  and down ever still into the depths of Oblivion,  whose memory now tries to forget,  all of the darkness we will soon cease to remember . . .

and gazing westward,  which will one day be called EveryWhere,  the Albatross slowly turns to regard the Urth,  now hanging by a thread,  so fine and silver,  and woven from the Tears of Heaven itself,  and he smiles,  because he knows that his long and lonely journey through the endless Kiss of Night is over,  and that all he had ever been asked to do has been done . . . and he lays his sweet sorrows down along the Rail of Sighs,  in the very same place,  where once there laid a handful of nine-inch nails,  whose traces still scorch the time-worn face of Regret,  that are now and for Ever etched into the redwood timbers of the now complete spoke of The Great Wheel, that Always had built as one, of The Seven Bridges of Why . . .

and as The Dawn of The Ages lifts higher above the horizon,  and flows as liquid down upon the realms of Certainty,  the Albatross finds himself standing within the quickening presence of a moment that even Eternity has long been waiting for . . . and from out of the blue,  the Sister of The Sun of Man walks toward him,  and with a nod from Patience, and a smile from So It Shall Be,  She walks on past, and into the embrace of all that Yesterday could ever have hoped for,  and all that Tomorrow could never have known . . .

and walking with a determined pace,  with the might of Titans defining the strength of Her divine purpose,  She steps out at last into Her Universe,  so long denied Her,  and so long and lost in the throes of blind and belligerent desire,  and She lifts Her welcoming arms up with the Grace of Swans, and to the galaxies swirling in Her Eyes,  She speaks . . .

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ease My Reign

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for Her name, is Mercy,  and She has come, to seize, The Day . . .

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*       *       *

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and deep in the star-fields of the Dominion of Always,  in a place well within the reach of Her infinite regard,  and so perfectly balanced inside the sound of Her voice, a pale-blue gem in a sapphire sky slowly turns to face Paradise,  where an Ibis,  born Resolute,  gazes out across the Shores of a place once called Camelot,  out across a new whirled now bathed in flows of Compassion,  where fireflies dance amidst the laughter of Her Children of The Clouds,  and where roses now grow without the burden of thorns, and where a butterfly now rests upon the back of an Iron Horse,  who finds himself standing still, and staring in wonder at a trail of footsteps left where the sand meets the foam, and revealing the presence of The Prince of Peace,  walking once more and in the distance, and there at the edge,  of The Sea,  of Love,  Again . . .

 

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found lying on a stairway from Heaven

 

 

All for The Wrong’s Reason

(Angels,  fell)

 

 

far, far ago, an Angel named Bright Morning Star, after quite long and careful thought, decided one day to ask God a simple question . . . Father, what is the purpose for which I will never be allowed to see Your face ? . . .

and after a grand and glorious deliberation with Himself, while pouring over all of The Whys and all of The Wherefores in His great Book of Deeds, after gathering each bit of memorandum from His voluminous Catalog of Intent, and certainly but diligently checking the minutes of His deeply inspired and ageless Magnitude, God soon discovered, that there was no answer . . .

and in order to keep The Meaning of Life fully intact, and to preserve a never-ending River of Souls to tend to the multitude of His affairs, and, so as not to keep an Angel waiting for far too long a time while in the very throes of discontent, God quickly decides to forestall any decision on the matter, and promptly issues a decree that hereby states . . . that any Angel, who henceforth demonstrates a complete and profound deficiency in the faith I never gave them, will be subject to spending an eternity living on a place called Earth, wondering why . . .

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The Voyage of Kings ~ A StoryTeller's Dream

buy the new Digital and Print Editions on Amazon and Barnes&Noble

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to kickstart this StoryTeller’s Dream

To ignite the release of a new book that rings as clear as a bell,

     take hold of my hands, they are warm, and I have stories to tell . . .

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  buy the new Digital and Print Editions on Amazon and Barnes&Noble

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The Voyage of Kings ~ A StoryTeller’s Dream is a wing-swept journey through the Universe, beginning in the heart of a ‘fallen angel’ called Ever, as he wanders through the chances and circumstances of humanity, as he drifts within the vast emptiness of his abandonment and exile among the stars, along with the fateful and far-reaching consequences his self-serving pursuit of an ideal has brought to bear upon all Creation, and especially upon his beloved Always, whose tears are the river of this tale . . .

A journey that unfolds around his surrender to a spiritual awakening, and ends with his discovery and final embrace of a remarkably simple notion – that when fools set out to find what they already possess, they discover only the follies of men . . .

Born of an ancient yet unremembered legend, a fairy’s tale, as old as rhyme and even Time itself, captured in the echoes of uncountable voices across the millennia, comes an achingly beautiful love story, wrapped in the mists and myths of a place called Avalon, and whispering of the mysteries and majesties of God . . .

 

The Voyage of Kings ~ A StoryTeller’s Dream

Kickstarter Project

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Kickstarter Screenshot

 

The Voyage of Kings ~ A StoryTeller’s Dream

Kickstarter Project

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The book is a thoroughly unique collection of short stories, poetry, and lyrical prose called DoveTales, that weave an amazing trilogy of dreams into the most vibrant threads of faith, courage, and devotion, which are all then so cleverly crafted to become a glorious tapestry of love, loss, and the triumph of love, again . . . as seen through the eyes of Angels, as they peer into the very hearts and souls of those who always seem to search for Glory, when all they really ever need, is Grace . . .

And who might enjoy reading The Voyage of Kings ?

Anyone possessing even a small spark of spiritual insight or inclination, and would be open to considering an infinitely simple concept of where they might fit in the grand scheme of things, and the quite attainable realities of their role within it . . .

Anyone possessing a sense of wonder, and a welcoming regard for a heavenly presence in their world, along with the acknowledgement and embrace of the more compassionate virtues such as patience, tolerance, acceptance and forgiveness, with all respect given to uplifting the human condition beyond measure . . .

Anyone seeking a remarkably different view of ~mankind, as it relates to womankind~; a dramatically elevated premise regarding the Feminine Ideal and its divine or spiritual significance . . . that will turn all male-dominated religious biases and historically gender-centric portrayals of a woman’s place, position or importance in the pantheon of God’s cast of characters, on its collective head . . .

Anyone seeking inspirational, lyrical, romantic, or poetic verse or prose, and wishes to explore alternative expressions of inspired, enlightened, theological, or purpose-driven thought . . . are fully cognizant and accepting of a Christian paradigm of living, and believe that when our creative knowledge embraces our artistic desires, we can achieve global understanding . . .

 

 

 

Front Cover

Front Cover

 

 The Voyage of Kings ~ A StoryTeller’s Dream

Kickstarter Project

 

Back Cover

Back Cover

The Bells, of WoeBeGone

 

 

 

The Gift,  of Faith

  (  A Season’s Ring  )

and,  as The

Whisper of Winter’s Breath,

carries the Last Leaves of Autumn,

Far,  from The Loving Arms of Home,

away to Golden Fields of Our Memory,

and lesser Days,  cast a longer Shadow,

upon All that Might Have Been,  remember

Always,  that Hope flies Eternal,  and Wishes born

in The Prayers of Children,  live On in The Hearts of Angels,

as Their Dreams,  walking Hand in Hand with God’s Grace,  become

The Spirit of Promises to Keep,  for The Joys of All They can Be,

ly waiting,  in The Eyes,  of

     Tomorrow . . .

 

 

 

 from Book III,  The Diamond ( Third Beginning ) The Twelfth DoveTale – The Symphony of Moments

 

 

 

there upon The Breath of God

 

 

The Spaces,  inSighed,  of Together

 

 

as Wave after Wave,  of Gossamer’d Wing,

came thundeRing,  across The Sky,

while Freedom,  reigned,

among The Pained,

and All before

Remember

       knew of Why . . .

as Angels stood,

from Meadow to Wood,

to welcome The Break of Day,

and What Will Be,  and We Shall See,

     Ever bestow Their Smiles,  to light The Way . . .

  

 

yes,  The ButterFly has come,  and now The Whole is The Sum,  of Each and Every Thing Dear,

     and,  for Ever is The Dei,  She,  has shown Me The Way,  to live,  beyond The Absence,  of Fear . . .

 

 

 from Book III,  The Diamond ( Third Beginning )  The Fifth DoveTale – The Circle of Heaven

 

 

 

behold The Might of Titans

 

 

Pageant,  of Lilies

(  GloryPath  )

  

   i

with Her Eyes,  on Refinement,

Form assumes a proper Place,

followed so closely by Function,

as Elegance decides the Pace,

and there,  between The Lines,

is Honor,  in Hope’s Embrace,

as Fortitude begins the Dance,

while Patience tends Her Lace,

yet,  Last and ForeMost to see,

Dawn’s Light adorn Her Face,

The Angel of Beauty,  walking,

     in The Wake,  of God’s Grace . . .

 

 

 

from Book III,  The Diamond ( Third Beginning ) The Eighth DoveTale – The Bridge of Dreams

 

 

There, in The Path of Eagles

 

 

 

The Wind,  knows The Way

 (  Home  )

  

 

setting out on an August Morn,  upon a Path barely revealed amid the waist-high grasses,

walks a boy,  eyes bright with Promise,  and keeping a determined pace,   in hopes of

finding the source of the Voices,  before the Noonday Sun found him,  too far from

      the deep quiet shade of his yard,  now miles distant . . .

this,  his third attempt,  after brief and random excursions well within sight of Home, 

was to be his most daring,  for he had never ventured this far out onto The Downs alone

before,  and without a single Cloud to obscure an endlessly pale-blue Sky,  his loneliness

      had become All the more Complete . . .

high Above,  a chevron,  small and dark to his periodic gaze,  circling in long,  lazy arcs, 

flew an eagle,  there since Daybreak when his Voyage began . . . He longed for just a

Moment,  to share It’s Domain,  to see with It’s Eyes,  to know,  All that lay beyond

      his earthbound View . . .

the last Trace of a Morning’s Dew left It’s Mark upon his passage,  leaving cool and

silvery Trails upon his skin,  reminding him,  of his thirst . . . yet,  before his Thoughts

became a Wish,  he heard The Sound of The Stream,  running Somewhere,  up beyond

       a Rise . . .

as he slowly gave himself,  to The Height of Wonder,  The Splendor fell Away below him

to a wide and verdant Plain,  a Valley,  in The Sun . . . and there,  standing for All to see,

standing along The Shores of The Stream,  standing in The Light,  of All Things Dear,

were The Lilies,  with Hearts as One,  singing,  with Voices as bright as The Dawn,

and with the palms of his hands,  he dries the Tears from his eyes and beholds

The Sight of Ten Thousand Angels,  heralding The Return of Love Again, 

welcoming him to Avalon,  bathing him in Awareness,  that Each

      and Every One,  knows he bears The Name,  of Hope . . .

 

 

from Book I,  The Ring ( First Light ) The Ninth DoveTale – The Windmills of Eden