Scattered Skull Canyon.

Buzzards circled the ledge where Lynx lay sleeping. He wasn’t dead yet. Those birds should really learn some manners. He stood up and chucked his hunting stick. It missed, bouncing of the walls of Scattered Skull Canyon.

“Go, Hurry!” The village elder had said. “Everyone and everything will be fine. All that time you waste playing amidst the rocks will finally pay off, you will be able to show us what a great hero you are! The greatest, mightiest climber!”

Lynx wondered if the old woman had gone mad, raving about his climbing skills as the shadows of Dragon wings passed over their heads. She promised him, swore to him, that it all would be fine. Lynx new better.

It was the dawning of the spring festival. Long ago, it had been a day of rejoicing. Fat elk were slain and roasted long into the night as they celebrated the breaking of the winter fast. Then the dragons moved in.

The dragons had their own spring festival. They ate nothing but elk the rest of the year, along with mountain goats, and the odd cave bear. They steered clear of humans most of the time, but at the spring festival, all bets were off. Men were taken because they were meatier, women because they were mild, children because they were tender. Every one of the beasts had a preference. The people would fight but none could deny the Dragons their traditional holiday feast. None save Lord Amberheart, who just so happened to be a dragon himself.

Depending on who you asked, he was either the best dragon who ever lived or the worst.

Ten years ago, his fire filled the sky. All other dragons gathered for the feast fell to their deaths with tattered wings. The village ate roast dragon that day, cooked in the breath of the magnificent turn-coat.

Several years passed with peaceful springtides. All wanted to believe Lord Amber Heart was a friend. Yet some wondered what a beast who mass-murdered its own kind would do if approached by a human. Lynx was about to find out.

Playing With Dragons.

 Hill King’s Mantra.

Spread your wings and feel your fire

burning brightly in your chest.

Know your spirit.

See your power.

Grip the stone on which you rest.

Clear your throat and let your voice call.

Great green mountains,

there your kingdom

rises up to meet your presence

in the early morning light.

Stand and strut fourth proudly

as your arms embrace the thermals.

Run headlong into the sunrise

over hills so high and green.

Great, green mountains

now below you

fine, white mist upon their crowns

Flowing slowly over forests

there to lie upon the downs.

May the greenwood stand immortal

over all that lives and dies,

May the white hot rush of sunlight

Meet the fury in your eyes.

Raise your head and raise your talons

To the bright and hazy sun.

Clear your throat and let your voice call

With my kingdom

I am one.



I’ve seen it on the edge of town,



 across the ground.

Oozing up

through sidewalk cracks,

gnawing holes

in wicker sacks,

souring high

on warm winds rising,

racing fast

 in tunnels deep

it’s stirring in the air we breath

and watching

– waiting –

when we sleep.


no man wants to hear,


many others fear,

winds that raze the widest wall,

a rushing tide that conquers all,

fires fiercer

then my soul,

waters deeper,

roar and roll,

and it lies

beneath these skies.

Outside these doors,

a dragon roars.

Its voice is louder then a siren,

warning of felony

or fate

and those who’ve stood

beneath it’s shadow

Can not help but stare agape.

For no man’s plan

it walks.

For no mans pride

it talks.

It lives for no mans table,

and is Neither fact or fable.

Yet we long for but a glance.

Forsaking peace and quiet

to say we’ve stood beside it,

and at our destiny arrived,

say we’ve seen it,

and survived.

If only for an instant.


(Note; every time one of these poems is read aloud, a dragon will get its wings.)

. . . and before any of you say it, yes –

I am full of crap.

and proud of it.