NEW MOON SPELL in the backwoods of the Louisiana bayou, voodoo is alive and well… Calling on fire, wind, earth and water in the shadow of the torch lights as the dance of the dead is danced, caught up in a trance like frenzy, the high priest reads from the book of rites and invites the spirits to breath from our cup of life… Three times the power of three and this month is the perfect month as Jupiter trines Aries… As the dance of the dead is danced around the sacred crystals, ancient skulls and the brewing cauldrons and I know these things all too well… In the backwoods of the Louisiana bayou every time the moon is new you can hear the distance drums beating to a voodoo ceremony as A NEW SPELL rings out through the night hauntingly!
Bo Lanier is from Chattanooga, Tennessee and has become an established poet with five books to his credit that were published in Canada. He received several achievement awards in creative writing through poetry.com and has recently published two eBooks and one paperback book through Lulu.com. After a nine year hiatus, Bo returned to publishing his poems with a new outlook and fresh ideas. His other talents include singing and songwriting.
Catching moon beams, walking on crystal air, gliding over the ocean, full of love,without a care. Sliding on a rainbow, jumping on to a star, fire racing across the water, as i drag moon beams on the way. Moon beams
A New Dawn Justice Eluded her But she was On Run Till last gasp But soon surrounded The foul air Lies and deceit Confusion thicken With Past ,pre past links of delinked Whither the path? Now energy lost Treading forward
Count your blessings you’re still here it’s 2018 another wonderous year. 2017 has passed us by ain’t it truly funny how time can really fly. Was 2017 a scream or just routine? Did it make you hoot and holler, kept
’tis a playing field for many kinds out in the arena, to discern the companionship of the puissant sun ’tis a hot, new summer day , blithe and sound maketh thou run, run, run… syrupy voice of nightingale, fills candied
This day of sixty fruitful weeks shadow pristine relics of bundled keepsakes adorned in obsolete gazettes of passing snow storms, puppy training and next door’s junk mail. Transition logs re-call six states, five military orders, four duty stations, six rusted