Howling At The Fucking (Super) Moon.

Caro il Lupo;

Do you know?

that you’re still alive?

Your humanity survives,

the time comes and goes,

tears spill from my eyes,

phantom penned poetry,

and unforgotten prose,

trickle from the winter skies,

like snowflakes on my nose;

a wolf-pack nurtured and led,

has slowly scattered and faded,

but when a full moon’s overhead,

we’re never too far separated;

we’re each still too humbled by,

the shine you put in every eye,

the words you spilled across our lives,

Marcus – your kindness thrives;

I know you’ve passed through this place,

your signature sizzles across the skies,

nobody can replace,

no pencil or pen can retrace,

your ink and quill still permeate,

you can still bring tears to my eyes,

Tonight’s “Super Moon”,

has me fucking howling for you,

head thrown back,

me, and the rest of your pack,

just like that, Marcus…you’re still alive.

I MISS YOU.

WE MISS YOU.

Wolf-Pack-Howling.jpg

HATFM.

As I drove home late last night from the mountains, I saw you shining up there, almost full again…my heart became sore; and, I was in tears before long.

There’s nothing as awe-inspiring to the others on the road as the notice of a blubbering fellow driver, by the way. People become acutely interested in you suddenly when they fear that you are unable to see the freeway lanes through your tears.

I thought of Lionheart then, naturally…and his good fortune in love; I remember how you almost seemed to be “hooking him and me up” in the beginning of our friendships together, from so far away. Needless to say, that wasn’t the destiny laid out for us; but we have nurtured something special in terms of true friendship, instead.

I then recalled several conversations you and I had in the very short time that I was blessed by your presence in Life, as I have become blessed by its permanence in Death these days. I remember how much I admired your spirit and heart; you just seemed to ooze the very essence of all that is good and honorable in the world, and all that is true. I remember how you comforted me during a very, very low point in my Life’s painful pendulum – on a day when I was feeling especially alone and abandoned and hopeless. It was a holiday, a big one that you were celebrating with your lovely wife and family somewhere far from your place “high in the woods”. You made time to comfort me that day despite a bad weather day of traveling…you didn’t make a big out of it though; I hadn’t even known you were on the road because you had been so “present”. You always amazed me and left me with my mouth hanging open through your untouchable humanity, Il Lupo.

You were an amazing human being; I haven’t forgotten that, either; haven’t forgotten you for a single day. I think of Felicia often too, and wish I were in a position to drop in on her and just hug her once in a while. I do wonder how she gets on these days, without you. It hurts to know how robbed of so many things she was when you were killed. It hurts to know that she has suffered such a tragic loss in so many ways and must go on. I guess I hurt for her, mostly. I try not to think about your actual death and what it must have been like for you and your dog when you were hit and killed. I hope your suffering was short-lived.

Just know you live on in the hearts of so many of us, and always will, especially on a full moon.

 

Howling At The Fucking Moon, Marcus.

 

Remembrances.

Since the first night I spent asleep in his words,
the most moving words I’ve ever read or heard;

I fell fast asleep inside unfamiliar relief,
to the lullaby spun from the lungs of this beast;

I slept like a baby while he read softly to me,
he brought me safety from the Carnivorous Things;

He recognized the burdens heavily anchored to my name,
he easily lifted the tolling weight from my weary frame;

If he ever wonders, he will never wonder why,
he wiped countless tears from under my eyes;

Era il capo di uno degli ultimi branchi di lupi.
he was the very last of his kind, understandably;

All I want to reach for are his words as they float by,
as I swoon at the slice of moon that hangs inside his eyes;

Since the time that he first folded me – buckled at my knees,
his strokes were long – humming songs, growling protectively,

his poetry had the melody to make me forget that I am weak,
captivated by a scent, and took up the chase to hear him speak,
Giggled schoolgirl, sprinkled sparks of nice, clean jealousy…
that beast: he gave me nothing, left me holding so many things.

Howl.

What is a name given by the Gods to a star?

with a twinkle they will not let shine anymore,

with the spirit of a beast broadcast from afar,

from the depths to the distance, howl evermore.

What is a name given by the Gods to a man?

with an poetic heart and outstretched hand,

with the eyes of the wolf in the heart of the den,

and a spirit that shines when the moon’s full again.

Here is the place where the Gods have hung him?

with the fizzle and fire of ancient constellations,

where his spirit lives on in the howling of winds,

and his words carry on in the hearts of his friends.

What is a name given by the Gods to a star?

with a twinkle they will not let shine anymore,

with the spirit of a beast broadcast from afar,

from the depths to the distance, howl evermore.

What is a name given by the Gods to a man?

with an poetic heart and outstretched hand,

with the eyes of the wolf in the heart of the den,

and a spirit that shines when the moon’s full again.

Here is the place where the Gods have hung him?

with the fizzle and fire of ancient constellations,

where his spirit lives on in the howling of winds,

and his words carry on in the hearts of his friends.

 

A ‘Worm Moon’ Howl to Marcus.

Howling out loudly –
to a loss mourned deeply…
another full moon, here to shine so soon;
tonight’s moon makes it three…
three moons have full shone,
since your laughter’s been gone;
and I howl out my lungs,
with each one,
that’s been hung;
though I don’t know
what’s drives me to
keep this ritual updone:
whether in honor of you,
and how your pores oozed
with kindness and love –
or if I need to scream ,
up to the Gods’ high esteem,
because the moon,
in her shiniest prime
deserves a kick in her eye
for taking you
so permanently, so tragically.

A Snow Full Moon Howl to Marcus

Readers,

The Snow Full Moon of February (also referred to as the Hunger Moon), is one that has long represented a time without to the Native Tribes of the North American Continent. Historically, this is a time when food and fire are scarce, and Mother Nature takes over for a while.

Today’s post is my second collection of Full Moon Howls for Marcus “il Canus Lupus”: a beloved friend, lost far too soon.

Even if you never knew Marcus, even if you’re only some random reader who will never come back to my blog again, please join me in sending a howl up to the full moon in his honor, as he was a truly honorable and deserving man of everyone’s good energies – and I can say with certainty that he would have howled for you (no matter who you are), if the tables were turned…

We Miss You, Marcus:

We’re Still Here, Howling at YOUR Fucking Moon!!!

Aw Aw Awhoooooo!

Aww Aww Awwwhooooooo!

lupo