Aside from my writing about UFOs and the paranormal, supernatural realms in general, I also write fiction, poetry, prose. (If so inclined, you can visit my fragments, found blog.) I rarely write about the fringe, anomalous stuff in my fiction life, but, occasionally I do come up with something. Here's a prose-poem I wrote recently about UFOs:
an orange orb, silver sphere
beam of light
paralyzed, silent screams
beams of light, again, so bright-white, vision transcends the norm.
awareness of cognizance, familiarity from the Other and yet,
memory plays tricks,
missing time, a lost drive begun
on a late summer afternoon.
waiting for a friend, a heavy sudden wind in the woods, a no show.
finding ourselves back home, hours later . . .
watching the orb stop, hover, drop in a neighbor's yard.
Do I follow? Call an authority? Instead, I dream
of orbs and spheres, lights
and enormous spinning shields above my head.
something intelligent, aware, knowing, follows,
tracks my journeys on the astral.
so what? where? who, how, why?
questions, decades later, answers