I marked my diary with a black heart yesterday,
Signalling yet another loss of a piece of me
To a lancet, delicately embraced by a cadaverous hand
Tightly hemmed in mourning lace.
Upon my wrinkly pages I wrote of lament so thick
Leaves dropped freely in my eerie breeze,
And my nigh filled dipping pen
Opulently embarking upon saintly rites
Deep into the cold moon’s full embrace,
For this unsettled heart beat thick.
Did you design the skies?
Did you place heaven floating
Amidst autumn leaves
And fleeting burning skies?
Did you button up cold birds
With warm woolly vests,
And marvelous plumage?
Did you gather piles of dead leaves
To spring board a crash landing?
Did you harvest pumpkins
Each of unique size and shape
To make my summer heart
Shift into darker hues of gold?
Well then, thank you.
“I’m not that fun”
Said the crescent moon
That wept loudly
Amidst autumn’s leaves
Spread carelessly perfect
On an empty yard
Sitting aimlessly awkward
With such high hopes.
And then thy heart stripped.
Forsooth, a voice sounded;
To gasp, even just for a brief moment
The complexities no shadows
Could reveal.
Rhythm is a magic thing.
Ebb.
Flow.
It takes the heart
And encircles it with
Falling Autumn leaves
And afternoon window shoppers
Dressed in
Late-morning-sunshine-yellow polo shirts
And walked-a-mile shoes.
Rhythm is two steps
For every one breath
On a muggy evening
Along a windy, ocean view
Pedestrians only path
In a healthy city.
Rhythm is necessary,
Just as long steady gusts for big bubbles
And late afternoon naps are.
Because if the heart takes a leap
And forgets which beat
Is flip flopping around deep inside,
Then all mastery of any subject
Is floating lifelessly away
Amidst breadcrumbs scattered for ducks
In a sea of slugs on a hungry Tuesday.
day 1
What discusses me?
Sits in its bedroom late at night
And debates.
Contemplates.
Deliberates and swaps memories
With fact like evidence.
day 2
What discusses me?
In a large cozied pot
Of herbal mint tea leaves.
A fortune read.
Destiny.
Visions undecided.
day 3
What discusses me?
In my discussions with my lonely mind,
Flip-flopping wrinkled sheets
That crease my minds
Soft footsteps
Through lazy Sundays.
Warm water has rushed over my body,
Cleaned me of my sins and soaking
Virgin soil beneath my feet.
I have witnessed a standard
Leave nothing in return.
Shaking free the eggcorn
That grabs on tight to my chest.
Looking at my neat bundle of sticks
I collected while stepping over
Last year’s dead leaves, I realized
How stubborn I had been.
Yet, my every ounce of energy
Was focused as my petrified soul
Shook in an exposed, naked gift.
Leaves fly around the whirlwind
Sheltering the misunderstanding
From memories that crawl
Over cold stone floors
Scraping well-worn wooden chairs
Hollow echoes reverberating
Through the whirlwind
I cannot shelter a dove
One whose wings sweep the fresh air
Flapping through autumns deep and husky caress
I cannot Angel the Satanic circles
Pressed between my lips
Biting hard on the whirlwind
That stares, no, floats down my long nose
But then, just as long sands sweep starboard
Just as couches recede into forgiven nightmares
And as hollow steps fade into brisk airs of dawn
Whirlwinds shake down the last remaining hope
Caressing it with intimate kisses and blueberry muffins
And a comfort filled with such sentiment
Teddybears peel off their 2D stares and flicker smiles
That melt mirrors and write happiness into loose leaves
Floating off into the wide expansive whirlwind
There I lie
Face turned towards the heavens imploring
Seeking questions
Yet written on my mind
Sun scattered eyes
Blurring crimson edges
Setting fire to
Out of focus pins and needles
Before deaths cry
Wind whispers shallow markings
On seasons frozen skin
Betraying movement
And forgotten
A heavy coat leaves
Memories
Without occupation
As flower petals fall in the autumn
And rain drops drip from browning leaves
My love fades away into distance I’m away
And I lose my life
Dwindling softly around northern wind
Chilling my bundling tighter to me
Autumn caressing my heart
Decay sits around patiently
Strolls through the park now are filled with dead leaves
Dead leaves float down from shifting canopies
Deciduous trees slowly sway with mother earths soothing motion
Dead leaves blanket soiled paths laid through summer
A softening, deadening all sounds of scraping dirt
But shuffling along as I push forward
Dead leaves dance with discarded cones
Tossed away in haste during a squirrels preparation
Dead leaves share with me a full spectrum of browns
Reds, oranges, greens, purples, blacks
As they run the test of time separated from their lifeline
Dead leaves tell of turning seasons
Lazy summer indulging into autumns necessary storage
And clear nights turning into frosts morning
Dead leaves share with me the art of romance
Harmony in age
Holding hands with Mother Nature
As she guides the procession forward
