the crow fills the air with dark-winged presence
a black iron fence stands guard
doors and windows open,
life passes through.
we are strangers here
with moments of glory
on battlefields of hope
who can speak of victory
and the injury of loss?
but if the sun rises
turns leaves to gold
on a mid-summer's day,
all there is
will take a bow
and the stage will be lit
from the inside out.

.

when you stare at a dim star
it vanishes
then you see it
when you look away

it was an analogy waiting to happen
i left it too long

autumn or sunlight or
long shadows, does that help?
how about hawks, do you know now?

what i want to tell you
can only be said by
avoiding the subject

Ten bob hooker,

Street corners she uses
for easy cash,
hotel rooms are costly
always brash.
Scuffed boots she’s now
worn a while,
denim skirt short, frayed,
out of style.

Friendly pink or lace
that’s all gone,
had to grow up early
to face a horrid dawn.
Father was a good man
maybe to damn kind,
mother was weak
and always love blind.

SEASONS I

The branches on the old birch trees
Began to feel the weight of ice and snow
First a brief crackling to show their resistance
The weaker ones fell in the hush of the ground below
All that was green and alive died to winter
Lingering ghosts frozen still
until the first breath of Spring
There is no resurrection without a death
No continuation without a Spring
Each of us dies to our season
And we let go of one dreaming
To wake and dream another

Submitted by Geremia on Mon, 2011-07-11 02:49