casey28

Halloween is over and now I have a bit of post-Halloween blues. So I wrote this poem to try to express some of my feelings about it...

Pumpkins shine in moonlight fair
like misty orange stars,
that twinkle with a eerie gleam
that ghostly hands do mar

November shakes its tousled head
defies the salient winds,
that tug and pull at Halloween,
to take apart its limbs

Stay and haunt us cries the rain
that splatters every rail,
we need the veil that thins the worlds
and leaves a spooky trail

Leaves will brown when reds do fade
and snow will soon beget,
the patterns of a colder time
that autumn’s heart forgets

Bring back the holy haunted days
that ripen in the dark,
that feed the sacred yearnings,
that leave its mystic mark

I don't know where the idea for this one came from. Sometimes it feels like a poem writes itself, and I just sit back and watch.

Battle, Battle

Battle, battle, dipped in red,
sew your seams in bloody thread,
skin will shrink on withered hands,
soon to reach the dying lands.

Battle, battle, dipped in brown,
break the stars and bring them down,
crumbled legs are broken clay,
earth will swallow up its prey.

Battle, battle, dipped in black,
take your wails of anguish back.
silence soon the bitter foe,
bury them before you go.

poem by me

I posted this on livejournal and meant to post it here, too!

New Moon

Where goes the barren, brittle moon
when night uncoils her inky pen
and blots the crow in fragile flight
with tears it drips in crystal black

A yarn unborn before its spun
new moon arrives before its begun
She sings herself from hollow to full
like blazing light from a faded jewel

poem by me

Early Spring blinks north,
lifts her dress like a broken wing
still weary from winter.

Cold skies and colder ground
mount the weeping stars
with limbs too weak for flight

Snow shrinks in fright,
as flakes too frail to fall
give birth like a barren bird.

Hovering on horizon's edge,
foggy pond fades from desolate view,
the tangled path unfolds.

Hope brings its misty dew in twilight.
the world lifts its thirsty hands,
like an empty barrel waiting for rain.

poem by me