Titan’s Shadow

Your lofty shadow, looming over the silent screams of night.
The evergreen titan, reduced to a bold black outline, against the sky,
What whispers in me do you seek? I have none, I think.
I may soon be empty, but for the mindful tending of your shape.
Just as the threats of winter fall softly at your feet,
So are the promises we never meet, leaping from tree to tree,
Singing in the breeze, Circling our souls as falling leaves,
And yet, you’re free.
Free from harm, and thoughts, and dreams,
Dripping in the misty weaves of shadowed melodies,
My midnight evergreen.

To Wake In Love

A crest of messy, restless hair
That waving tide upon her brow,
Brushed by rushing morning air.
The night we spent is over now.
Unprepared for her departure,
I wondered when her eyes would open,
To see the wounds left by the archer,
Who finds his mark when love is chosen.
Will she choose to leave me here,
Without the kiss, whispered promise.
Will time and distance interfere
To loose her grip upon this fondness.
Pray, if this be the poor man’s bower,
Let her sleep another hour.
Pray, you sky, let loose a shower,
So she might stay another hour.

Office Chair

Dry, cracked leather on a wooden frame, some office chair somewhere; Crimson colored skin with gold buttons punched in like droplets of the rain. Could use some sand and a stain, but I won’t complain. Honestly, it’s a tragedy that no ones felt the pain of its aging, there’s no grey haired brain to bring back the long lost memories and nights of revelry. Its just sat patiently fading in a basement, some natural, captive soul to apathy waiting for a craftsmen to pass and see the masterpiece it once was, and could be, with just a little love. A few stitches, a spit shine, oil rag and a patient touch but, the bad news is it’ll end up in the the trash, and that’s bad luck, because I’d take it for half a buck.

Bloom

To stretch without tearing,
The subtle fibers of life,
An endeavor worth daring,
To end taunting glares of strife.

Shudder off the decay of spring,
Dance and sweat out the fear,
When the sun rays begin to sing
Sing along, my dear, sing along.

Break free from nagging thoughts
To feel the quiet warmth around
Swirling to unwind the knots,
Of a tired heart, with faith abound.

Dusk

A wild red fox chasing fires,
Across ivy terraces;
Lighting flowery shadows,
On the garden fences.
Eyed by a sleepless owl,
Enticed and entranced,
By the fox who chased,
And the fire who danced.
With frost setting late,
And night on the land,
The owl yawned and gave
His final demand.
Burn bright and late,
You clever fox.
Run forth and tame,
Your fickle fires.
For the owl should be sleeping,
As the winter comes creeping,
Towards the furry fox,
And his fading fires.

Woolen Sieves

Good morning, silent, grey skies.
I sense your longing to leave us behind.
When you stay, we don’t ask why,
But tell me, please, why is it you cry?
I know you hear our patient sighing.
But never mind it, ignore the silence.
Fear not the futile thoughts of violence,
Your lofty height prevents defiance.
So we spin in circles, far below.
We look to you, and pray to know,
When warmth and sunlight plans to show.
Where is it that you go?
When we’re jaded in the fading sunrise,
And wish for calmer, softer skies.

Quarantine

There’s an uneasy chatter stalking silently through the breeze.
Ominous whispers are whipping in the wind.
Ancient flocks of fear have perched in all the trees.
They can’t believe how silent their cities have been.
All of their eyes are hiding behind glass,
Concealed behind curtains, and peeking curiously,
Hoping not to see it;
That silent specter stalking through the streets,
Haunting all their dreams.
Their ominous imaginations are finding phantoms,
Hiding, in the corner of their vision.
Skittering fears are tickling their eyelids as they sleep.
Frail, seedling thoughts of the future
Have found fallow ground in the fields of hope.
And I’m at home,
Having a smoke, and writing a poem.