Tendrils

taut time, tendrils tender
timeless terrain, tainted trails
trickle taps, tick-tock tomorrows
tepid tapes, tallowed tubes

Float

So whom do you rely upon?
You’re at the Red Sea. Where’s the boat?
How long in water can you float?
That’s when a way was made. At dawn
the charging enemy was gone
except for corpses flushed to shore.
You still have doubts? You’d like one more
experiment to test what’s true?
You see the dead?  They’d like that, too,
but they have lost their strength for war.

Sedate

shimmer soft, sedate stories
slither sounds, supine spaces
silent strikes, sublime stars

Contrast

Repentance cringes at the past
since God detests the rot of it
that reeks of death. The blot of it
warns us beware of each contrast.

We’re thankful though that didn’t last.
We saw in time our wretched ways.
Where would we be if all our days
continued on mechanically
when seeing meant we didn’t see?
Such gratitude’s the source of praise.

Rounded Rays

rounded rays, ringed rain
rusted reflection, rueful roses
rivers rugged, roosters red
ridged rosewood, Roman rocks

A Toast for 2021

It’s the season of new

the Earth has spun through the heavens

and arrived at the place we call the beginning

a bookmark we humans have put in the order of things

the New Year, the first day of the first month of the 21^st year of the 21st century

All is new, yet all the same

a cycle in a continuum of millennia

yet a comfort that we have a fresh start in our minds

Spiny Orb Weaver

Its spines stood out in shiny red
with body black against white wall.
Its web seemed barely there at all
but formed a sticky prison bed.

The traps effectively were spread
to catch deception in midair.
The truth exposed each lie out there
and everywhere we heard the crash.
The busted celebration bash
had cursed repentance, scorned good prayer.

Questions

quarantined questions, quilted quarters
queues, quakes, quintessential quivers
quips, quests, quotidian Quixotes
quelled quack, quaint queens

Prayers

plaited pipes, prosody parched
patterns purple, peppered past
plumes puckered, prosaic pauses
painted pains, psychedelic poker

Events

The winter solstice doesn’t bother us.
It happens this time every year.
It comes and goes. A few might care to know,
But no one feels any fear.

A birth we celebrate about this time
That happened once in ancient days
Still moves the heart with joyful gratitude.
We rise with shepherds singing praise.

Orange

owl’s ogle, ominous orange
omen ornate, oyster old
oracle’s ooze, overweight
overdraft, oversight, overboard

Gift

Take care that you are not deceived.
To gutters petty pleasures drift.
Think not on rights. It’s all a gift.
Forget what you thought you achieved.
Fake gold can only leave you grieved
since none has value in the end.
Note: Falsehood never had a friend.
Beware His wrath. Avoid the curse.
Avoid the path from bad to worse
where spirals flush the flesh they rend.

Knocking

His knuckles tapped the door to knock.
Would no one on the inside hear?
But then came Jane, who wiped a tear,
and Jim, a target safe to mock.
They looked outside, released the lock,
and called the others, “Come and see!”
But none would bother. Faithfully
both Jim and Jane dressed in pure white,
gave thanks like it were Christmas night,
and shared a meal among just three.

Murmurations

I am not fond of starlings

But in late autumn

Sometimes they crowd in the treetops

In a chirping chorus

Like a reunion of relatives

With an abundance of news to share

Who knows what stirs these rather uninspiring birds

To gather in in such a cacophony

Then on queue as if the din is too much

They rise from their perches to find positions

In an undulating dance that wafts over harvested fields.

They dip, swirl and twirl as one body

Thousands of avian forms performing with

Ballet grace in the sky

I pause from my walk to watch with reverence

A celebration?

A spiritual rite?

Scientists still don’t know quite how or why

A mystery

But I know magic when I see it

fot the backstory on this post visit byalannpass.com

artwork by the author

Stable, Truthful Hope

Although what shines need not be wrong
beware dark lies that shadow truth,
distract the old, confuse the youth
with specious lyrics from a song.

I wonder.  Must I sing along?
Some tunes that once enchanted me
now don’t make sense.  Be just and free,
merciful, alive and stable,
driving out false dreams and fable,
preferring joy to pleasantry.

Constant

orange nails, tiger’s last dream
red smoke, blues, wafered puns
age in its one piece monologue

Tears To Leave Behind

They’re growing in a window well
where light is rarely seen.
Live on, persist, be bright and green,
or yellow hued for just a spell.

They offer us some hope and tell
us though pigheaded, willful, blind
there’s grace abounding, sure and kind.
With thankful blessings everywhere
repent, reform, reach up and there
we’ll leave our every tear behind.

---

Happy Thanksgiving!

Stroller Dog

I  missed our walkabouts

His cattle dog body

All worn out

So I bought him a stroller

That saw four children grow

Then fixed it up

So he could go

Nightmares on the Gentlest Tier of Hell

This tossing makes me wonder why
regrets won’t let me get some sleep
without those nightmares from the deep.
I would shed tears. I’d even cry
if that would help. Regardless, I
can’t face these twisted memories.
I’d have to run off on my knees,
but could I even find my way,
the one I lost that lazy day,
or days, when I served my own ease?

In case it isn’t obvious, the “I” in the poem is an imaginary character in a mild region of hell trying to get some rest.  I pray this “I”  would not be me.  I pray he not be you either.

Sounds

teardrops in red
two by two
estranged
paint one ground
in two worlds

Thanks and Giving

I’m thankful for this time to live
and suffer if need be.
There also is a chance to give
and do so generously.

Though it be short or it be long,
though what I do be small,
I offer back a thankful song
in praise and give it all.

One Lap Too Many

Bill reached too far. He was the one
Who spoke our compromising spell.
We warned him to beware of hell,
But Billy laughed. He’d just begun.
He had more wicked laps to run.
It happened at that twisted bend.
We’ll leave to medics who’ll pretend
They knew the cause of Billy’s death.
In dreams we smell his fetid breath.
We hear him scream, “Please, make this end!”

Sunday Morning Sunrise

The Sunday morning sunrise

Ascending Americas skies

Seems to revive dreams

Dreams, that nearly died…

And though the fights not over

And though the road is long

This Sunday morning sunrise

Reminds us to stay strong…O’Prunty

In Honor of President Elect Joe Biden and VP Kamala Harris

Thirteen Demons Sitting on the Wall

Lucky this or lucky that,
Luck as bad as that black cat
Cuddling, purring by my side,
Unlikely place for luck to hide.

Thirteen demons looking mean
Pretending that I haven’t seen
Them cackling when they watch me frown.
Too bored to laugh, I stare them down.

It’s not bad luck that made them fall.
They jumped like Humpty from the wall
And then they cracked.  Oops.  Breakfast time!
You’re lucky. That’s my final rhyme.

Exhale

Some decades earlier he went
Along this way he’s walking now.
A child in hand and wife somehow
Were with him as if Heaven sent,
But now his energy’s near spent.
The sign suggests he’s on some trail
That loops to somewhere vaguely known.
A wind picks up. The oak trees groan.
His strength returns though flesh stays frail
While every breath yearns to exhale.

Spooky Exorcist

I have no fear of ghosts or such,
But humans – compromised, possessed –
They do cause trouble – very much –
They’re twisted, troubled, without rest.
They think they’re tough. What do they know?
They aren’t so difficult to see.
When eyes blaze hot with hate they show
Their weakness then their fear of me.

If Yesterday Were a Door

if yesterday were a door
would you find her hand
where the sunset slid

if yesterday were a door
would you hold her smile
where the memories hid

Kitten

For the backstory on this poem go to byalannapass.com

Image by the author