On April seven a flower bloomed
as another faded still
falling silently asleep
Gently passing til
with spreading wide of petals
and yellow for the Spring
The one that bloomed to passing
stood with angels there to sing
I’m working on the premise
that something soon will change
and when I’m least expecting it
A move to rearrange
will catch me by surprise one day
and the dove-cote doors will close
cocooning me in slumber
from my head down to my toes
Lit, a gaslamp as a sun, this is the star we have, here, those of us of the night, and lately, we have the quiet, but it is not always so, for phantoms sometimes eek from out of mourning souls, and walk down the roads, with sways, and heavy heels.
The candle and the music
of an evening warm inside
Slumber slowly beckons
as the day and night collide
And as my pen finds solace
with a verse to capture this
with music an encouragement
I slip away to bliss
Winch upon waking; the night is not gone.
Harangue at your terrors that sweep along the walls.
Make a shotgun of your pillow, throw lightning at the mirror.
What would the darkness have of you? Mass marketer of
fears, has aligned itself with your cheek, weaving your spittle
into the phantom.
My foot pounds hard upon the floor.
A hand grabs on the bedroom door.
The voice says low, “The monster’s here!”
There’s scrambling feet and giggling fear.
Burning quietly in the night
a single flame flickered
reminding me in its yellow glow
of a distant place
where memories linger
soft in the warm whimsy
of a cathartic embrace.
Caught myself some forty winks
or maybe thirty-nine
I wasn’t really counting
as I was snoozing at the time
However, it was just enough
to recharge my tiring mind
Close my eyes and drift away
relax, and just unwind
Oblivion calls
A sweet siren song,
But I can’t listen
Or follow her down
Responsibilities beckon,
Steel fist on my heart
Directing me outwards,
Gawd how I hate
The daily grind
Poet's Corner 