i wish the forests
could take me back
puln deep: 
neath the shake of
the leaf
and ire 
of the rhime 
fed way 
while my bones turn to rest
and my soul to the deep,
knowing spores

from death to the winds
carried high to the rains
falling
again and again
again and again
again and again;

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days come and go

no stopping them

like leaves that wither on the stem

yellow they drop

no longer free

now mere atoms in eternity

we watch them fall

with them we go

flotsam on that tidal flow

a wave that climbs

into the sky

going none knows where or why

washing the stars

bathing black holes

dousing galaxies like blazing coals

is ...

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at rest at last

she sees no light

finally gave up without a fight

left no partner

or one to mourn

her destiny beneath stone and lawn

how did she live

for eighty years

yet leave behind a dearth of tears?

or is there life

beyond this vale

that gives a meaning to her tale?

maybe she got

her just dessert

to make up for a life of hurt

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All of life is poetry
a half-baked layered poem
my window is the picture frame
that calls my eye to roam

frozen silent evergreens
with dark serenity
they're preaching self-reliance
but hide mendacity

November leaves dead yellow-brown
swirl littered on the road
their song tells of an aging dream
that failed to unfold

a needled pine stares blackly down
unwilling to release
b...

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In and out the sea doth sway

Erasing mans death and decay.

An old man's struggle,

No net, no sail. Only a flag

of permanent defeat.

Great fish swimming around and around,

the reel running, a screaming sound.

A Marlin swims, the ultimate catch,

only days to see if luck they will have.

The men struggle and pray away,

A massive catch needed to save the day.

...

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Winterfylleth (October)

We die! We die!

scream the old men

of the trees,

as their grip slips

from skeletal fingers

holding them aloft.

They fall to earth

in a blaze of golden glory,

coming to rest

at the feet of

great oaks, sycamores,

birch and elms.

Rustling in their cardigans

of orange and amber

like dry skin

in...

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It can be said that fate waits for no one

It is almost a certainty in fact

But darkness with its spring heels waits alone

In a recess seldom visited, we go there in shade

Curtained we go there and raise suspicion

We go when there is blood to sacrifice

We come back when there is left only bone

Like the needless prayers of a mother

We disappear in...

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