Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Autumnal Colors


This autumn has been difficult for me as the doctors keep changing medications to prevent migraines and manage the symptoms of other ailments. There are days when I fell tempted to give up. Then poems like these come out of no where to flow from my pen onto the paper. Or I look up and my breath is taken away by the colorful landscape. I scrape myself together to move through another day.

Written 10/1/12
Autumnal stumbles
Leaves fall and fly
the harvest moon enteres
to dance int he sky
I join the dance
of colors and dying
prepare a warm bed
to make ready for devining
Let the dreams come
in the dark cold night
color my writing
with visions of delight
Written 10/18/12
Winter starts a slow motion descent
called Autumn
All of nature hears the approach
and prepares
We are not foolish
We see the colorful signs
We stack the wood
We gather our wools
We preserve our foods
We pack our pantry
We harken our animals come in
We do not like the shiver
We cannot abide the hunger
We snuggle in deep and wait
We wait for the sun to feel warm again
We wait for the color parade to begin again
As summer starts a slow motion ascent
called Spring
all of nature shuffles off the cold
We reawaken and emerge
into a new world

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Season of the Witch

Written October 10, 2012

Dossi, Italian (1479-1542)
Witch's broom
is merely a metaphor
for an independent thinker
One who can travel alone
yet still be part of a whole
Witch's brew
is just an elixir
to open your eyes
open your mind
to that which you
might never have dared to dream
Witch's book
is only a haven
for knowledge of a different type
for that which sooths or excites
chase away the dragons of night
open doors of perception
to awaken dreams
or resurrect them
Open the door
to a witch's home
be invited into her heart
is to unshackle
that which teethers you

Thursday, October 4, 2012

National Poetry Day

Written 10/3/2012

Follow the Leader
The world is a silent mess
swarming 'round my head
cottoning my ears
ringing a bell unheard
and I just sit here lonely
stepping aside the crowd
huddled in masses yapping
chattering for a while
Silence is a blessing
opening the soul
calling forth the muses
to fill this empty void
They clip through the noise
the mess that silence made
they right my inner world
with the turning of a phrase
and I just sit here scribbling
thankful for the mercy steeped
upon this ravaged soul
who longs for dreaming sleep