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 Nov 2017 Autumn Rose
L B
“The autopsy will confirm no trauma to the body
no foul play”

Face down in the river
whose name means forked tongue
A crow investigates
where water frowned in flotsam
face down—muddied
hair, mustachio
jeans and striped tee
whose--

“name has not been released pending...”

...His loves
tattooed on upper arm

“Coroner awaiting the next of....”

He'll wait a while
for “Mom and Budweiser” to finally check in
He may have...

“He may have been... ...a resident of
The Cozy Care Home”

where he paid for the care
questioned the cozy whose agent demurs—

“The turnover here is just so rapid... steady current of guests
No one ever noticed....”
“...this is Jacqueline Henry with WBSH News”

“The autopsy will confirm...”
First of the month
to town on a mission
Just a short hop
from stone to stone
from day to day
from rock to a hard place
Looking for a short cut
to Tasty Cakes, bologna
Wise Chips and a 40
cross the gurgling,
glinting light and liquid laughter

...This river has a forked tongue...

...a resident
...a resident
who paid to get missed
who one week before
on the easy way of an April day...
Knocked down, gasping
knocked down
and yanked through his forty-eight years pulled through panic
by lean muscle of current
wishing for something...
for someone
to hang on to!
The autopsy will confirm

This river lies
The local river's name is Lackawanna, from the Native, meaning, "divided."
Neighbor kids found this body.  Another was pulled from the "Lacky" several weeks ago.  Small rivers can be so deceptive.

"40" --40 oz. bottle of cheap beer
 Nov 2017 Autumn Rose
L B
I suppose there has to be a reason
or at least a note
to mark that day--

He ate his breakfast
She let him out
He walked along the railing like the plank
defying death for pleasure
of his lady's company
to get his belly rubbed
sprawled long
across her lap

She released him
to chase the squirrels of his dreams
to his black cat adventures
to the aching green of life's
late summer ways

But, the days assemble against your return

May the angels find you quickly
my darling, Bailey
Dark beauty of coal
I was a Tuesday, bereft
You disappeared--
like the shadow of a whisper

Disappeared like hope--
in the last blow of day
Black cats, so often feared by the superstitious, are the last to be adopted at shelters and often singled out for cruel treatment by the heartless.

Bailey was on "Death's Row" after being seven months in the pound. Even his status as "The Pet of the Week" could not get someone to want him.  I saw his little vid with the TV reporter --and he belonged to me.

My first impression of him:  
"Gawd! what a tall cat!"
 Nov 2017 Autumn Rose
Imran Islam
I saw her on Halloween
She was wearing Snow White
It makes her look like a teen
She's just full of delight
She's looking like a beauty queen.

Her smile was shining
Like the full moonlight
Her mood was charming
In Snow White
It's for Halloween.

I have seen my friend, Willow
In white, black, blue, red and yellow
Snow White made her colorful
And she opened the window
looking for Halloween.

Renee's at her room
Looks like a broom
She's smiling at afternoon
Likes a silver moon
Happy Halloween
Happy Halloween
Enjoy the Halloween Night.
 Nov 2017 Autumn Rose
Cné
sometimes,
i like to dance
with the devil
burning eyes upon me
in hypnotic dazzle
my toes easily
sweep away inhibitions
quieting my angelic
voice's suspicions
as whispered words
brush thine ear
my entranced ego
has no fear
endangering
as it may be
our bodies entanglement
appears free
with soaring thoughts
of ecstasy
we ebb and flow
in ****** mystery
seduced in music
playing rhythmically
ecstatically,
i dance willingly
Eye of newt
          toe of frog
                scale of snake
                              bark of dog.
A cauldron boiling
                         over an open blaze
its vapor makes
                        an eerie haze.
A pinch of this
        a pinch of that
              a magic broom
                    an old black cat.
Cobwebs
            Spiders
                  creaking floor
                       scary shadows
                                 on the door.
                                     Howling winds
                                  pouring rain
                              curtains lick
                        the window pane.
             Groans
          and
              moans
                      a Ghoulish scene…

TRICK OR TREAT, IT’S HALLOWEEN!!!
~
Inspired by good old Shakespeare’s three “weird sisters”, Scene I of Macbeth.

“Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison’d entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone
Days and nights hast thirty one
Swelter’d venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i’ the charmed ***.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg, and howlet’s wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
Witches’ mummy, maw and gulf
Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark,
Root of hemlock digg’d i’ the dark,
Liver of blaspheming Jew,
Gall of goat, and slips of yew
Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse,
Nose of Turk, and Tartar’s lips,
Finger of birth-strangled babe
Ditch-deliver’d by a drab,
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger’s chaudron,
For the ingredients of our cauldron.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Cool it with a baboon’s blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.”
 Nov 2017 Autumn Rose
Pagan Paul
.
A gemshorn and a mandolin
strike up counterpoint melodies,
as a harp and viola
caress the notes of a minuet.
Soft waves of music creep
around the joy of the Hall,
cuddling the fibres of granite stone
with a warming fire for all.

And she steps to the fore,
slippers of silk gliding so slow,
eyes as blue as robins eggs,
smile sweet as a full moons glow.
Hair laced with summer flowers,
a long dress of velvet green,
and the shawm she is ready to play
held lightly by fingers so keen.

Her tongue moistens shyly,
as the reed approaches her lips,
with fingers dancing over holes,
and deftly into a trance she slips.
Descending chords in choral hue,
drip colours into an aching heart,
the sweetest of mediaeval muses,
playing well her minstrels part.



© Pagan Paul (21/10/17)
.
Shawm, Gemshorn - mediaeval musical instruments.
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