a thick delicate hairdo
of tall grass
blows in the wind
over its sidewalk,
crowning it
with glory.

a calendar
lies in the corner of a table,
forgotten,
two weeks into the New Year,
its simple pencil sketch at the top
showing at an angle.
late at night
a noise can be heard from that corner,
the sound of protesting sobs,
and a little voice
can be picked out here and there,
"all the other calendars
had pretty scenes
of mountain lakes and forest glades.
now they are all gone.
someone has taken them
to hang on their wall.
and I am still lying here.
nobody wants me.
my big, clumsy letters
are clear and dark.
a child could read them.
and my large, awkward boxes
have plenty of writing space.
I am the best calendar around
and could help someone greatly
in their struggle
to remember their place in time,
if only someone would stay long enough
to see what I am
and not what I look."

Autumn views change much like the observers
A little worse , a bit better , in some ways a little sooner than later
Soft skinned , running to a fro now replaced with hard shelled , set in your ways , pre-planned afternoon walks  
Elder hardwoods finally reveal their true colors , passing the torch down to their green , full o' fire young-ins , drawing from their scabbard , fencing for all their worth , forever pushing forward while old folks like us can finally relax and learn to enjoy the forest* ...

By Arcassin Burnham


From 9 to 5 we stay alive to see the new day,
Never minding all the mishaps and over
Crowding all of our options,
Believing in love as it sprouts from the air waves,
And planning weird things ,
Making up all these strange concoctions,
Experience the eager ways of creation,
Like exploring ones body or
Seeing how a butterfly soars,
Spreading sadness over the nation in
Memorial of someone,
Nothing like seeing those drops pour,
Or..............
.... to be left without nothing,
At least I'm useful for something when I was never
Taken quite seriously,
When times was as hard as the epitome of ever being born,
Where's the kid in me?
And Everytime I make a new enemy they think that they could
All get the best me, apart from the phobia I've got hidden in me,
There's not as much faith in this world left for me.

I can’t explain this empty feeling,
A heartache…..painfully revealing,
The sad news of a loved one’s passing,
A picture, a remembrance, Psalm 23 grasping.

It’s in these fleeting moments we try to reconcile,
Why we did or didn’t use time more worthwhile.
I’m praying that serenity will fill your heart and mind,
To triumph over this mournful time.

K.E. Carman
12-OCT-2016

One should rely
On no one
But oneself