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  Jan 2016 alli brunell
Thomas Conlan
The sun sets sweetly as the sky steadily rolls in with clouds, while the weary wolf wanders where he can welcome his midnight maiden.

And as the twilight turns to night, this sorry sounding soul searches for a piece of serenity. The night brings out the wild in his heart and he howls haunting hymns towards the Welkins.

His crying pierces through the silence and he is welcomed by a satellite of light, shining softly through the dark. This wolf does not search for love and affection, because he is never without it. Each shout is simply serenades to the one being who will always welcome him warmly.

His songs are sometimes sweet, his songs are often sad. For the wolf howls to the night sky to beckon the moon to love him. She is his constant, his one true friend, and he will sing her serenity as she is the only soul that sings to his.
  Jan 2016 alli brunell
Ezra Pound
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
  Dec 2015 alli brunell
betterdays
awakened by the purr
of the little blue cat,
seeking warmth,
on this crisp spring morning

we, the little blue cat and I
take our breakfast outside
walking across the dew damp grass
to sit at the old wooden table

he, steps high, waggling his feet
me, i step deeply into the grass
enjoying the verdant, green smell
that rises,
enjoying the brief  commune with
nature
enjoying the return to childhood

we sit, companionably, eating
he leftover roast chicken,
me, purlioned cocoa puffs,
my son's saturday treat,
that he will surely never miss

as we sit, the sounds of the world waking
drift past us.
windows opening, the snort and cough
of an early rising smoker, cars starting
the birds chat and chirk, and the plop
of the fish as the break the surface of the pond.
the garbage trucks stop and start trek up the street.

and now in the house, the radio, and kettle begin
a shower turned on, a bass voice sings, not well
but with joy.

now the day has truly begun...
one last mouthful of half remembered childhood
and then back to the daily grind
as the sun makes it's way past the low lying clouds

the blucat, chooses to stay, out watching the birds.
alli brunell Nov 2015
this house;
too dark, too quiet;
an unknown abyss.
tenants leave after six months;
running out screaming.

in this house,
*even the ghosts are haunted.
alli brunell Nov 2015
jolted from your slumber like a dead engine
panicked, you reach into the abyss for some sort of comfort
only to find that every liquid fantasy dissipates upon your touch
this forest of dreams has become a woodland of nightmares
eyes bleeding tears as the mist envelops you
it shoves you to the floor
screaming every insecurity back into your swollen skull
transparent devils dance at your feet
as they point to a tombstone engraved with your name
it seems like there is no hope for you
yes, even the dream catcher above your bed lost faith
but there is something keeping you alive
continue your fight
grab my hand in the darkness
for i am the comfort you have been searching for
because i too scream silence into the fear of the night
alli brunell Nov 2015
I am just another doll lost in the marionette holocaust

— The End —