October, with lilting melodies that play,
Rocking my frame with frisson,
Has yet to send the warm winds away,
And succumb itself to autumn.

The season change has just begun,
We’ll watch it turn in equinox,
As I bid goodbye to the sun,
And again await its warmer rays.

I sometimes think the trees can scream
So loud as to change their color,
In desperate need to re-achieve the dream,
And catch the sun’s eye with their flame.

The entrance winds behind an imperceptible dirt road,
And if you pass too quickly, its glamour won’t yield;
Tricking you.
Chances are slim that you will pass it again.
But if you peek, and pry, and probe-
Fooling the glamour to slip a little,
The part in the trees will open to you.

Through the leaves,
Over the natural bridge,
And you come upon it.
Indian Steps.
Where smoke curls amid your hair,
And drumbeats school your heart’s own thrum.

The lake will lap on stony shores,
And voices, oscillate past you.
Here, the only shining thing is the sun through autumn leaves,
The only siren a steady note,
Drawn from the deepest woods and threaded through a flute.
The trees’ leaves embrace its call,
And give it back, lovely in their mimicry.
Just like the others who catch their eye here,
You will always choose to stay.

I’ve searched, I’ve lost, I cannot find,
My friend and constant companion.
Where he went, indecipherable to me,
I’ve lost him yet again.

So back I go to the world of ticking clocks,
Of passing time and children growing older.
To see if he is sill-bound still;
If he lingered when I left.

The window’s threshold does not halt me,
Or the fairy that ensues me.
Distracted- shut her in a drawer,
Find my comrade- Laying on the floor.

Shadow! I have found him now,
But why refuse to stick to me?
No facile falling into place,
No soap will stick his feet to mine.

I jump and squirm and shriek at him,
And dampness fills my eyes for him,
Until a sweet voice breaks the dawn,
Needle, kiss, and thread in hand.

She ties us close at tips of toes;
And Shadow fights for Shadow knows!
He, who long has gone astray,
Life of elusion left to boast!

This poem is no Billy’s babble,
I know this girl who tends to dabble,
Dabble with unkind creatures.

She’s beautious, dark, and loyalty-tied,
Non-gregarious, starry-eyed;
Starry-eyed for the inexpedient.

Wit is written on skin so fair
Eyes like skies, too deep to pare.
But pare her idea of ideal men.

Challenge, with whom her morals meet,
Picks scoundrels, wreaking calm deceit.
Deceitful words are hooks to her.

Beknownst to all but she herself,
These rogues take riches, turned to pelf.
Pelf, for she is better than them.

Too low they sink below her merit,
Her virtue, they could stand to inherit,
Inheriting her in return.

Dirt roads wind with hours’ distance
And a green canopy stretches,
Suspended above the bare core of trees.
Pine nettles rest year long,
Settled into their collective bed.
Still water fingers the shore,
Smoothing out its stress lines,
Imbedded in the granite lake floor.
Here, towering mountains with impairing storms,
Wild wind, and impetuous fog
Stands in the crystal clarity
Given by reality.
When night comes, bringing with it
A dark unimpeded with polluting lights,
The stars outnumber their dark counterparts,
Leaving no expansion of space
Without a twinkle
Or a holy glowing light.

I sing sad songs to soothe my pains,
And curse the evening when it rains.
I wallow low in self-pity.
Forced to bear suburban streets,
Feel fear where arid country meets
With paranoia in the city.

Stereotypes sadden, cynicisms break
What friendships I still stand to make
In this, my schooling’s final tool.
Emotionless, a way to make me smile,
At friends with whom I should reconcile,
  With hope, not looking like a fool.

Two siblings walk, hand in hand,
Shoulder to shoulder,
their footsteps paving grass and stone
in wary gilding.
And when other footfalls trace their steps,
the feet will slip,
And the trail will have gone.

The siblings work in synchronization.
Unique independence,
Contrasting, and Dissimilar
both harmonizing in nature;
They tie knots in eyelashes,
Weave fine chain with obsidian,
and break nails with simple deeds.

I, with hands of hardened base,
and fingertips that stroke Saguaro spines-
Will reach for straw figures
with blank, witless features,
And cold tin men,
with ice coated *******-

And a sharp-edged shadow will bark at my heels.

I once knew a man,
One who played all the instruments,
And sang all the tunes,
And cried with the lullabyes when children bedded down.
And when I last met him,
On Father's High Hill
He told me, "Music is the only language you are born with."

I once knew a lady,
One who met with all the people
And loved with all her heart
And laughed when she saw the children run.
And when we last spoke,
In the summer's suburbs,
She told me, "We live to await the next emotion."

I once knew a couple,
One who lived with all their might,
And climbed every cliff,
And carried all the children in thier shoulders.
And when we last past,
In Leconte's thickened forest,
They told me, "Trying times are not the times to stop trying."

I once knew all of those people
And sang and loved and lived,
And played with my fellow children.
And when I last saw them,
Through the course of my life,
I would reply simply, "That's a truth to live by."

A hole lay, just the size of me,
in the base of a willow tree.
A rabbit hole, no hares to see,
Where hares and rabbits ought to be.

I slip within, the darkness thick,
The floor is hard, the walls are slick.
I'm cramped inside, my breaths are quick,
My teeth make lips too ripped to lick.

I'm drawn in deep, like moth to flame,
I'd never dreamed before I came,
Cautious; things don't stay same,
The giggles shudder in this game.

My company creeps and scurries near,
we fall and crawl in puzzled fear.
There's something else that lingers here.
The bugs and rats have stopped to leer.

Crying! Squeaking! Scurry back!
Stampedes of pests stream, strong and black,
Over, under, they trample a track.
Gone, they go, escape attack.

And when I brace to feel the bite,
I grasp at sudden strands of light,
The night has broken, dawn brings light.
The willow splits to weep, contrite.

I free myself, and give a whoop,
the trail within had made a loop!
And nevermore I dare to snoop,
To peek within the willow's stoop.

When I fall asleep my eyes meet yours.