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 Dec 2016
Valsa George
The chill of winter bites into the skin
And the valley sleeps in muffled din
In the freezing blustery winter night
The shivering trees stay huddled and tight

Stars have lined up in the sky
With cotton clouds swiftly sailing by
The moon light seeping through the veil
Makes the foliage glisten in the dale

Sharp noises sounding eerie
Leave the valley a place so scary
These sounds parley in a tongue unknown
Of gory tales, to none ever known

Did some cannibal tribe once congregate
In this nether territory to live segregate
What midnight revels had they held
No one knows and history remains cold

Now, here amid thickets and thorny shrubs
Where darkness, like a Fiend proudly struts
And in leaf fringed corners and crevices wide
Serpents coil with poisonous fangs in hide
    
Look, the sly fox walking stealthily away
After feeding greedily on his hapless prey,
Through the ravine and down the furrow
How he sneaks into his covert burrow

The glassy brook that mirrored the skies
Now in dark, under a thick blanket lies
But the water rushing through pebbles and rocks
With sonorous music, the nightly calm breaks

Among the branches of towering trees
Birds have perched and roost in peace
Little birdies with downy feathers
Cuddle under their mothers splayed wings

From far off woods comes a shrieking howl
As frightening as the hoots of a night owl
Wind, rushing through needle pines
Sounds like a child when he, in pain whines

Now the valley sleeps in muffled din
Until the Sun for his daily ritual parades in
In day light this valley would be up and awake
And life for sure will a renewed turn take
Detective Dalton is all confused about the ******.

Mr. Smith's head was bludgeoned with a heavy object
the impact reveals the vengeance of the killer
Bill the Butler had before closing for the night
heard the couple quarreling over something
Junior Smith was having a night out with his fiancée
and Daisy the daughter had retired to bed early
for she was to set out for an excursion early next day
Mary the maid had taken her leave by the evening
to attend to her husband ailing for some time.

Dalton has no clue about the ****** weapon
nor any lead to point to the possible suspect
but for a scribble on the page of an old diary
found neatly folded beside the victim's body
that reads as follows:

behind the humble mask is a ***** man
time and again he has ***** a beautiful soul
all just for the pleasure of his flesh
mauled her with his ugly tooth and claw
constantly used her to feed his lust
lost the right to live this man
and he deserves his place in hell
a mighty blow to his head
will for sure end this monster
will do that with my hand
and see his blood oozing out
to recompense for the sin
he forced on her.


The murderer has kept the name hidden in the letters,
Detective Dalton has only to find out.
 Nov 2016
L B
Tired clot of night
in the moon’s slight of hand
in the moon’s slight—
place to hang my hat....

Winter clouds come tumbling toward
the gray
Raked clean by barren trees
Yard waits with its leaves
tucked in corners by the wind
along hedges, stairways
mingling with renegade trash
Stuffed in layers like elderly keepsakes for—

no one cares...

My yard—a neglect of winter woods
but for towels waving stiffly on the line
and the squealing crackle of my footsteps—
Being there

Stairs sigh differently coming home

Blind search for a key hole
I could die searching!
the frustrations of the blind
the fumblings of “locked out!”
I—
know where to go....

Pretend
in my warm lonely
fling—mittens on the table
Survey the ***** dishes...and
close my eyes
There's been nothing but wind and cold for several days here.  Makes me think of January, almost, when walking in snow below 10 degrees F actually does squeal and squeak.  We're getin' there.
 Nov 2016
Ramin Ara
Some are born
To sweet delight
Some are born
To endless night
 Nov 2016
r
Solitude I wear
      like a second skin
my biggest weakness
       my greatest strength
   wading through 
quiet and tired 
    in seclusion
 as dawn draws
    her arms around me 
cold       and damp
    like the sea
           with no oil
for my lamp
       to light my way
through another
      dark    and lonely
November day.
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