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The leaves change on the trees as children return to school. People begin to put arts and crafts on display. A hot bowl of soup and friendly visits with a neighbor make the day pass quickly. The harbors are filled with fishermen tending their nets. The tourist make one last trek to see the sights. College students have returned to halls covered with Ivy and college sports bring rivalries alive. Not long from now, there will be cold wind and the first snow. It will be time to break out the fine china to entertain and look for a Spruce or lonely Pine to decorate. All things are coming together as Autumn comes to  New England again.
 Sep 2016 Little Bear
nivek
forgetting is slowly becoming an unfolding blessing
-to live fully the present in hope for the future
A serious worn face
with wandering heart
filled with shy hope
of a world yet to come
but its tardy arrival
pulls ******* taught strings
'till it seems fight or flight
whether autumn or spring
so solemn by day
and still in its night
seeking glimmers of stars
soft whispers, and love
as a moon casts its radiance
thru ink oceans above
within somber place
abides in life's thrall

-cec
 Sep 2016 Little Bear
ryn
There lived a man, a crooked man
Who walked with crooked gait
He'd walk along the crooked road
From sun up until it was late

His knees would scream with every step
No matter how much he wanted to run
We'd never know where he was going
He'd always follow the sun

He'd mutter to himself, of rises and falls
And of lessons his life had shown
But what we never saw or barely noticed
Was that he had never walked alone

He'd walk his walk with his cane and hat
Dragging behind him a shadow of black
It did what he did and trailed long and short
It accompanied him down the track

Know this man, the crooked man
Whose back was bent misshapen
He had made the choice to chase the sun
With steps sorely laboured and uncertain
Part 1 of 6
She sits upon her throne
With a crown upon her brow
A tangled mess of dead vines and bone
She holds a scepter of rotted bough

Her throne is black as obsidian
The arms are made of skulls
Around her are her subjects
these regretful wails of souls  

This is now her kingdom
This place she was delivered
All consuming fear and fire
Where prayers cannot be whispered

Even though she did not want
She will be forever despite her quell  
She pleaded and begged all for not
She is now the queen of **Hell
 Sep 2016 Little Bear
Traveler
He hugged me
Tears running down his face
I felt him shudder
For the whole human race

Just who condemned him
Has always been clear
The righteous
The believers
The possessors
Of fear

Yet sympathy
I felt
For the Devil
Himself
Because forgiveness
   Runs through my veins...
Traveler Tim

We pay our debt sometimes.
 Sep 2016 Little Bear
Bren
He.
 Sep 2016 Little Bear
Bren
He.
He was the stars in the sky,
In which I put my faith.
He was the moon,
To which I stare unceasingly.
He was the sun,
That lighted up my days.
He was the trees,
That gave me oxygen to breathe.

He is the voice,
That makes me cry at night.
He is the fist,
That makes flinch every time.
He is the hand,
That pulls the trigger,
And takes my life.
 Sep 2016 Little Bear
M Padin
A lone, brooding shadow in blighted May,
He lifts his noble head against the day.

About which unkempt hair tumbles in curls.
(The large unblinking eyes glisten as pearls.)

In pastures bold and free, untouched by hands—
Here the dark horse, immovable, stands.
(c) 2016. All rights reserved.
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