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Cné Aug 2018
The evening's still and quiet
and the katydids abound.
The flag is hanging listlessly
as I listen to their sound.

Desultory the summer air,
as though the world awaits,
"Something evil this way comes."
the foe is at the gates.

A feeling of impending doom
accompanies the air.
Nothing moves.
A stifling presence hovers over there.

Like a blanket, smothering
t'is much too hard to breathe.
And yet, my arms are paralyzed
and sword, I can't unsheathe.

I watch as shadows gather
in miasma up the street.
A harbinger of evil
with an odor, sickly sweet.

I feel it getting nearer
and my heart beats fast with fright.
What imagination ...
on a stifling summer night.
It’s the dog days of summer!
Cné Jul 2018
Who would think a rose so sweet
Would dry and crumble at the feet
And blooms that scent the night and day
Would steal a heart, then fade away

With petals soft and fondly red
Sweet essence fills an addled head
Then turns to dust before the eyes
Leaving naught, but sad surprise

Who would think such thorny vine
Could lift a blossom as divine
And by the stem on which it stands
Could so wrong an offered hand

Such strength and beauty is rarely true
A blessing owned by very few
As 'neath the soil, in winters keep
There sleeps a rose to tear a cheek

Who would think that perfect bloom
Could be a bane, a curse of doom
So fine a sight, yet in disguise
A rose to ***** and blind the eyes
Cné Jul 2018

Ebony
silhouettes
inked
by a dying sun,
portray
lovers embraced
in
the synergy of one.

Inseparable
dreams
slowly
morph into one …
subservient
to the
whims
of the compliant
heart’s
drum.

And
azure pools reflect
a
tie-dyed denim sky,
as
enchanted dreamers
seal
their love with a kiss nearby.

Twinkling
stars confetti
the
emptiness of space.
And
as darkness descends,
shadows
swallow all of the light’s trace.

Reality
pauses …
as
time seems to stand so still
to
the depths of their very souls,
motionless
they swim.

Cné Jul 2018

Is it the wave kissing the sand
          or is it the ocean
                   deep from her heart
sometimes gently,
                                  often hard,
but always with passion?

Is it the sand kissing back
        or is it the land
            happily losing ground
with every kiss
             to his eternal mistress,
the occupant of his soul?

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