The world was a secretive place then;
There are fewer secrets now;
No point in trying,
But they're impossible to keep.
And the world hasn't destroyed.
The Colonel's spices revealed;
Micropes landed in Martian rock;
Yet your impression in a hayfield
Is one I've always kept.

“I go to seek a Great Perhaps.”* ― François Rabelais

You didn't notice when it happened,
but with age death has found you out
and stalks you like a mad cassowary.

Wherever you look it looks back.

You think of your mother,
slobbering, shrunken, demented,
dead long before she knew it;
the father you haven't spoken
to in years, alone in a nursing home,
rotting and uncomprehending.

You recall the perfect ******* of
the wonderous first girl you loved,
become an old woman, then immolated
by cancer, chemo, radiation,
reduced to a heap of ashes in an urn.

You hear of a friend's son's untimely
passing and though you haven't
seen your friend in 25 years your
spine tingles with sorrow for a full week.

The smashed white cat on the blacktop
you would not have noticed 20 years ago
brings your heart to a full shivering stop;

the wet half fallen leaves sway like
fragile tombstones in the darkened
autumn trees, whispering your name.

          Doom sits upon you shoulder
like a pirate's parrot and sees all
through your eyes.

          You lost your fear of
dying 45 years ago in a forgotten war,
believed it meant nothing, it didn't,

but now the reaper has returned to cast
his chill on everyone and everything
before you.

He scatters his reminders everywhere.

          And you know that once again
you find yourself trapped deep within
the valley of the shadow of death,
alone, but you are no longer the meanest
******* in the valley.

          It's enough
to make you want to believe in a god of mercy,
but it's far too late for divine intervention,
god is dead and mercy is granted to no one.

Soon enough you will stumble into that
final ambush and the bullet with your name
on it that has followed you since birth
will find you and come to rest and the
contract made with your first breath
                     will be fulfilled.

In the end,
                we all look
                                 into the Tiger's eyes.

  ~mce

This morning I wandered along the canal
The autumnal sunlight glinting on rippled water
More beautiful than any man cut diamonds
Autumn snow flakes filled the air
Flakes of red, gold, yellows and faded greens
Forming multi hued drifts around my feet
Overhead a skein of geese
Unerringly headed south
A picture forever imprinted on the mind
What a beautiful season is autumn
Colours bright, colours warm
But
All to soon she will leave
Her colours to fade and die
All to soon winters might will rule
And we must suffer winters bitter storms

Nothing beats the
buzz of jazz,
guitar
blues, blue
hydrangeas like popcorn feathers
in spring, buzzing bees on daisies,
but now it's fall | that's all.
https://youtu.be/-IIjik7WvP8?t=35

Too many Kings and
not enough Queens,
Halloween's to blame for that.

Everyone wants to be the devil
that shocks
not one of you want
to
dress in
pretty frocks,
such a shame.

I knew several witches that brewed,
bubbled,
got drunk and troubled they
stewed in their own juice, but no use
I believe on all Hallows eve
to me.
and the party
begins at
twelve.

I tried water
wading, floating, drowning
the pooling and spilling of years
immersed myself holy
deeply to find the fear
dark in the deep end
the coming home to soul
the pain of it all
unknowingly I'd slept
heart wrecked
frozen in fear
unwilling to look
until there was
no other choice
until one day discovering
hidden truths beyond
my darkest void.

She spat, she swore she fumed on me,
This little old lady of seventy three,
She called me bad and ugly as sin,
She said all this with a comfortable grin,
Her contempt for me was clear as day,
I asked her why she felt this way,
She tore my top and scratched my cheek,
Pulled my hair and cried “you freak”,
I took all this with no attitude,
Her language so vile and manner so rude,
I could do nothing but offer love,
That was rebuked with a cold shove,
Her eyes they burned into my face,
As I enveloped her with a warm embrace,
She yelled she kicked and punched my chest,
I tried to calm her, I did my best,
I had to call for the nurse at the end,
But a broken heart she could not mend,
She helped my mam back into bed,
And gave her pills to sooth her head,
After a while I recognised again,
The mother I love, in no more pain,
My father arrived with the moon,
They danced together across the room,
They didn’t notice me in the chair,
But to tell you the truth I didn’t care,
I was at ease with their meeting again,
I sighed and whispered no more pain,
Alzheimer’s is a wicked disease,
It’s brought our family to its knees,
We watched our mam slipping away,
Forgetting her life’s worth every day,
It’s only the love that keeps you strong,
And the memories of where we belong,
Heartbroken now but I feel at rest,
Coz I love you mam you are the best.

Christina Ford