in a darkened, smoky room
getting lost amongst the swell
third eye spies my walking doom
an angel, staring straight from hell
black eyeliner, matching attire
Designer, destined
to set souls on fire
destination heaven
no designated driver
begging for attention
I had to feed the pyre

she enjoys the tension
in it for the chase
I'm here on propension
could be any race
like a Disney princess
twice the grit and charm
every piece a twin set
she takes me by the arm
tells me I should drink this
hands me something fizzy
I downed it in an instant
started to get dizzy

and I can't remember
what she said her name was
something like November..
Erica.. Blair .. uhh. .
as her face was melting
she told me to sit down
but the stool kept bending
and I'm on the wood now
she's bent over double
tried to pick me up
but I'm seeing double
I might be in trouble

battle with the stairwell
I had to hold her hand
asked her what she did, she said
you wouldn't understand
I asked again, that was when
she let go of my hand
small miracle I didn't fall
'cause I could barely stand
somehow made it to the back seat
asked her where we're going
she just closed the door and said
you're better off not knowing

Grief arrives like a mist across the fields.
Bees brave the morning chill to work the last of the marjoram.
The suprise swallow nest, above the shop door, is empty.
There's a metal taste in my mouth.
It's like the tea I used to get from the Friends stall at my local hospital.
Left.
Over-stewed.
Late Summer throws her gifts at us with outrageous generosity.
Plenty beyond reason
Harvest beyond measure.

green bean
don’t be so mean
just come clean
I know you want to be seen

hiding under the leaves
don’t be such a tease
your song has been sung
it’s time to please
my tongue

And if I grow, the harvest will be mine and only mine
Because I am my own and you are yours.

The soil does not reap the rewards of the roots which brought forth spring bloom nor autumn crop.
The cloud which carried rainfall does not demand praise for the leaves it fed.
The sun does seek praise for the flower its rays coaxed heavenward
And you will not take credit for my soul and it’s abundance.
That is between me and my creator.

With bated breaths
We exhale into crisp days
Cinnamon scented winds
Will carry tidings of cozy nights
As the trees drape themselves
In silks of red and gold,
Beacons in the foggy nights,
Wearing their best attire
In celebration of the harvest moon

©KNL

100521

Humihikab na naman ang kalawakan,
Natutulog ang mga bituing
Patay-sindi kung magparamdam.
At ang bagong-gising na buwan ay sumisigaw
Na parang mga pinag-samasamang alikabok
At syang isinaboy sa garapon ng buhay.

Kusang nagtutuklapan ang mga nakahilerang pader
Na pinino na parang mga buhangin sa dalampasigan.
Habang paisa-isang nagbabato ng galit
Ang mitikolosong likido na tumataboy
Sa mga ekstranghero ng sanlibutan.

Nagsisimula na ring gumapang ang pananim
Na ang binhi'y hiningahan ng kariktan.
At sa malalambot na mga ulap
Ay magtatapat ito ng kanyang paghanga.

Hinahawi na parang mga bagong pitas na rosas sa hardin
Ang bawat bungang muling ihahasik sa pagsapit ng dilim.
At sa ikalawang pagbangon ng binhing pinagmulan ng lahat
Ay masasaksihan ng bawat nilalang
Ang sinasabi nitong liwanag na bubulag sa lahat.

Let October’s fool fall
With the autumn dusk;
A cornfield tatterdemalion
With terrible teeth
And broomstick hands.
High on the hill,
Encircled by dancing children
And harvest lovers,
Jack’s pumpkin blazes
As yellow as prairie gold
Under the ghostly lantern moon.

As plaintive tones from a distant flute
     drifted across the mesa valley    
the sun over Spruce Tree House
     began its descent toward dusk.

Above the courtyard, Anasazi masons
     plaster-sealed the final stones
on the great cylindrical tower.
     Collisions of mano and metate
echoed across the canyon as women
     crushed dried kernals into cornmeal.
Others hummed as their skilled hands
     brushed thin black patterns onto
scores of newly crafted bowls and jars.

A young girl rushed up a ladder
     to announce her brothers' return
from ripe mesa top fields,
     carrying baskets of fresh cut
corn, squash and beans on their backs.

A summer of nourishing rain
     promised that storage cists
would be stocked well with food for
     the arduous winter ahead
and seed for the vernal plantings.

Dusk fell on Spruce Tree plaza
     as rich aromas of venison
and fresh baked flatbread
     suffused the crisp October air.