Gentle and soft,
tonight our moon is crimson like a sigh.
can't she look so sweet
without us
Running our little feet
fresh across the ground?

Gentle Mother moon
She has a quality like you--
her skin is less placid, though.
Her hair covers galaxies
and creates creases where air once lived.

Like a fire, she becomes crescent, burnt,
an imminent star burst.
But, like most light, she likes to leave.

Grim's Golden can take the pressure
when its cider that you're making,
but pies and other sweet treasures
I’d use Granny smith when baking.

when you make applesauce from scratch
use a bushel of Paula red,
for candy apples by the batch
I would use pink lady instead

Liberty will melt in your mouth
as a Butter, Jam and preserve
but a Gala grown in the south
use in a pork chop hors d'oeuvre

The shrill cackle of dusk set herself
Upon the waning summer heat.

Low lit purple haze on the horizon
Painted wild in the cresent Moon smile.

Bear out the harvest, sacrifice all fortune,
Be full and join the evening on the morrow.

As the Sun exhanged his twilight gaze
Darkness drew itself into the shadows

Slave away for offering, the Night is near
As Day fades, the dark blue sky is empty.

Screams, despair is upon the fools
Lambs to the slaughter until she rises.

Their bodies are in a state of carnage.
Their organs are used as hostage.
External dissection,
internal infection.
Can't move, can't scream, in pain, in *******.

our celestial protector.
She cradles us in her branches and reaches
us towards the Sun. She fertilized us
as young seeds before the harvest. Feeding
us the fruits from her feet. We breathe in the oxygen
she filters through her brown barked body.
Suckle at her ******* for air.
Like our mother, we too are rooted
in soil, nourished, and nurtured by her
natural nutrition and her
natural

disasters. She,
throws us from her
branches, her skies grow grey.
Grow angry and sad. She starts to
cry, growling, thrashing and thundering.
Her winds whip us, whirl us we weave back and forth,
trusting the roots she gave to hold us
down in our foundations.
But the ground beneath our soles start to
shake and rumble. Soaked soil from Mother’s cries, turn
to mud, and our world starts to wash us away.  
She drowns us. Mother Earth,
our terrestrial
terrorist.

I once knew his hoofs
and replete must till his day
he ate fast and spate a master
in his lure where whip plays hot 'twas a twist
he'd take a pie in a ******* harvest
by whim did flatter his tongue again!

Today the fountain where
I sit and dip my feet
is half-shaded.
A month ago, the sun
baked, now
it warms.

I feel the creeping shadow
of autumn
the turn of the year
the descent into the dark.

A time to wait
to rest from blooming;
to let things germinate
beneath the earth.

I gather in my harvest
count the seeds,
store them up.

Cover over the fields.
And wait.

By Arcassin Burnham

Let the rain come down
Cleansing my the pureness of me,
Vines grow from the tips of my toes,
I shall write a fine will,
In respects to the old me,
Painting the town bright green instead
Of red,
Wishing someone would fill my brain with lead,
Accustomed to the pain married to the hate,
Attracted to the lust,
Woken up by the creation,
In hopes of a better nation,
I put beside my stupid obsessive jealousy
For rice and treats,
Treat me to a cold piece of steak,
Please!
Be easy,
Only trying to check on my feet,
To see if the vines went away,
They won't fade like every bad situation I've had,
Throwing lots of shade,
I'm in the ground filled with mistakes,
I paid the way for things that I can relate.