Aaron Elswick Dec 2018
We're loose associations.
Brutality queues the phrases.
Reality loses luster,
in fallow with boot to daisies .

Cowering and embracing
our trusted tomes,
honing a fruitless joke,
that only touches on tones that suit the layman

Famous and clueless faces.
Racing to rue the cadence.
Faking a sweet embrace,
for imminent tears, but grew impatient.

California coos
sooth impostor fits,
but it's a syndrome
fifty shades dense,
and way to thick to fit the staples.

In case you were getting wayward;
our guiding fables,
sentinels that they are,
will guard the stables
and bark orders,
pouring out the spirits
and clearing history,
with brazen logic.
I carved a broken heart,
instead of tapping the maple,
sue me.
She's me
chat that
back her
stack as
eyes gleam
and conglomerate
of ceramic
taste that
steal the
heart away
for cause
of now
that mayn't
bring her
down to
this gloomy
bile of
pancakes grief
on a turnpike
Keith Mitchell Nov 2018
threatening rain
check it and go
risk with puffy clouds everywhere
respecting Mother Earth
comes back
red tail hawk
shimmering leap side to side
floating in my way
bobbing and weaving
prediction of tranquility
bird of prey mirroring
duck here duck there
we’re in harmony
just a second
lane carved by fall leaves
Glenn Currier Oct 2018
The maple makes its glory complete
with such elegance and grace
halo shadow of crimson and gold at its feet
wet fall day a shimmering sacred space.
Written 10-31-18 Whistler B.C. Canada
a tree
I hank
here this
fallen arc
yet the
loop in
terry that
a singularity
present now
go to
New Mexico
and the
ennui divided
there with
scrambled eggs
and this
dark star
A star of the east
Ricki T Jan 2018
the fuzz to your hair
is too soft for its share
your bags, the creases of your eyes
are pink like rising skies
the freckles about your arm dance about my heart
they look like stars
your eyes are bright; they're fireflies
too beautiful to contain to jars
your lips are purple
taste of spearmint and maple
the crease of your brow smiles with your face
not a single trace of a laugh line
you laugh like the ocean
first, your laugh is calm
but as it approaches the shore
it is sure to swallow me whole
your smirk, though half
makes me whole
your lips are purple
taste of spearmint and maple
Vyiirt'aan Nov 2017
Umber maple leaflets dwindle
Dance amongst my barren feet
Past the field of roses flourish
Roots entangle underneath

Rest my soil in golden hues and
Let them bloom in greatest pride
As the sunlight carries on and
Deftly strokes their thorny spines

And as the moon howls
The reaper sows and
Harvests many plants alike
Katelyn Billat Nov 2017
I grabbed at my chest,
Wanting to rip out my lungs
as they suffocated my heart.

I originally thought you
poisoned my heart but
Maybe your
Apple pie
Maple syrup
Corrupted my lungs and
Turned them evil.

They squeeze together and
Dis-form  themselves just to hurt
My heart.

I cant breath when I think of you,
No, not in a good way.
Ismail Nasution Oct 2017
Crimson leaves were being
Shy, soon would die falling
For you.

I was so sure
You were somewhere between
Yellowish grass, gloomy clouds
Old traffic lights, Rusty road signs

The wind smelled
The scent of autumn,
Brought you from the sky
Upstairs, waving
And me, smiling
Kurt Carman Oct 2017
Day breaks on Doubletop Mountain, shadowing villages below.
Three-thousand eight hundred feet tall, it captures the eye!
And standing at attention there in front of me, a battalion of Sugar Maples in full…. Fall…. Regalia!
Cascading tones of Crimsons, Burgundy, scarlet reds and Golden Hue.

Gazing over Dunk Hill as farmer’s fallow fields, turn again for fertility,
There are only brief streams of life giving sunlight, and now the sky turns to a pale grey.
Me, well I live for this time of year….enjoying the evening autumn constellations,
Or Moms dining table adorned with Indian corn and blackberry canes!

Bessie's Margaretville home begins the fall ritual of canning and drying.
Breaking out winter clothes…as she proclaims "no whites after Labor Day"!
The last bit of warmth now dwells just behind the Catskill’s Harvest Moon,
And the V of geese honk their good-byes to the summer sun.
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