What a kind of art
this breach had made me become?
My clean canvas heart
was smeared by a paint of scar–
depicting a scarry night
from my last September sight
Copyright © 2020 by Sam N. de la Rosa
dark’s peering into day,
wonder when the dew’ll lay;
time’s slowed as skies turn static,
least the hours are less erratic.
orange lamps glow
outside a misted window;
earthy rain’s falling hard
but fire’s lit and sky is starred.
sometimes mist deceives the eyes:
seen silent figures’ quick demise.
ocean spits over the pier,
almost as grey as the Wear;
lighthouse shines it’s steely beam,
illuminating the horizon’s seam.
heaven’s sealed with wrought dull iron,
far away seems unearthly Zion;
harvest moon’s not as vague:
illuminating an eight-legged plague.
crows spectate above and below,
you’d be surprised what they know;
change leers at every bend,
nostalgia seems an only friend.
the veil is thinner than before,
perhaps open is another door;
harvest season’s coming to an end,
fields of Elysium this way wend.
i dislike September
because i remember
the scent of coffee and the warmth you gave
i dislike Wednesday
because you asked me to stay
and i was willing
now the leaves are falling
and its getting cold
i'll get what you stole back
i may hate september because i remember
and hate wednesday because i chose to stay
but this time around you wont have it your way
some perfumes are fragrant as a child
others corrupted, rich, exultant wild
with all expansion of things infinite
which sings the senses and souls delight
Its been a while.
As chaos takes over the world and death is at rise,
I feel fortunate to be alive,
To witness the meek majestic September sky.
A short minimalist poem for the month of September🍂
Information penetrates in light
I no longer believe in your fight
By conscious thoughts
And a will,
Hard as steal
To divert the fear
Through a creative lens
Expressed in a bleeding pen
Mixed with a salty tear
For the truth to be revealed
Words Of Harfouchism
Amidst the September blues,
And cold aching wind
That lingers around your bones,
A hopefulness lives
Bright in your eyes,
Reminding you of the dreams you will meet, when you begin to feel alive.
And I read your poetry
And it's better than mine
Every word is like a suffocating tongue
both electric and breaking
holding a hostage heart
As you write of tears and stars and letters and carved words
I read them in daylight but in my head
I am under the covers by torchlight
neck crooked hearing for footsteps on the stairs
You curse freely and it makes me clench my teeth
how you could ever taint something so beautiful?
like an expensive vase on a fireplace wobbling and falling
crashing into pieces
Yet every piece is still beautiful and broken
And now I understand you