The sky grey and gloomy
contrasted with subtle ease
the trembling damp branches
of fire-colored maple leaves
As if the mountain were ablaze -
contained by the gentle mist
It was all held securely
Still the stillness, I resist

What is it that
I'm afraid of?
And what reason
do I have to doubt?
As if the One who
tames the fires
would ever leave me
here without
Can't the fires of
of a failing mind
be tamed by
the Autumn mist?
So why do I burn with
such remorse
clinching worn
memories in my fist?

Go to sleep, dear child
It all fades away in the end
There's no way to tame the wild
or grasp for the Autumn wind
Find rest in what is true
when there's nowhere else to go
There's nothing for you to do
and nothing else for you to know

"It's a scam!" I said
before I fled,
as I sacked up all
the lady's bread.
And the *** made out
with all her stuff
having pointed out
the Kettle's bluff..

"You're a half step
behind", she said.
"You don't have to
chase the beat..
Just let rhythm oil those
bones", she laughed,
"and flow to
your two left feet..
It's nothing you have
to try to do.
We're all born to dance.
But some are just
too self-aware and won't
give themselves a chance.."

She smiled and put
her hand in mine and
it calmed my busy brain
And the whole night
we spent cheek to cheek,
dancing in the pouring rain.

.. likes tearing people down
with loose talk and harsh words -
Empathy tossed aside
by the misuse of nouns and verbs.
.. a twisted view of society
just bound to be seen and heard -
Everyone, sit tight
till every harsh word is slurred.
The Queen of the Night Life;
her brokenness - a crown.
Out-spokenness - a sword
that she just loves to swing around.
As for me, I'm just a jester;
my struggle - a comedic scene,
but she’s justified by anger
only entitled to the royal queen

I don't have to know all
the places you've been
Or some love that fizzled
out way back when..
Just hold my hand
in the moonlight glow,
pull me close,
and kiss me slow..

Outside my window,
I hear a lonely dog wail
his tired nightly woes
—
His echoed alarms
interrupt an otherwise
quiet summer night

He cradled pieces
of poetry that
no longer
made much sense

He'd add a word,
here and there
or change some
misused tense

But from metaphors
forgotten to a flow
that slowed to still

the penman died
a lonely death
from all that
moved his quill

Beautiful words
from a dying man -
had he lived and
loved at all

but who will know or
care enough to brace
the penman's fall?