Beneath the rotten boughs
Past hope is filled with resentment
The Autumn winds are lonely

A man appears in silhouette
Rain drenched, wrapped in a blue coat
watching the golden stars
His time has come

Red vines wrestling
swaying tangled
nestling the ghosts of fear

My lamentable grace is empty
no bright tidings do I see
the avalanche of nothingness engulfs

The ponds reflection
shatters tranquility
Nightmares plumage
the glittering dissolve

The Autumn crocuses sway
amongst the shadows of the pine trees
The air is resonant with smoke
As the buddleia dies down

August as thick as musk
Blackbird came a calling
about Autumns ephemerality
Somber yet always lonely

The impending storms
ignite the skies
Finding a talisman
To acknowledge the epiphany

August you are a gust of leafs
floating downstream
you are about  heartfelt loss
Tameness is not spoke

She nestles on your lap
the door without handle
was easy to use
What will you dream of tonight

Warmth and food
are her labels
bespoke Cat
did you follow summer
then welcome back my duchess

She climbs
by the staircase
safe from the clutch
of the velvet darkness
Surveying her kingdom
punctual on time
ask no questions
enchant us again

white against the hill
where elders grow
stones and stars exist together

a stone is thrown in the pond
the frog peers with open eyes
the arcane wind still blows

Time recalls tree and animal
together with languid Moon
He returns
and strolls by the grass
the city crumbles
Gone are the golden days

Sojourn Red guitars
miss the yellow haired girl
Picket fences  where wild garlic grows
An antiquated Truck moves along

The ramshackle hut loiters and lists
as an idiot passes by
his red shoes  dusty

Woman do their swimming
by the pool
They smile back
returning at dusk


sparrows plunge
the scent of bread pontificates
It is late Summer
the flies are a buzzing

The blue of morning light
as orange Dahlias sway
at the windowsill
Storm Clouds convey their hubris

Followed by a procession of  bolted horses
The pond lappings its edges
Blackbirds are shrieking
Natural prey is the order of the day
The World is arcane

The gusts of wind,
happenstance like dust particles
roaring its way down galleys of rooftops