If someone should ask
Where to take his ashes
Do so to the lands of his birth
Spread into sandstone waters
Where his mother and father lie
Do so on a cold windy day
Let those in view feel the bite
And celebrate they are alive
To see this glorious day
His ashes blown by the winds
His spirit rising in the sky

©  2017 Jim Davis

In the cold night air
Moon drips with
cool crisp light
Teardrops appear in the night
Looking like  gold
within sliver
Little silvers of light
In the backdrop of night
Illuminating the black sky
Leaving impressions
on my mind

By Weeping willow
2017 ;-}

Was a strange night

in the quiet of stillness
I can hear a snowflake
gently land
upon my cheek
a flurry of gossamer
frozen lace lilts ~
the ennui
of chilling silence
into a wilderness symphony

thank you for stopping by to read

written by:  h.a. rivers ... 11/13/2017

There is a holiness in the wind
these wisps of diaphanous clouds that fly
always I smile in the gentlest of winds that kiss
oh, but I do not like the harshness of winds that whip
how they come to blow the hollow of darkness
toward the light again, things buried underground
places - like death, the stabbing pains
I've met, awakened while
seeing and feeling.

the black willow tree
that is slowly drinking
the pond's western edge
meadow is filling
up with stilt spiders,
their web orbs
deathtraps ... the setting
haunting under
moonlit silhouette.

the tree doesn't speak.
she leans, her roots underwater
as fearsome unseen yardage
of gnarled black toenails.
She is a queen.

her leaves are dressed
with lacy wings too
from crane flies, who
are mating in flight
in her overwater sphere
and are dancing at the edges
of the spiders' silky webbing.

the willow
will soon rid herself,
time on a wheel,
of the spiders and flies,
their battleground forfeited
in a moment of demise,
as one by one into the pond
the fallen dead will follow
feeding the fish below
who love that black willow.

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