"festoons" poems
✨
*Let’s beautify our yards and homes
With the vibrant colours of Rangoli
And welcome the Goddess Laxmi
Let’s decorate our doors and windows with festoons of marigold flowers and mango leaves,
to ward off the evil and sprinkle positivity
Let’s brighten the evening sky
With sky lamps and fairy lights
May the earthen lamps be lit
To illuminate every corner bright
Let’s celebrate
The Festival of Lights,
Diwali
With friends and family
And bring cheer to our lives*
✨
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 10:22 PM UTC
Sunday night and the park policemen tell each other it
is dark as a stack of black cats on Lake Michigan.
A big picnic boat comes home to Chicago from the peach
farms of Saugatuck.
Hundreds of electric bulbs break the night's darkness, a
flock of red and yellow birds with wings at a standstill.
Running along the deck railings are festoons and leaping
in curves are loops of light from prow and stern
to the tall smokestacks.
Over the hoarse crunch of waves at my pier comes a
hoarse answer in the rhythmic oompa of the brasses
playing a Polish folk-song for the home-comers.
6.5k
THE BALLOONS hang on wires in the Marigold Gardens.
They spot their yellow and gold, they juggle their blue and red, they float their faces on the face of the sky.
Balloon face eaters sit by hundreds reading the eat cards, asking, "What shall we eat?"-and the waiters, "Have you ordered?" they are sixty ballon faces sifting white over the tuxedoes.
Poets, lawyers, ad men, mason contractors, smartalecks discussing "educated ********* here they put ***** into their balloon faces.
Here sit the heavy balloon face women lifting crimson lobsters into their crimson faces, lobsters out of Sargossa sea bottoms.
Here sits a man cross-examining a woman, "Where were you last night? What do you do with all your money? Who's buying your shoes now, anyhow?"
So they sit eating whitefish, two balloon faces swept on God's night wind.
And all the time the balloon spots on the wires, a little mile of festoons, they play their own silence play of film yellow and film gold, bubble blue and bubble red.
The wind crosses the town, the wind from the west side comes to the banks of marigolds boxed in the Marigold Gardens.
Night moths fly and fix their feet in the leaves and eat and are seen by the eaters.
The jazz outfit sweats and the drums and the saxophones reach for the ears of the eaters.
The chorus brought from Broadway works at the fun and the slouch of their shoulders, the kick of their ankles, reach for the eyes of the eaters.
These girls from Kokomo and Peoria, these hungry girls, since they are paid-for, let us look on and listen, let us get their number.
Why do I go again to the balloons on the wires, something for nothing, kin women of the half-moon, dream women?
And the half-moon swinging on the wind crossing the town-these two, the half-moon and the wind-this will be about all, this will be about all.
Eaters, go to it; your mazuma pays for it all; it's a knockout, a classy knockout-and payday always comes.
The moths in the marigolds will do for me, the half-moon, the wishing wind and the little mile of balloon spots on wires-this will be about all, this will be about all.
5.5k
1.
Eyes, eager fish, in deep Himalayan blue, splash and swim
the ultramarine sky of the mind, gets color coordinated, in resonance
wind from across the ranges, incessantly chant guttural "Öm"
gently spreads waves, that on ears, vibrate as music,divine
our feet get liberated from mind's control, the trek becomes us.
2.
Eyes now, turn swifts, fly to the valley extending to horizon,
teeming with flowers of every hue, profusion of orchids,
rolling white clouds above,create *tantric patterns
of grace, swirls, swoops,scoops, somersaults,the trek goes on.
3.
Melting ice, fits well on the conical brown mountain tops,
a white bodice, perfect cover for her lovely peaks,
angular mounts gleam in the limitless avalanche
of light, an impulse for benediction is palpable.
4.
Simple folks of village, on the way side
in flowing colorful dresses ***** tall poles
festoons of bright colors, joyous prayer flags flutter in wind
proclaims festive spirit, they vigorously wave.
5.
Now heart overwhelms, sings the paeans of
a sky that changes it's face from blue to white
and sometimes, a hue so bleak, deep gloom,
on red brown earth, sun light prances around.
6.
The grass bed then transforms quick,
mind drinks the dense benediction peace brings
that coils inside the soft blue waves, beating within and out
7.
Himalayan blue has taken us in to it's embrace
bird songs ring along the path of ancient sages,
who went in to the forest abode to contemplate, never returned,
became one with the hum of cosmos, they walk within us.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 6:05 AM UTC
The impetus
Of being
Always on the run
Through pinwheel eyes
Those standing by
The mystic roadway : River
Blues yet to be brushed
or in blush
Of evening chill's breathing
a canvas like windows dreaming felt
All mindful
And chockfull O'
Wonder
Then ponder
Yonder "window breaks"
Past the wilderness' sleep
Bone heavy wood
Umber earth
Past whoosh and rush of liquid
Folding on itself / a soundtrack
Listen now
Pedestrian be
Mindful of the cautionary whales
Old Ahab’s yell
Obsessions
Fears
Or loathing.
If one is drowning in one's sleep
Look wildly
widely
Blithely
Down river
Or up there beyond finger's point
Sidewinder snake journeys
Until sky and below it
All meet
The distance
Now only a line
Coalescing what is beyond
Our ability to see
Far and away
Evanescent
Effervescent
Ever after
River. Life.
Here we are
And proud
The free spirit is fluent
With the rapid rivers loud
Always on the run
Currents like a child's curiosity ...
How then,
When or why
does it end ?
Where do we go?
Like most things existing,
Will lead to the high art /
love's deep oceans...
We often forget to seek
And mind
the sublimations/
d¬¬rift wood.
So then,
Begin with a dot .
A speck of dusk
A burst of light
A starry sky,
pieces to mastering
Raging fragility of water
Liquid undulations
Folding itself in / volumes
Or falling from on high
A droplet cry
Then the lightning
(crash or bloom)
From the heavens
like electric rivers
So brilliantly
Festoons
Where do we go (so low)
There and here / underfoot /
Over north / southern sleep
To oceans twilight deep?
Go wrapped or map-less
Or no.
Up
Way
Up yonder
There up there
Everywhere
All without fear...
My heart like the river yearns
To go toward the sun
A flow /
the beating drum
Always on the run
And
Yet
Still
Here.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 3:58 AM UTC
A huge crowd thronged the temple premises
Its vicinity, already bursting in color
With people in hundreds streaming in
The young and the old clad in festal attire
With fire in their hearts n' festive sheen in their eyes
Not driven by piety, mostly to enjoy the fanfare
Festoons decorated trees that lined the compound
Colorful lamps blinked everywhere
Sacred bells, chiming intermittent
At the auspicious hour, as devotional songs rent the air
The chief deity was brought out of the shrine
And was placed on the caparisoned elephant
Accompanied by pulsating percussion ensemble
The devotees cheered witnessing the majestic entourage
Within them the fervid spring of joy swelled
Colorful umbrellas were unfurled
Drawing synchronized patterns in the air
Under the glare and noise, the heat and sweat
Amid the tumultuous beat of trumpets
And the rhythmic sounding of cymbals
The crowd swayed in psychedelic lassitude
An army of hawkers had already set up shops
Each made it a time to earn some bucks
Selling knickknacks and goodies to tempt children
From ice creams to popcorn and colorful balloons
Children ran around licking cotton candies
Some enjoyed blowing up soap bubbles
And iridescent orbs landing softly on their hair and dress
With dusk fall, the ceremonious fire work began
The crowd stood aghast at the pyrotechnic display
Scintillating colors and confetti of sparks painted the sky
Shooting spears rose high and fluorescent rainbow colors
Came dancing down, fire wheels swiveled on the ground
Deadening roar of crackers and thunderous blast of *****
Tore the sky announcing the sleepy world;
‘It was once again festival time for the people to rejoice
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 9:25 AM UTC
sparks of you
lie within me
not dormant but
silently active
a volcano on hold
embers in the haze
of intensity's throb
and glow
my heartflames
supposedly on low
your bones are
almost molten
melding with my own
and my cells are
tiny brush fires
craving a certain water
but not just
any kind
I need liquids
fresh from the spring
icy seas
to cool my heat of soul, of ****
and gelatinous nomenclature
that clings to my tongue
I need my loops of wild light
to be egged on in the
right fluorescence
yet calmed as I spin
into your sphere
Quiet, now. Just hush up
Put your hand on my chest
feel the beats
calm my frenzied wires
drench my parched lingual
expressions with your
aqua pura
the salty sweetness
of deep desires quenched
I need soil
of the right kind
I am not a desert flower
but I have thrived
in the dry cracked
barren lands
sunstreaks in my hair
blooms have burst forth from
the sucked-in parchment
of my skin
making it smooth and dewy
and despite themselves,
festoons of flowers
decorate the pain.
belly deep
fill the milky white
of ******* with colors
releasing the constant,
strict tightening
pressing on my chest
and if given the
right conditions
this volcano
will
so deliciously
erupt
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 6:54 PM UTC
sand carved songs
still embellish your ankles
six-four twirls
a hazel salt water dance
dead love letters from
when we once swam through
the skin of the horizon
with our two winged shadow
morning funerals
the sun apologetic; her
knees kissing, our ashes float
in her hanging furnace
i’ve been peeling, unglueing
cigarettes off my skin
like flakes of rain
scribbling prayer
on every snowflake
smoke festoons
this passé system of patchwork breath
kissing my cheekbones
the way you used to
under too many starless nights
i’ve lost count of
how long
i’ve been addicted.
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 2:19 PM UTC
:::::::
Birthdays are over and done,
october skies have moved on,
and brought us late november winds
we close our eyes to our unwanted truths
but....when we wake up, they're still there
they're too lazy to scamper away from us
so, we paint our minds with positive occurrences
regardless of how people and circumstances
burst our balloons,
and bring down our festoons
some people make our spirits soar
...they make our days less dour
we wish to spend time with them
we would do, give anything on any term
just to experience moments with them,
:::::
even just for a thanksgiving night,
:::::
forget for a while our collapsed goals
.............which have turned to debacles
for, their fruition have become impossible
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
in our hearts, these dreams hide.
...they live on in our mind,
until God knows when...
it makes me think,
"time is always behind me
like......a shadow, warning me.."
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
so tonight,
after stuffed turkey, cranberry sauce and wine
and veggies, and coffee and apple pie,
i'd go out for a while, wear a thick sweater
and find the moon
full or crescent, it won't matter
if it doesn't show up...the stars would be there
i'll sing my song.....and start my dance
til i can no longer put up with the cold
and i will have to seek warmth inside.
Sally
Copyright November 23, 2017
rrab
Nov 23, 2017
Nov 23, 2017 at 3:32 PM UTC
~
the mercury is falling brisk,
large flakes of snow are drifting fast,
her blanket heavy on the limb,
as ice paints frosting on the glass.
winter’s tapestry is forming,
street lamp’s light reflecting;
strands of pearl stretch out, adorning,
as fir transformed by snow,
become a white angelic host.
a fire burns brightly in the square,
hands and cheeks find warming here;
sound of bells festoons the evening,
children dance along in time;
’round a village Christmas tree,
bedecked with lights, the smell of pine,
a whistle heralding the train’s arrival,
a burst of steam floats on the breeze;
her clacking wheels grind to a halt,
and like treasure’s journey from afar,
one by one, her most precious cargo
laden down with parcels, disembark.
excited voice, in joyous welcome,
warmest hugs, wet kiss on cheek;
familiar sound of families greeting,
newborn babe grandparent meets.
here my heart on Christmas Eve,
to us though distant memory;
for snow globe wishes,
and angelic kisses,
each as magical as these,
a hopeful prayer, a song for peace,
on earth for all who still can sing
who long... who dream,
of Christmas yesteryear;
though even if a different scene,
it's ember’s spark...
it's wistful call...
this is Christmas present,
its gift love-scribed,
on ev'ry tender heart!
~
*post script.
as Christmas arrives for you and
your family, may you be present,
reflecting, not on what is missing,
but on the joys of all that is not!
Merry Christmas to each of you.
who still dream!*
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 3:38 PM UTC
An Indian Poem
I
She sate upon her Dobie,
To watch the Evening Star,
And all the Punkahs as they passed,
Cried, 'My! how fair you are!'
Around her bower, with quivering leaves,
The tall Kamsamahs grew,
And Kitmutgars in wild festoons
Hung down from Tchokis blue.
II
Below her home the river rolled
With soft meloobious sound,
Where golden-finned Chuprassies swam,
In myriads circling round.
Above, on talles trees remote
Green Ayahs perched alone,
And all night long the Mussak moan'd
Its melancholy tone.
III
And where the purple Nullahs threw
Their branches far and wide,--
And silvery Goreewallahs flew
In silence, side by side,--
The little Bheesties' twittering cry
Rose on the fragrant air,
And oft the angry Jampan howled
Deep in his hateful lair.
IV
She sate upon her Dobie,--
She heard the Nimmak hum,--
When all at once a cry arose,--
'The Cummerbund is come!'
In vain she fled:--with open jaws
The angry monster followed,
And so, (before assistence came,)
That Lady Fair was swallowed.
V
They sought in vain for even a bone
Respectfully to bury,--
They said,--'Hers was a dreadful fate!'
(And Echo answered 'Very.')
They nailed her Dobie to the wall,
Where last her form was seen,
And underneath they wrote these words,
In yellow, blue, and green:--
Beware, ye Fair! Ye Fair, beware!
Nor sit out late at night,--
Lest horrid Cummerbunds should come,
And swallow you outright.
1.1k
Night roses dipped in purkinje, tendencies of blue
lost inside this dream I urge the winds to carry me
onto the hammocks of the night where antic roses lie,
moonlit soaked and mulched aside a big blue moon ;
Festoons of flowers strung across the midnight sky
scented boutonnieres for Saints and Gods
Angel wraps and gauzy shawls caressing softly stars
lost in a shimmer high above the sea , I am nigh
In exploration I am closing in, onto sweet allay
loosening the strings of yearn for my turtle dove
here in home sweet heaven, timeless as a rune
soaked in purkinje, eternally making room.
Jun 1, 2021
Jun 1, 2021 at 10:44 PM UTC
Another
Rough patch of grass
Makes the smile last
At noon
The noticeable boom
Festoons itself
Shaking through the morn'
Negative glances
Make the soldier's stances
Buckle under the name
Of Jesus Christ himself
Handling the enemy
Proves to have no remedy
A show bubbling with bullets
Adheres to no forfeit
A lie in the rye
Makes the records tie
And though she once lied
I still hold her tight
Accountable in the four walls
Of mentionable family members
We forget the ones that helped us
Only to
Survive
Live
Forget
Love again and anew
To be in Life
Until it's Over
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 2:06 PM UTC
She watered the fichus and festoons
And far away, they somewhat bloom
The leaves a breadth between, the air
Nested as I am, and stare
From the frond, below the wings
Watching humans, poignant things
Scaring birds to rustle trees
A lingered hand, those nails, the breeze
She looked to me and kill't the space
Which separates a race from race
To finger full a garnered seed
A palm that greets, a dying ****
Festoons awash from laden rain
Next day came, and there remains
My crumpled arm, less safe than torn
To watch again a careful storm
Outlined in clouds my brother call'd
I turn the arm, and yet it stall'd
This universe that clung here, floored
Cannot simply be ignored
If you keep calling when its clear
If you keep gathering them here
The subtle way you water fronds
Our subtle breath dilutes, absconds
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 6:38 PM UTC
The red bloom that festoons your petals
Reminds me of your petulant cheeks,
Fading in the light
To a coarse rust,
Breaking, falling
To the base,
Mixed with dust.
Dec 27, 2021
Dec 27, 2021 at 6:43 PM UTC
#*In the land of sunshine
Slanting palms, oceanic breeze
Brightly painted houses
And bougainvillea vines
Music is alive
Song and dance
Pristine beaches
Sunsets are divine
February is vibrant
Colours on the streets
Festoons and masks
Carnival time*
🔆🎭🔆
Feb 20, 2021
Feb 20, 2021 at 10:46 PM UTC
There is exactitude
and certitude
no matter what
the returns of the day
corrosion festers,
the depression spikes,
like a fever that is
drug resistant
the consumption residue,
white ash, black trimmed
festoons my innards,
dresses up my facade
vacuous and vacant
are the vagaries
that only flow, never ebb,
jubilant light effaced
my countenance equanimous,
my demeanor unmeaned,
but but but but but
nothing but but but
t'is not but the mood of the moment
t'is the chronic the endemic
there is an exacting certitude
this is the underground stream
the runs my poetry down
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
Rain song in the deep, spiraling
camels down the hazy dunes
mystery of birds in the early sky
glimpses, working on inner space;
I caught the shadow of your smile:
scribbled across the skin my soul
the mystic syllable of your name.
Secret scaffolding erecting
tier upon tier
emerging beauty of my life.
Rush-stream of memories
concealed in the bush as the
morning fires die,
the flags are waning in their zest
festoons are withering
ambling along empty streets
yet the story is never done.
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 3:45 PM UTC
I’ve long been pondering suicide,
My life is such a mess,
I thought to try on the other side,
It couldn’t be worse than this,
I’d always been such a coward though
My pain threshold is low,
I wondered how I could **** myself
With just one simple blow.
I didn’t fancy to cut my throat
There’s such a lot of blood,
And somebody has to clean it up
They’d curse me, as they should,
A gunshot straight to the head would put
My brains all over the wall,
And everything would be grey and red
With a blood-spray in the hall.
So I considered a poison pill
And a quart of Mister Beam,
That might just happen to fit the bill
For a death, both quick and clean,
But where would I get a poison pill
To accelerate my death?
I’d hate to die when I’m feeling ill,
Fighting for every breath.
I’d pondered on it so very long
That it quite obsessed my mind,
And I began to see shapes and figures
From some other time,
The ghosts of others who’d gone ahead
And done the evil deed,
Were poisoned, shot, or their throats were cut
When their own lives were in need.
They seemed to come when the clock struck twelve
Just on the midnight hour,
That’s when the demons that rot in hell
Can demonstrate their power,
They kept on coming to egg me on
To get on that fatal bus,
‘You need to do it, it isn’t wrong,
You can join with all of us!’
They almost had me convinced that I
Could drown myself in the sea,
Or pick my favourite river then,
One that appealed to me,
They said to drown was a pleasant death
I’d drift away in a dream,
And none would know that I’d killed myself,
It’s an ‘accidental’ theme.
The next night there came a stranger to
This ghostly neighbourhood,
Trailing festoons of river ****
And covered in clods of mud,
His face was twisted in anguish and
Such pain, that now I see,
Why I have suddenly changed my mind,
That freak-out ghost, was me!
David Lewis Paget
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 5:44 AM UTC
The impetus
Of being
Always on the run
Through pinwheel eyes
Those standing by
The mystic roadway
River
Blues yet to be brushed
or in blush
Of evening chill's breathing
a canvas like windows dreaming felt
All mindful
And chockful O'
Wonder
Then ponder
Yonder "window breaks"
Past the wilderness' sleep
Bone heavy wood
Umber earth
Past the rush of liquid
Folding in itself / as a soundtrack
Listen
Pedestrian be
Mindful
of the cautionary whales
Ahab's yell
Obsessions
Fears
Or loathing
One's drowning in one's sleep
Look wildly widely
Blithely
Down river
Or up there beyond finger's point
Sidewinder snake journeys
Until sky and below it
All meet
The distance
Now only a line
Coalescing what is beyond
Our ability to see
Far and away
Evanescent
Effervescent
Ever after
River. Life.
Do not leave...
And
here
We are now
The spirit fluent
With the rapid rivers loud
Always on the run
Currents like a child's curiosity ...
When or why does it end
Where do we go?
Like most things existing,
Will lead to the high art / love's deep oceans
We often forget to seek
And mind
the sublimations ...
driftwood.
Begin with a dot, a line
A speck of dusk
A burst of light
A starry sky,
pieces to mastery
Raging fragility of water
Liquid undulations
Folding itself in / volumes
Or falling from on high
A droplet cry
Then lightning
(crash or bloom)
From the heavens
like electric rivers
So brilliantly
Festoons
Where do we go
There and here / underfoot
Over north / southern sleep
To oceans twilight deep
Go wrapped or map-less
Or no
Up yonder
There up there
Everywhere
All without fear
My heart like the river yearns
To go toward the sun
A flow / the beating drum
Always on the run...
And
Yet
Still
Here.
RIVER.
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
While cruising Corona on the net,
I saw pangolins not eaten yet.
Many, you see, believe its scales,
Are cure-alls to cure whatever ails.
And its meat festoons the rich Asian table.
Who ate the pangolin from head to toe.
China lauds its laws to say they save
The endangered pangolins,
At home, in Asia;
Yet in Wuhan, locked live in cages,
In wet markets like our Dark Ages,
The scaly pangolin is sold.
But Revenge,
We know,
Is a dish best served cold.
Apr 11, 2020
Apr 11, 2020 at 12:24 PM UTC
I sat down by my father's grave (who is not dead yet),
and my mother's (who died 3 years ago),
and my aunt (who died two years ago-- alone),
and my great-grandparents (who died before I knew them).
I sat down with dry eyes by these graves all in a row
and contemplated the cold, impermanence of life.
My father maintains the graves.
He festoons them with colorful flowers for Memorial Day.
I think, how cliche to ornament with
silk flowers in a fake urn
on a lonesome line of graves.
But, moving the wire-cored foliage I see a singular
peacock feather hidden among the sanguine flowers
and realize this is the essence of my father
and that understanding
dampens my cheeks.
Oct 23, 2023
Oct 23, 2023 at 2:28 PM UTC
The impetus
Of being
Always on the run
Through pinwheel eyes
Those standing by
The mystic roadway
River
Blues yet to be brushed
or in blush
Of evening chill's breathing
a canvas like windows dreaming felt
All mindful
And chockful O'
Wonder
Then ponder
Yonder "window breaks"
Past the wilderness' sleep
Bone heavy wood
Umber earth
Past the rush of liquid
Folding in itself / as a soundtrack
Listen
Pedestrian be
Mindful
of the cautionary whales
Ahab's yell
Obsessions
Fears
Or loathing
One's drowning in one's sleep
Look wildly widely
Blithely
Down river
Or up there beyond finger's point
Sidewinder snake journeys
Until sky and below it
All meet
The distance
Now only a line
Coalescing what is beyond
Our ability to see
Far and away
Evanescent
Effervescent
Ever after
River. Life.
(Don't leave...)
Here
We are now
The spirit fluent
With the rapid rivers loud
Always on the run
Currents like a child's curiosity ...
When or why
does it end
Where do we go?
Like most things existing,
Will lead to the high art / love's deep oceans
We often forget to seek
And mind
the sublimations ...
driftwood.
So then,
Begin with a dot, a line
A speck of dusk
A burst of light
A starry sky,
pieces to mastering
Raging fragility of water
Liquid undulations
Folding itself in / volumes
Or falling from on high
A droplet cry
Then lightning
(crash or bloom)
From the heavens
like electric rivers
So brilliantly
Festoons
Where do we go
There and here / underfoot
Over north / southern sleep
To oceans twilight deep
Go wrapped or map-less
Or no
Up yonder
There up there
Everywhere
All without fear
My heart like the river yearns
To go toward the sun
A flow / the beating drum
Always on the run...
And
Yet
Still
Here.
RIVER.
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 4:05 PM UTC
Half moon high
In a deepening sky
The clouds like spider cotton,
Like blue ivory husks betwixt
Umber grey misty fog,
The diablerie of dusk
Dark sky and stars
The streets flooded,
a river of headlights, flashlights,
Sidewalks’ pedestrian traffic,
An Armada of munchkins, crowds
Strolling by Chinatown’s
Crisp neon plazas,
A necropolis bright with
Cartoon sharp signage
Accessorizing restaurants with
Jade And gold, foot spas
And red doors…
Horrors of hangings
Roast ducks and pigs decapitated…
Yet the evening is dressed finely still
All eyes lurking
Shadows floating by
Not to be forgotten tonight
Dias de las Muertos
En espanol…
While down the road
Neighborhood way
Skitters Lilliputian creatures
In shells of Saver’s costumes
As squeals of laughter festoons
Boulevard life with
Tiny tintinnabulations
Like baby rattlers
Against the dark
(Maracas for chupacabras)
Timorous parent folk
Encouragement as company,
They Scurry past
Down dim spatial street
In demand of what is given freely
From each and every door
Treat and sweets
Caries galore
All their tricks cached in grins
Of baby teeth
turn candy corn…
Mischievously the meek milk
All Hallows' Eve For
Hallowed be the glee
Even tho' beneath
The web of grey cloudy sky
Life is precious
To deny
The thirsty as it rains
Misery’s loss deep dismal graves,
We should live in celebration
Childlike everyday
Sing and dance
In the October rain
In this wonder
Like rattlers against the dark
Far from wastes of
Hollow wind and pain,
Chilling cries, bleeding eyes,
Undead the unseen
From this cirque city of sins
Offsprings on the strip
Fearless on the boulevard
Treating & tricking
With ole candied lies…
All done up in bright disguise
Happy Halloween.
Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 10:29 PM UTC