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The streaming of numbers
codes that I always break
to the slumber of darkness
at the brink of time
at Octobers end

My fleet wait for me
and in darkness I cast my final spell
the last of my heart will beat
to the drum of never ending suffering
and the tangled cords
of the violins of violence will call

Don't pity me
for I am more then a number
the blood name they gave me
885729 and yes it's mine
I cast shields and send
at octobers end


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
I don’t remember exactly when Budberg died, it was either two years
ago or three.
The same with Chen. Whether last year or the one before.
Soon after our arrival, Budberg, gently pensive,
Said that in the beginning it is hard to get accustomed,
For here there is no spring or summer, no winter or fall.


“I kept dreaming of snow and birch forests.
Where so little changes you hardly notice how time goes by.
This is, you will see, a magic mountain.”


Budberg: a familiar name in my childhood.
They were prominent in our region,
This Russian family, descendants of German Balts.
I read none of his works, too specialized.
And Chen, I have heard, was an exquisite poet,
Which I must take on faith, for he wrote in Chinese.


Sultry Octobers, cool Julys, trees blossom in February.
Here the nuptial flight of hummingbirds does not forecast spring.
Only the faithful maple sheds its leaves every year.
For no reason, its ancestors simply learned it that way.


I sensed Budberg was right and I rebelled.
So I won’t have power, won’t save the world?
Fame will pass me by, no tiara, no crown?
Did I then train myself, myself the Unique,
To compose stanzas for gulls and sea haze,
To listen to the foghorns blaring down below?


Until it passed. What passed? Life.
Now I am not ashamed of my defeat.
One murky island with its barking seals
Or a parched desert is enough
To make us say: yes, oui, si.
'Even asleep we partake in the becoming of the world.”
Endurance comes only from enduring.
With a flick of the wrist I fashioned an invisible rope,
And climbed it and it held me.


What a procession! Quelles délices!
What caps and hooded gowns!
Most respected Professor Budberg,
Most distinguished Professor Chen,
Wrong Honorable Professor Milosz
Who wrote poems in some unheard-of tongue.
Who will count them anyway. And here sunlight.
So that the flames of their tall candles fade.
And how many generations of hummingbirds keep them company
As they walk on. Across the magic mountain.
And the fog from the ocean is cool, for once again it is July.
annie l hayes Sep 2016
It is in Septembers, Octobers, and Novembers
That Autumn dresses up,
Adorned in warm, golden tones of color,
And waltzes with her prince, The Fall Wind.
But when the clock strikes twelve,
Winter comes along with her December and January Winds,
Snatching up Autumn’s bright apparel
And clothing her in nothing but somber tatters.
Autumn keeps quiet, until the first rays
Of Spring’s long awaited sunshine
Touches the depths of Winter’s dark dungeon.
Autumn is showered with Spring’s rain,
And is coaxed into fashioning a new dress
With the same warm, golden tones of color,
But, this time, in a different pattern.
It is Summer’s sunshine, now, that assists Autumn,
With an occasional July thunderstorm to help form the new dress.
August passes by to give his opinion, and Autumn is finally ready.
For it is in Septembers, Octobers, and Novembers
That Autumn dresses up,
Adorned in warm, golden tones of color,
to waltz with her prince, The Fall Wind.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
skoro tak, to powiem: sometimes i wish to unlearn the english tongue, it's not a case of questioning reality, it's a case of questioning the placebo of what would otherwise encapsulate you, my bilingual nature states i've learnt the language well enough to integrate and bypass assimilation, if only i could assimilate somewhere, but i've become a jew in my attempts; thankfully i'm not ready to start a family and a perpetuated question that seeks trans-generational answers from a kaleidoscope; i've learnt the nomadic way among civilisations rather than being nomadic among natural frontiers, which was already inherent in me, but civilisations came after the frontiers of seas and mountains... i've learnt to integrate but never assimilate, which is why i am doubtful to have found assimilation in only one place, whether god-given or whatever that might suggest... as a nomad i am not the one to build pyramids or temples, the constantly homeless ontological structuring of my being - as god constantly digressing from point of concern - i've tasted the nomadic, although the nomadic in an enclosure that's also israel; so crude the talents to come.

why are we, who have no inheritance
in the colonial past
to inherit the squabbles of former
colonial master and the colonised subjects?
who will speak of the smooth
transitions of the failed Soviet empire
into a bloodless Gorbachev lineage of
break-away states, who needed no nanny?
why are we, who recently learned the english
tongue exposed to these squabbles,
why are we in no-man's land camped
as if a Robinson Crusoe - indeed no man
is an island, and doubly indeed no nation
is a continent - why are we caught up
in the exchanges of the two firing squads -
the pawns in addition to the reliquary crowns
of queens in kindred to the Octobers upon Octobers
further east -
                       a queen a pauper among
the sainthood clergy of capitalism? what a profanity!
who cares for a pauper with idolised insignia -
who? the elocutionist? the rhapsodic rhetorician?
who then? a minded gap wide as a yawn
coupled to a warning that warned of the first step -
why am i cursed with this tongue learned,
why am i cursed with this tongue learned
and as my highest form of expression,
and why no Slavic first? i'm abhorrent with these days,
toward them doubly abhorred -
sure the escalators and other innovations -
tease and please the civilised world -
but learning this tongue is a burden on my soul,
while i see my fellow genetically composed twins
stand tall on construction sites as if Viking ships -
that i became a placebo impasse of originating
in these islands of lore chronologically asserting
a tie with Arthur and Lancelot -
but not me - *ultimatum extraneus
,
i should not have allowed the foetus of the english
tongue to become incubated in me for a child to speak -
so eloquently some might add -
i sometimes wish i had no knowledge of either this
tongue, or my mother's, and knew a celestial
tongue where certain phonetics emerged once the
symbols were peered at long enough, as in runes
the V a shortening of woo - and left there,
to no care for applauding a successful institutionalisation
of the teenager for the time being,
before all became a Jenga pyramid game.
ClawedBeauty101 Nov 2017
October, 27, 2017 (Friday)*

Flying down the open empty road, unaware of the surprise attack waiting for us ahead as we continued to drive.

My eyes set on the left side of the road, low like the cold temperature of the wind who's warmth couldn't be revived

A light breath of snowflakes swept over the road like floating silk as my eyes were stolen for a moment by a small feathered creature

Closed up like a rabbit in it's hollow, frozen like fish trapped in a sheet of ice, trembling like death was its new teacher

It was only a blink of a moment I saw it, and a gap of years seemed to rotate around this trap of love

"Mom.. I think that was an owl..." I said with my voice almost in a whispering disbelief. My hand giving her arm a wheel turning shove

"What should we do?" She said as if I was the higher authority. I turned my head to look back, in the opposite direction of the car.

"Turn around..." My mind got into a conflict with those words... I'd be late for work... That didn't worry me, even though we weren't that far...

I didn't know how much longer the animal of sky and flight could handle the harshness of Octobers cold shoulder.

I felt her foot slowly increase it's pressure onto the brakes, her small stormy Toyota turning around, being forced to submit to her.

Approaching slowly, the road was surprisingly empty and alone.  My pupils motionless as they starred

For a minute I believed the lies that I was being an idiot. My mind was tricked into thinking it was a small thick branch with many lairs.

But the truth screamed louder than the wind's howl as shards of ice and snow caused it's feathers to **** outward

To shield his small fragile body. My mind went blank, amazed to be able to steal this opportunity, the car slowly moved downward

Into a gravel driveway, that rested next to a stand. I removed my pink hoodie and inserted myself into the dangers of being alone

Begging and praying in my head to my Lord for guidance, I crossed the wide road, my soul knowing who was in control

  I crept behind the railing and as quickly and quietly as possible I approached it.

Numbed to my existence. It's head in a stage of black and deathly hibernation, I could see it's dying spirit

Lightly, I tossed the bright magenta hoodie over it like a net. A little hop was it's only reaction

I swung my legs over the railing and carefully surrounded it with my hoodie and hands, longing to show it passion.

But it's little strong black claws  fearfully grasped onto the cracks in the road. Like a hook trapped within the jaws of a fish.

I could feel nothing... Only the loud threatening heart beats within me, giving my bangs a swish.

With the steady guidance of patience, my shaking fingers removed his terrifying grip, and quickly swaddled him.

I carried him like a newborn infant as I cautiously recrossed the road, feeling my soul has met natures grim.

We both inserted ourselves into the heat blasting automobile, my mother gasped when she saw the little feathered screech owl cradled in my arms

Still trapped by hibernation's drug. I held him close to the heated vents,  hoping that life will be surrendered to the side of the warm.

His feathers were in several shades of tree bark brown, he had two little feathered peaks that looked like horns to a crown

Softer then even the silkiest chinchilla,  his eyes were closed, but within minutes, only the eye lashes of his right eye flickered around

Suddenly, time revolved around the neck of him, for he turned his head right towards me, and his right eye of sun bursting glow revealed its self to me.

My blood stopped pumping, my lungs shut down, my heart trapped in ice, my eyes making contact with his, feeling like a ship lost at sea.

One of Nature's King of the sky finally awakened, but what was his next move? For these little beast were proud and protective over their bodies

Where their wings have soared over, they claim as theirs, They have used their beaks and claws as weapons against my kind. They have been given the label of being naughty.  

Was I it's next victim? Was this choice a blood dripping trap? Was adoring my Lord's creation a mistake?

The Lord brought this little one in my path for a reason, how can I doubt His plan? For this moment, He wanted me to take.

It's round smooth moving head looked to the left, and then to the right, and then back at me, it's little eye blinking, and very tired

It jumped! But jumped closer into me. It's white and light brown feathered chest against mine. It's head cuddled right into my fingers like a tangled wire.

Softly and lightly I petted it's super soft silky small head, seeing his one eye going into a happy squint.

It only cuddled more and more, demanding more of this sweet affection. His eye gave me that hint

Soon, he started to wander around on my legs, exploring all of this high technology unknown to nature

Flew about a few times to test and experience the ways of human beings, his wings stretched out and soared like sliding glaciers

Once we approached our destination of a recuse center, his curiosity grew as he bonked his head against the dashboard window. The poor thing!

He looked at me, feeling shameful, and filled with stupidity as he flew to my lower arm, and then my elbow that was up high. He nested into it like a king.

He remained there and studied me, his eye never looking away. My soul was at peace until it lashed open it's left eye. My sight got drilled

It was only for an image of a second that I saw that bright red, dark purple, and indigo eye. His left eye was blood filled.

He quickly closed it and snuggled closer to my chest. I felt a hollow part of me being revealed and filled with grace

It's funny how the Lord planned everything out, how he allowed me to experience this sweet heart capturing moment of this wild owl's gentle face.

My Hallow, the name suits you well. For it was an honor for our Holy creator to allow me to interact with the forest beast of flight

A hollow part of me was realized and filled. A desire, a new way to make my Creator made known... through your opposite personality of fight

Permanently blind in your right eye, but your spirit is still sweet and calm to only me. Yours wings still spread like the wide flames of a wild fire

Your unique different colored eyes beaming with adorable sweet love. But also determination that is deep and dire.

You're small, but even our God used David to defeat Goliath. You're an animal, but God used a Donkey to lead Balaam away from danger!

You may not be normal again, but the Lord can still use you, for He has used you and many other animals in my life, although I was a stranger

Hallow, the Blood Filled Eye Screech Owl, I won't allow this lesson to be stolen from me, the lesson of freedom, wisdom, and trust.

The Lord will call us to do the craziest, weirdest, most unbelievable things at times. We shouldn't let these test turn to dust

and if the Lord called me to do something like this again...

*I'd do it in a heart beat...
Thank you Sarah Walker for teaching me about birds
Thanks Colin for Teaching me about death hibernation
Thank You Schafers for allowing me to come a day early to work because if that didn't happen, I wouldn't have seen him
Thank you Mom for helping me with Hallow
Thank you L's, for I wouldn't have seen him If I didn't so happen to look at your house XD
Thank You to the Rescue Center that is helping me take care of him.

If it wasn't for any of these people, I don't know what would have happen.
So... Thank You :)
Raven Dec 2012
Some days I feel it slither within me,
a sickness, a serpent, it writhes to be free
some days I feel like a dark cloud,
like a shroud upon this world
like the wind that whirls around your shoulders on a cold octobers day,
like the smell of fresh decay,

some days I have to say I that I feel I've gone astray from the path
and taken it upon myself to release some sort of wrath,
to take vengeance upon society for turning a monster like me
loose in the world to play,

I feel like I need to administer some sinister
right away, straight into my bloodstream,
I need a full dose of dream within a dream,
nightmare scenes,

I have been known to say that I often,
feel like sleeping in a coffin,
and that sometimes I feel sublimely surreal
and inhuman like a demon born of a dying fire,

Voracious and with no desire
But to bleed dry everyone I find
If I feel it eases my so called "troubled mind"
Oh, I can't say that I don't
yearn for blood and souls,
some days

But mainly I'm just angry enough to take it out on me
you see,
it's such a trip to be,
the hero and the villain of your own story,
no guts? then it's just not gory enough,

so I gotta get tough, cause it's an army of darkness I'm standing up against,
and I'm lacking the proper chainsaw limbs for defense
and I could use at least one shotgun,

so I guess I can stand and fight,
go kicking and screaming into that good night,
or I can run,
*******, run!
fray narte Oct 2019
darling, loving me is falling apart with octobers and kissing your poems goodbye. it is watching autumns unfold while slipping into the tracks of a freight train. i will kiss your skin, all chapped lips and sweetened cigarettes, my hands on your neck, as if feeling the walls of an athenian ruin. i will be every distinctive silhouette in a film, every line in a song, every secret spilling gracelessly off your lips before you catch yourself. i will set you on fire and you will burn; all wide-eyed and irises made of the storm, beneath my feather light touches.

i have a proclivity for breaking hearts and you will find yourself neck-deep in whirl of heartbreaks and headlights — all moonstruck and confused. i will break you — destroy you, bit by bit, in the most elaborate, exquisite way, that you will know one thing, darling —

chaos has a tendency to look beautiful.
Unknown Feb 2014
Always she shivered
Against induced winds
Always so bitter
Always so thin

Her hobby; a sliver
It stuck in her skin
But once it delivered
She let her head spin

She poisoned her grace
With the oceans of shame
Unwilling to face
The girl she became

She filled empty space
Was no longer sane
The road that she paced
Became her own bane

Her name was October
She had hazel eyes
Her expression was sober
But was it disguise?

Over and over
She took to the skies
Her habits controlled her
Led her to demise
David boyer Jul 2018
West bound
kroooaaooo  kroooaaooo!
I stand at the door of an old Santa Fe car, snow falls silent,  dusting everything in visual sense, the better January air bites my cheeks ,as two hundred tons of steel push through the night.

kroooaaooo kroooaaooo!

One by one. The orange glow slumbering towns, passes  by
A Hudson rambles ,down the blacktop towards the crossings

kroooaaooo kroooaaooo!

I retrieve my zippo ,and light my cigar and melancholy ,takes over
The sun peeks over the horizon ,reflecting like a billion diamonds nestled in the snowy Fields.

kroooaaooo kroooaaooo!

I daydream of a diner with black coffee, cold marble counters eggs and bacon.
I daydream of a  cheap room ,with a soft bed to rest my aching mind
A gleeful sleep.
kroooaaooo kroooaaooo!

The whistle blows  Kroooaaooo ,leaving the sole evidence that we were there we push down the steel trail ,into the pale dawn with Miles.

Kroooaaooo!

Miles and miles with no sleep,
I miss Octobers copper air,                                                             ­                                   Old honest me,
I seek to find.
A full October moon,
A warm wind,
autumn leaves,
The sound of silence ,in All its distractions.

kroooaaooo!
Lyzi Diamond Apr 2014
What time is it?
We should be fine,
on time in Nashville.
Muted colors and eyes
heavy, wander in
blind monotone, sing
to waving adolescents.

The light turns orange
with age before brightening
morning sky, the flood
on the tarmac transitions
to scattered blue as seconds
creep closer to the dawn.

Arched window voice in
rolling fields with fences
cry out like grass seed sneezes
from rainy Octobers and Julys.
As the night draws curtains earlier each day
it' the way of October, Octobers way
the domain of dreams become more vivid
by mirror and candle see you're image

The magical winds
whisper in bare trees
mid October dreams then later,
ends with invites from the dead

The cold and biting rain
the vast unruly sea
passions of Octobers dreams
let October call, and Winter be


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Sarah Aug 2015
Fall's around the
corner and
I know
October's are
hard

when trees are
pushing off
their leaves
and slowly
revealing their
bark

I wish the days
had been kinder
when
she laughed and
God was real

But Autumn's grey
is not to blame
for what
depression
steals.
She didn't want spring,
she wanted autumn.
She wanted
the butterscotch leaves
snuggling the curbs
and porky pumpkins
with fire for a heart.

She wanted autumn
even when underground,
where seasons are unseen
except in the snow
sprinkled in a man's hair,
or heard, a sneeze and a sniffle
into a flimsy tissue.

She wanted autumn back,
like a first kiss over again,
like a childhood memory
flipped to the front of her mind
to stay there,
a vicious, intense red.

But she was stuck in spring,
writing about Octobers,
what happened back then,
how it opened like a flower,
and whether come next year
the season will breathe

orange again.
Written: February and May 2014.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time.
Peter Cullen Nov 2014
Her voice it reaches into me,
hooks me like a desperate fish.
She's singing songs of Ireland,
such a saucy creamy dish.

Seafood chowder by the sea,
a sense of you, a sense of me.
All the things we're gonna see,
everything we're gonna be

Out the window, rolling waves,
rolling round upon the floor.
Her mind is like a hidden cave,
leaves me craving, wanting more.

The wind, the rain,
our twisted brains.
The way she moves,
the way she sways.
Lost within Octobers days.
Lost with every word we say.
Rachel Mary Oct 2016
i write from the 1st of october. i write from cold air and turning seasons. from hazy days and lazy days and 'maybe things will be okay's. i write from stale bread and cold tea cause id made it at half past three, and the wind is blowing.
and i want to wear my dads big old fairisle jumper because somehow, it always smells of him. and the wind is blowing.
i write from the 1st of october. i write from endless evenings and too many cigarettes and a craving for my mothers supermarket box wine. i write from tired eyes and floaty songs and i write because im feeling fine. and time is passing before my eyes and it makes me feel uneasy because these are the years i want to remember. the 1st of octobers and 6th of februraries and 27th of mays. and all the other days.
i write from the 1st of october. i write from awful poetry and laddered tights and dreams about boys that got lost in the city. in more ways than one.
i write from the 1st of october, and the wind is blowing.
wandabitch Oct 2013
Around the coals we gather to warm are tired souls
Brothers singing of all life's woes
And dear old sawyer and his lady go on their way
Towards the west and memory lane.
I bid adieu to these travelers and the heated night
One day we will find peace in our drunken blight
To the poet and their thoughtful muse
To the guitarist and their twanging tune
To the smoker with a hazy mind
And the couple rekindled in Octobers fire.
These dry leaves blow in and out of winters hollow, hope dear readers you make the best of tomorrow.
Bad Nov 2014
IOU
I try to not frequent places where you existed.
On the days when there are parallel universes,
When Octobers are permanent,
When every night seems near fatal,
When the emptiness in our silence
mocked the leaves we trailed through,
Sundays are far off and foreign.
And as far as I know,
there is still  an
“I”
that dwells with
“You.”
Sea's End Oct 2018
She is so orange!
Her skin is pale,
And her hair is an off-white blonde,
But she...
Oh man, is she orange.
I smell the falling leaves through her smile,
And I can feel the carving tools sawing through pumpkin rinds,
Drawing Autumn sketches,
Doing what artists will do at this point in the year,
As If they were my own hands.

She will shout from the rooftops
With her yellow words
About her seasonal excitement,
Ending each proclamation with red exclamation marks.

She will shower me in plans
For Octobers and Novembers to come.
Walking me through festivals and unmade memories
With each new idea.

She is orange,
And for the next few months
Orange is my favorite colour.
I figured I'd start off my profile with something not so...angst-y. This about a girl I'm really fond of. =^)
My refrain is sung with refrain, because one
Who was accustomed to customs at airports and ports
Was to deport, and depart from my home
And my heart tomorrow
To borrow time and leave me
Rhyming why's and lies and sighs
Just to get by, by falling back on moving forward.

Her sentence sealed my sentence
"It's never enough to be home
Without ever being home"
Her point pierced home.

So with all I had left she left,
To be seasoned by seasons
And return turned into what I understood
Might not love me, mightily.

But Mays and and Octobers don't last,
And at last, what passed became past.
And may have brought me closure, and her closer.

Spring sprang a surprise on me.
On a windy road on a windy day
April, June summer may or may not have been.
When like a flower I like she appeared.
Daisies dazed me with brighter brights
And the sky's blue hues were new hues of blues.

Because cause belittles the little bees and the birds.
Who get by trusting the skies and flowers.
And while I was wondering of hope wandering in misery.
She solved her mystery in Him and me.
Come October they would rise again ,
steal through hidden doorways .
Putrescent then they take their form ,
in liminal space they have their birth .

Every year they come for their meat ,
driven by some unknown clock.
In twenty-eight days they become manifest ,
their grey bony fingers unlock .

A gallery of faded portraits ,
mark Octobers that have gone before ,
gaze longingly out of picture frames ,
behold the living on which they feed .

It gets darker now once more I tell you ,
it shan't be very long ,
till October casts it's deadened pall ,
and then their sickly will be done .
One day I will run out of tears
hopefully one day foolish me
sometime soon I will kick that bucket
and cry my way to heaven of maybe hell
whatever I so don't care
silly me foolish me

Bitten far too many times
like a star struck teenager
I go head over heels mode
and break my own heart
yet whatever happens
I'll be foolish me

In this most happy of Octobers
I will sing sweet straight from the heart
and when it rains
I will dance naked
looking to the heavens
oh wild foolish me

I have an insane appetite
an urge so bad to write
I think I'm getting better
but, hey do I really care
I'm poetry's *****
oh cool, foolish me

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
michael gagain Sep 2014
Darkness falls upon Octobers eve
I walk in the shadows of madness, my mind dragging behind me
in the congealed pools of blood, I can't move my arms but to rock them back and forth.

A nocturnal beast clawing at insects like an infectious disease,
wading through the corpses, stumbling on rodent gnawed bones,
"creep" playing over and over in my head where my mind once resided  like a broken record player.

Bumping my head into liquid walls, hugging myself and giggling,
"where have all the trees gone"

Thick wire enforced glass plates. peering eyes playing peek-a-boo
like a boxer dancing the ring with no arms,
I just saw my brain fly by with Angel wing attached, the devil himself
in pursuit holding a pitchfork.
I see a purple worm coming up through the cement floor,
he's wearing a sign..it reads "eat me I'm what's for dinner"

Buckles digging into my back like alien fingers retrieving samples
of madness gathered into a little vile marked madness.
a black widow spider hanging in the ceiling corner snickering...
"you're next"

I see Ted Bundy. he's leaned up in the corner, Bald. his head fried to a crisp, **** Electric chairs.
"What Ted? no...it's my worm"

~Singing~
I could whittle away the hours...stop and smell the flowers...if I only had a brain...

Blood drops drip one at a time onto my cheek...from where?
I have no arms...no mirror..where does it come from?
I remember the sound of a high speed drill and the stench of burning bone like at a dentist office.

My god...a lobotomy, they have taken my mind...little do they know...it's been gone a long time...
as a matter of fact...it's flying around here somewhere being chased by the devil....
Oh splendid red and golden leaves of autumn
you cling onto branches till the end of your lives
then one by one you fall to the ground
With the kiss of Octobers gentle winds.

For you are the fruits of summers burdens
as nuts and berries are your labours lost
gathered by the fauna of your forest realm
Then to fall in your millions in morning frost.

Beautiful crimson and gold tinted carpets
do you make as your last gestured farewell
then soon you will become no more
As you turn to peat on woodland floors.

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
REAL Dec 2013
Why are you so distant from the earth

i can't  reach you anymore

and pull you in close to me

oh ohhh oh

snowing on the hearts of love

were did it all go

those shivers
of octobers fall
oh oh ohhh

slipped away
like the rain
off my tanned skin
Gone
like  the summers ray
never did i
feel so alive
oh oh ooo

driving down the night
smiling like the moon
thought i  was better
but am just rushing time

gotta sit back
and see the worlds fumes
pass on by

oh boy
Many years I have painted pictures with Scarlet
she is my closest friend
she that lives up in that manor house
the one on Byre Hill

On Sundays we paint on the moors
in stormy weather we stay indoors
she smiles like sunshine heaven sent
I cherish the time that with her is spent

Her hair shines with Octobers hues
shades of gold and crimson
and I honoured to know her
blessed with her company to be in


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Bor ehgit Oct 2015
It took Octobers chill to send you back through my bones. What a strangely pleasing gesture, it seems all of time is just simply stuck in different places.
Tanvi Bird Sep 2014
The sweet autumn that orange Octobers bring,
faint smell of gold
leaves crisping under
the slight thread of sneakers.
Cold breaths mingling
under the same yellow stars,
and when your eyes have captured mine,
they are forced to surrender.
Blink quickly and look away, sweet smile
playing on the corner of your lips.

(Written at age 18 one night, upon arriving home after walking in the woods with my first bf)
Chloë Fuller Dec 2014
i know now why i'm up this early
i'm starting to forget the names of your family members
what were they?
i see four faces along with yours
but letters begin to fade
i can't tell if this is a step forward or back

two octobers ago seems like two months ago
a broken nose to match my heart
running through a sea of people trying to find you
you must've been hiding

do you ever think of me?
i can still hear your voice ringing through my head like church bells
the taste of you still sits on my tongue and refuses to wash away
i don't like it anymore

my hurt turned to anger
my anger to sadness
my sadness to guilt
my guilt to acceptance
and now i suppose
acceptance to disappearance

you still exist in my early morning thoughts before I've left my bed
in the middle of the night when i wake up saying your name, which i have over and over and found myself panicked screaming a year after you left

how has two years flown by and you still weigh something?
"I don't want to lose you." was what you said to me a week before you left.
LMHathaway Dec 2022
October always offers something to remember
I tuck away memories in brown and orange leaves
Every year like clockwork
I know October will be at least one moment
At least one pause in time

A new pair of initials carved into the tree in my mind
The bark peels
But never falls
Polaroid pictures buried in a time capsule
One that is dug up to often to truly forget about it

I never want to miss October
The leaves may have fallen
But not without pausing in the air

— The End —