few know this: when little David
took his sling onto the field
he advised -- and freely gave it --
that the Philistine should yield
but the giant was defiant
laughed, and chose to fight instead
had he heeded, won't have bleeded
and' have kept his stubborn head
a word
just like a bird
escapes your mouth
and readies to fly south
but birds come back
and words cannot backtrack
one flown they're free and clear
to sow great joy, but also fear
so think before you speak
and keep in mind, your mouth is not a beak
setting out my jack-o-lanterns
spiders, ghouls, with head that turn
orange lighting sets the mood
agreed, we're not in Hollywood
but I have to best my neighbor
beat the Joneses, heavy labor
Author notes: image from stonewire.ca
I'll say "a witch" and you think hag
with bones and potions in her bag
but there she was, fresh dew on grass
blows on her hand, she does, the lass
and creatures of the night fly high
and decorate the moonlit sky
Author notes: image from moonsign.today.com
lips that taste like morning dew
(or perhaps just CO2)
as they suck each other's breath
won't be parted until death
or maybe not -- but there's a chance
it is their chemical romance
Author notes: image from pinterest
some say the world's a fine tuned clock
and others, chaos
those that are preaching from the dais
want to pretend there is no chaos
and see God's hand behind each rock
the Devil tries to interfere
but there's no stopping of the clock
all that, I fear, is happy talk
then the busy little corvid
brings her news: we're done with COVID!
would that she believed him more
but she's heard it all before
Author notes: image from pinterest
As pent up passions knot the very air
and waters churn, a maelstrom in the void,
the shore gives way.
Unanswered, goes the prayer
and statues, stern, that men stood up, devoid
of any power to arrest or stop the ocean,
resolute though they may be, are soon submerged.
They failed to either sop or much less halt the advent of the sea.
What's left then, to the sculptors of the stone?
More statues, bigger ones, or better gods?
The old ones are still clinging to their throne.
Who'll win, the sculptors or the gods? What odds
would you assign here?
Come, and place a bet, but do not call it.
Please.
At least not yet.
"Nothing to it", said the druid
as he went about the henge
Was he marking future parking?
Did he seek to get revenge
or do labors for our neighbors?
Was he working to atone?
Makes one wonder on the yonder
and to think: are we alone?
fire burning, I am cold
the pursuit of the occult
isn't for the faint of heart
candle flickers, here's the part
where most mages tend to falter
wait... cut what onto the altar???
Author notes: image from Pinterest
the climb
way to the top
is challenging and rough
but oh, the view, when getting there
I'm at a loss of words describing it
the sculpted rock is bald and bare
and when you've had enough
the coming drop
sublime
don't giver her roses
liquors or mimosas
and no champagne
she will only complain
she's, after all, your wife
buy her a place after life
Author notes: https://allpoetry.com/contest/2816807-What-is-the-worst-gift--you-ever-received-