Poems

It is the season of the witch,
and my pen feels a certain itch:

to capture vampire turning bats
and unfamiliar black cats
emerging from cold, dusty rooms
behind them, witches on their brooms
fly to a coven by the moon.

They'll dance their dance and sing their tune
while scarecrows come to life and wake,
the monsters creep out from the lake,
the jack-o-lanterns smile, no teeth
but something stirs way down beneath
as coffins open, gravestones twitch...

It is the season of the witch.

Author notes: image generated by author prompt to Gemini

Wraiths and ghosts will debate
and no matter the cost
and no matter how late
"Who's the ghost with the most?"
It will always come down
to the one with the sheets
from soft silk -- like a gown,
and when this spectre greets
them, and scares them to death
with its whimper and wail
other ghosts catch their breath,
and then ask: They're on sale,
these magnificent clothes?
But the ghost with the most
swears all matters of oaths
and proceeds then, to boast
that the costume is new
like a burial wreath
and then gives them a view
of what lies underneath
Then they see that indeed
the sheets cover but air
They agree, with some speed:
It was quite a scare!

Author notes: wc 124

Resolved to keep on making resolutions,
continuously, not just once a year,
and each one’s full of marvelous solutions
attuned to what the people want to hear.

Some crystal clear and cleaner than a whistle.
Some full of brand new goodies to bring home.
Some urgent: to provide for a new missile.
Some barely a few pages, some a tome.

Do not be shocked that we must keep resolving
Like New Year’s resolutions, few are kept,
And anyways, our credit is revolving.
With time, you’ll learn to swallow and accept

that this is what the Founders had in mind.
Exceptional, we are. One of a kind.

Author notes: image generated by author prompt to Gemini

Where the prairie once spread, apple orchards and fields.
Green, delicious, and red, bred to maximize yields.
Home to mustang and deer, once near endless, immense,
has long since disappeared. Ancient oak by the fence.

Author notes: image from Facebook

I'm privileged to be entitled
and have no fear of going rogue,
and though my passions are unbridled,
they're only so to be in vogue,

I do not fancy being thwarted
nor do I fancy being gagged,
and if I have to be escorted
I would prefer not to be dragged.

A shrink once said I do not treasure
the crown that's sitting on my head,
and waste my time pursuing pleasure,
that I should be a king instead

I should be stronger and not weaker
I should speak up, I should be loud.
But I have broken my loudspeaker
and can't be heard above the crowd.

If eyes are windows to the soul
and walls have ears,
the fridge's a magnet to control
your hopes and fears,
the kitchen sink is all that's been
willing or otherwise, thrown in,
there is considerable proof
the attic longs for a new roof,
the monster in the basement -
a rug that needs replacement
Though some might disapprove
I think it's time to move.

Author notes: image generated by author prompt to Gemini

Relentless, ruthless, unforgiving,
the future slips into the past,
reminding all of us, the living,
that living, being, will not last.

That no amount of fervent prayer
will persuade her, or delay her,
this stubborn agent of our death.

That there will be a dying breath,
and then no more, no second coming,
no sequel to resolve loose ends,
to make confessions or amends,
or stall, and life, at last succumbing
to the inevitable will
just slip away…

And all is still.

Author notes: Image generated by author prompt to Gemini

At an out-of-town retreat,
relaxation near complete.
Looking through the looking glass,
staring at a horse's ass
He may whinny, but I whine.
Well, at least they have some wine.

Author notes: image from Facebook

Pause for a moment. Reexamine
whether you merely exist,
the cause of neither feast nor famine,
so unremarkable a beast
that the philosophers cite you
to prove, as expectations shrink,
that while the inverse may be true
I am does not imply I think

Author notes: image generated by author prompt to Gemini

Tuscany, Gascony, Napa, Sonoma
Some call it dastardly,
Some quote old Homer
Some quote the Bible; that's also fine.
The Bible says: Blessed be the fruit of the vine.

Author notes: image from Facebook

She still stands there and waits for his ship to come in,
pass its way through the straits so their life can begin.
Tides keep falling and rising each day without fail,
but the barren horizon will not yield a sail,
nor a bow or a stern. On the cold, rocky shore,
she awaits his return. He had always, before.

Author notes: image from Simple Good Life

You're not free without brie
Mozarrella, good fella
You'll miss if it's Swiss
and you'll sing a cappella
or ask for a shredder
if no gouda cheddar
but please, please
do not scream
if it's cheese
but not cream