Happy Equinox

Autumn spreads like fire,

the trees burn gold and orange,

chill shadows lengthen.

Autumn Takes the Throne

The Autumn Lord comes,

sweeping in on chilly feet,

smelling of woodsmoke.

A crown of red leaves,

adorns Lord Autumn's proud head,

woven on dead sticks.

His robes cling to him,

all the colors of a fire,

coarse and fine at once.

The Autumn Lord grins,

and Summer's flowers whither,

much to her chagrin.

The Autumn Lord laughs,

and the air grows chill and dark,

full of strange spirits.

But Summer lingers,

barring the Autumn Lord's path,

her eyes hot and green.

The Autumn Lord waits,

with the patience of scarecrows,

and a scythe-like smile.

Eventually,

Summer slowly moves aside

and Autumn proceeds.

He sits on the throne,

Time and Nature at his back,

and begins his work.

The pace of life slows

as the nights slowly lengthen,

and the days grow short.

On the Throne of Time,

the Autumn Lord softly sighs,

and chill breezes stir.

He settles back now,

relaxing into the throne,

content with his place.

Bright Winter Sky

A bright winter sky,

finally bereft of rain.

Joy is a nice day.

What Happened to the Moon

The Moon was jealous,

and stood in front of the Sun,

turning day to night.

Mother Nature was angry.

"What are you doing?"

She demanded of the Moon.

"You've unleashed chaos!"

"I do not care!" said the Moon.

"I'm tired of the night!"

"You're being very foolish," 

said Mother Nature.

"And you're spoiling my good mood."

"You love the Sun more!"

wailed the Moon, starting to cry.

"You never scold him!"

The Moon's tears fell on the Earth,

causing awful floods.

The seas rose, drowning the land.

Men and beasts were drowned.

Mother Nature struck the Moon,

knocking her away.

The Moon fell into the dark,

sobbing and moaning.

To this day, the Moon is lost,

drifting in the dark.

But the Sun and Stars still shine,

keeping the skies bright.

Gasping

She tightens the noose.

Silk digs into pliant flesh.

Release? A deep breath.

#haiku #gasping

Damp City

The city sleeps in rain.

Turning. Fretful. Unhappy.

Plagued by damp nightmares.

Winter Came Today

Winter came today,

heralded by frosty winds

and misty plumes of breath.

Cold-fingered, it came,

holding to December's hand,

a terrible child.

Winter took the throne,

and the Months showed it honor,

some more than others.

Winter did not care.

Its heart was cold, sharp as ice.

Its soul a black night.

Winter came today.

and it took the Season's Throne,

to begin its reign.

#haiku #winter 

The Season of Bones

Winter approaches,

heralded by the long night,

the season of bones.

All the green gods die,

cut down by the sacred blades

of their own clergy.

But the world weeps not,

now that winter holds her heart.

Cold. Uncaring. Cruel.

But the folk light fires,

on hilltops and in the dells,

to quicken her heart.

And blood is offered,

from the altars, from gold cups,

to sustain the world.

The long night passes.

The world's heart is rekindled,

and the green gods live.

Crossquarters

The darkness recedes.

Now, we turn towards the light,

waiting for the dawn.

God Smiling

Sun shining so bright,

it was like God was smiling.

More days like this, please.

Annie Lennox was too right....

The rain never ends.

It falls in sheets of gray doom.

I'm ready for sun.

Yes. In case you can't tell, it's been raining cats and dogs here for the last three days and I am sooooo over it. I'm more over the rain than I am of the pandemic. 

Still, it could be worse.

At least, I don't live in Texas.

Gluttony

The chips were tempting.

I have no one else to blame.

The bag is empty.

The Dark of My Soul

Tonight, there's no moon.

The sky is as black as pitch.

and so is my mood.

I do not know why.

This mood just takes me sometimes,

and I am helpless.

It just pulls me down,

into the depths of my soul.

A poisonous place.

Bread & Circuses

Bread and circuses.

That is what they offer us.

We starve for the truth.

Birthday Wishes

Candles on a cake,

flickering against the dark

and holding wishes.

You draw a deep breath,

then exhale like a dragon,

snuffing out the flames.

The wishes blossom,

unspoken so they might work

their special magic.

All it costs is time

and your continued silence

regarding your wish.

The birthday magic

runs strange and strong, deep and true.

Don't speak. Don't spoil it.

Shame

The Moon hides her face,

ashamed by our spectacle.

I cannot fault her.

First Light

The first light arrives,

the herald of a new day,

bringing new choices.

Poetry: A Trumpet Sounded....

Between bouts of domesticity today, there is art and poetry....

A TRUMPET SOUNDED

A trumpet sounded.

The heavens cracked like an egg,

spilling wild angels,

all across the world.

And those who thought themselves saved,

found that they were lost.

While those who were lost,

were lifted up, into glory.

The earth became a dream

the damned were doomed to endure

over and over,

banal and joyless,

without a hope of waking.

But it was not hell.

Hell was a story,

a viral idea gone wrong,

infecting the world.

God was not so cruel,

to burn a soul forever,

just for eating shrimp.

Today, A Haiku Story

Today was crappy.

I forgot to pay a bill,

and it made me mad

It just spun me out,

made me feel stupid and old.

My feelings ate me.

I came home and sulked.

Made a YouTube video,

vented to the world.

Afterwards, I hid.

I slid into my bedroom,

feeling poisonous.

I sulked and I stewed.

I played solitaire a lot,

and I watched YouTube.

Then I checked Facebook,

and saw that my day was good,

compared to others.

No one I love died,

I'm not a victim of hate,

and I have my health.

My day was not bad,

compared to some other's days,

because I'm still here.

Perspective is good.

It can be enlightening.

It can be shaming.

My day was not bad.

I forgot to pay a bill.

That's nothing at all.

Neon Haiku

Were you there that night,

When the lights died in Neon?

When the gods cursed them?

Did you see them fall,

the star-towers and sky-homes?

Did you watch them die?

The city's proud folk,

undone by their own hubris,

condemned to shadow.

No light can shine there,

not candle or torch or lamp.

Now darkness rules there.

But Neon lives on

in a peculiar fashion

of its own making.

Misery is gold.

At least when it's not your own.

Suffering is silver.

Folk come to Neon,

to gaze at its lost wonders,

to stare at its folk.

Some come there to hide.

Some come to be forgotten.

And some come to die.

Neon welcomes them,

as graveyards welcome the dead.

But some come and live.

Death begats new life.

Neon fell but it rises,

it lurches to life.

From the Water March

to the great Fallen Palace,

the city rises.

The merchants gather

in Downmarket and Gloom Street.

The city rises.

Priests whisper prayers

asking the gods for mercy.

The city rises.

In the deep shadows,

rogues go about their dark work.

The city rises.

The carrion men

sell corpses fresh from their graves.

The city rises.

Whores of every stripe

offer dark pleasures for gold.

The city rises.

Watchmen walk the streets,

alert for any trouble.

The city rises.

Urchins beg sweetly

from every shadowed doorway.

The city rises.

Adventurers come

braving the dark, hunting fame.

The city rises.