Three beeswax candles burn to brighten Hallow’s Eve.
Pocked faces sneer ‘neath greasepaint; they are dying to deceive!
The wind is whimpering, now wailing, down long lanes
and leaves of caramel and carmine flit at window panes.
May souls who have departed from this spinning sphere,
come hover near the hearths of humans, whom they once held dear.
Tag Archives: creative writing
:::soothing spies:::
Sweet scenes of angels lull sick hearts to sleep.
They glide in sky blue, flying over eyes
which flutter, steeped in bourbon’s fevered keep.
White wings of comfort…nature’s soothing spies.
Four years gone
cornered on all sides
blood head
just what we denied
What meaningless and mournful nights have passed.
How glad we would be if compassion came
to call on him, whom life has left to die.
Sweet scenes of angels lull sick hearts to sleep.
sorrow slapped
small hearts…sorrow slapped,
seem meager, even more so
than ladybug lips
sun sea soars and swells
betwixt forgiveness and blame,
yet…we let her roar
South End Sunday
I went to South End late last night
to eat some oyster stew
and saw a wicked awesome fight
while sipping on my brew!
Sweet punches flew like fighter planes
from two gigantic men,
until some cops came bearing chains
and passage to the pen!
troubled lullabies
Resignation sounds around you, rising up
from an exasperated earth, freezing fear
into languishing lips.
Gentle tremors rock a riven heart to sleep:
troubled lullabies from the other side.
metamorphosis
Slipping off the costume once again,
you become a sweet creature of dreams.
The common body, buried beneath
a flimsy gauze of naught, is shared with
no one save the Devil.
Slipping off the costume once again,
you become a hellion of horrors.
What is revealed?
The darkest parts that have no shame.
What is concealed?
The golden parts that have no aim.
untitled
Pumpkin face,
sewn into my smile,
must we part
by new moon,
or can we begin again
under sun’s cover?
drowsy evermore
Drowsy pigeons peck at puddles of crumbs as
emaciated ravens console wavering widows.
Cadavers flown home on thrones of hushed
bones dream of nothing new, evermore.
the 6 words you cannot find
Courage, like early morning walks, is a
habit which should be practiced often if
it is to become a song that the soul can
sing in its sleep.
Process precedes perfection; every step is
a standard. Hibernation in summer’s spout
oppresses the spirit if an inner torch still
burns.
shedding skin
Hawk eyes survey a cobbled square, teeming with tamed shadows.
Café noir in manicured hands, harsh rays from a cumbersome sun
fall upon her cobra-skinned boots. She shields indigo eyelids with
bejeweled twigs, blocking out far-off orchards with all her might.
Expectant limbs howl out her name; their sickly offspring are her
birthmark. Invisible to the passing eye, they have marked her for
life.
sundry folly 