Crowning

A fire still burns in that heart.
Rippling like the autumn wind across reddening leaves.
Fuelled by the dead days of summer.
Heavy is the crown that rests over the year.
Digging into the skull like the frosty weight of winter.
Turning bones to the crystal touch of unfeeling.
Yet it has been years since such a crowning.
Making way for the reign of ignorance.
Such wild notions of reliance.
Forcing the days to feel like years.
And now the crown weighs heavy.
Digging in like the winter roots.
Stirring the rabbits and monsters that dwell beneath.
By those rooted fingers that feel for further gold.
And though the spring will eventually come.
Turning the tide on year’s stretching smile.
The metal will rust in vernal dew dabbled days.
But will remain fitted, and welded to the bones.
Which refuse to ever be buried.

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Little things

They’re little things you worry about.
Stop fretting, relax you mind.
Put aside the fear and doubt.
Happiness will come in time.

Yet I do not live in conscious reason.
I cannot resist to wonder.
That all things change in each passing season.
And it’s the little things that pull you under.

Distance between blue & yellow

The church bells song of a new dawn.
Accompanies the veneer smear of an autumn sun.
Hazy like the mind that watches.
Trapped in leaf browns and turpentine.
A new day, to take the past away.
Taking flight like fleeting thoughts of love.
Wash over the night like dripping star light into a black hole.
Paint my dying summer the orange of the flame.
The red of the devil licking a new untouched wonder.
And wander, through the conker laced land of another day.
Captured in your memory forever.

In September the Devil comes Dancing

Collaborations with Nara15blog

Crinkled veins that litter the ground.
My smile carved like a pumpkin crescent.
Circling the moon.
Laying down for September’s kiss.
A spiced potion that thickens my eager Heart, bone felt and embraced.

Store bought and rhinestoned.
A mask for a hideaway.
A little glint under the eyes to shimmer.
In the cooling sun’s blaze.

Turning on a dime in a year’s sigh.
Tiptoeing back in time.
Last year, to rival such memories.
365. What a year to be alive!

Smelling the dying throes of summer.
As the trees feign death,
In the rustic cinnamon crunch.
Planting poison ivy to creep through my vines.

In a day’s ramble bramble.
Tomorrow, today. Witch way? This way.
On the broom off to do mischief.
Open the door for October’s devils.
Felling my rooted heart, awash with treacle.
Filling my soul with black stars.
These tar-like sediments like shock treats to my mind.
To make me dance manic eyed.

Howling at the orange fire moon,
Silver bulleted like a ghost through gloom.
In ebony tricks.
In a bubbly brew fix.
Rotting my teeth from the roots.