In the dusk of the year


In the dusk of the year

we stand wreathed in flying leaves

and restless skies watching

the dark half of the year turn closer

remembering the cold that bites

beneath snow-filled cloud

and our dreams full of fire.


In the twilight of all things that matter

we lie down on scorched grass

and watch the storm clouds gather.

No rainbows will follow this deluge

no ark no saving graces.

No dawn will follow this night

of no moon and no stars.


Night falls

and falls











Shadows on the sea

The oracle sent this rather beautiful but melancholy message this morning. I’ll try again. She might have more to say.


Shadows on the sea,screen-shot-2017-03-04-at-12-21-43

red moonshine or rust?

Love is cooling,

and beneath black water,

no tiny symphony soars.

A sad day,

this death of dreams.

Moons, time and tides

For the Secret Keeper’s weekly writing prompt. The words:



I mark the page and close the book,

No time to finish what I start,

This trial is running to its end,

I smell rot in the rose’s heart.

Time was when sun would fill with gold

The open page, the lawn of green,

But now the moon draws tide and time,

Leaves me left with what might have been.

Bird, find your nest in hedges deep,

Far from marauding feline claws,

Raise your brood and sing your songs,

The one truth in this world of flaws.

In the wind


In the wind, dead leaves are flying,

Drifting gold on silver water,

The river running to the sea.


Blackbirds chase among the branches,

The fruit that shrivels on the vine,

In the wind, dead leaves are flying.


Autumn sun sinks, pale and failing,

Like dreams that gleam just out of reach,

Drifting gold on silver water.


Though last beams end their flight in shadow,

Hand in hand, we watch till night falls,

The river running to the sea.

Where were you?


Where were you when the night caught fire,

and the stars shredded silver filings on the blazing wind?

Why did my hand catch at empty air

and loose feathers, museum-dull,

instead of the comet’s tail?

I think I saw you sauntering by the river,

whistling low a tune we used to share,

your hands full of moonbeams

to offer to someone else.

Where did it go, the cool, green love,

Slip-sliding through sun-slanting beams of summer?

Did it follow the last of the geese fleeing the ice floes

Or sink, a trunk of treasure trove, beneath cold waves?

Beyond the lament, the final hissing sparks,

of falling fireworks,

I thought I heard a blackbird sing,

Or perhaps it was the fading strings

of a romantic film,

the flickering screen I cannot see

through this veil of tears.