Silhouettes

the silhouettes of wintertime
scrape the silvered skies
and take from them the last of fall
the evening sun defies.

these remains of season’s gone
beg the frost that it denies
the deathly touch of year’s end
which means that all must die.

White Angel

the white angel ascended
on wings of eastern winds
her breath cold
with centuries of suffering
brought not life
but death eternal
for white is the dark angel
and hell burns with ice.

Shard

a shard of broken glass
this memory
slicing my thoughts
to bloody ribbons
as it replays
yet I cannot let go.

Fairy

I think I found a fairy
living in my bed
I felt her wings
a fluttering
against my sleepy head
I turned to see just what it was
but she could not be seen
perhaps it was no fairy
but just a fairy dream.

Opus 68

play me Beethoven
walking through the winter woods
in dreams pastoral

Night Sky at the End of November

the moon falls low in crescent red
as if to mourn the stars long dead
whose souls still linger in the night
as distant spectres of their light
and as I wonder, heaven folds
this jeweled blanket ‘fore the cold
and endless empty universe
that watches down upon the cursed
mortals who ’neath it rest
the subjects of it’s celestial jest.

COUNTING SYLLABLES INSTEAD OF SHEEP

look into my words
your eyes are getting heavy
haiku hypnosis

More Time (again)

given time
he’d have learned to play piano
given time
he’d have read more books
given time
he’d have visited Tahiti
given time
he’d have had his teeth fixed
given time
he’d have given more to charity
given time
he’d have repaired the leaky roof
given time
he’d have watched more movies
given time
he’d have said more goodbyes
given time
he’d have invented a machine
to give him more time
to waste.

Thought

wrapped in warm flesh
bleeds the night
silvered perspiration
haunts the light
perfume of late
magnolia trees
imagined
on a star drawn breeze
serenade my senses
with delight.

Time

each day grows shorter
not just for the wintertime
but also for me