PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

By the light of the moon

alone,

we are made warm in October

The night blooms with many

a promise,

in the valley of pot-belly stoves

as heaven creaks

and smoke, crawls across the sky

The heavy scent of hard wood

scrapes

across the vault of heaven

in perfect tranquillity,

as Chimney Spirits

take flight

and there, unfurl their wings

while ancient restless winds

rattle doors,

and sing through copper chimes

provoking perturbed dreams

among the slumbering,

as night blooms among the woodchucks

quietly asleep in their burrow

The cold smoke – thick as apples sauce

passes overhead,   

with

solace and reflection

Geese and ruby wine – caught in the clutch

of time

as fields of freshly plucked barley

and corn stubble

quietly collect the dead – like an old man’s comb

The rosy scent of summer

is carefully

washed clear – and replaced

by the balm

of ancient Celtic dreams

as the apogee of moonlight

slowly coalesces,

into a body of art over the landscape

The cards have fallen from

the deck;

The trees are bare

The metallic taste of antiquity – is upon the air

The old gods – cry for burial

now;

It is their last night – to fly

But they will fly again – like buzzards,

when

the Harvest Moon is high

when again – they rise,

like dirty pigeons – in a pumpkin

wasteland

And I will float to meet them

– fat and pure,

like a deranged mountain goat

When on earth, and

all the stars – it is October

once again.

~/~