Jargon jaunting: part Chopin

chopping Chopin flip flops
dropping, fry pan, sizzle... pops
beat one, two, three
sing doe, rae... it's me

thus see the dry
musty sea of rye
o'er plains where rains
more drains e'er stains
in delta laps poison relapse
the glades fallen on blades

slather of slithering
boorish come withering
swallowing gator smiles
hollowing later miles
of time dis-time
miming  the climb
priming the crime

wearing rare ring
daring, dare... ding
the ting, this thing

here and now,
crying sow,
in that habitat
cat needs rat
tit for tat combat

fry pan sizzles... pop
Chopin drizzles... stop

Autumn

she has shown her face
in early shallow mirrors
those crisp layered shells
to shatter under a nudge

she has loathed the youth
in vibrant tones and changed
their skins to ashen crones
and raven plumes and sordid
putrid greens of dying dreams

she has clawed at reaching
hands and torn the turning
sun with its inflamed forest

she has stolen the beating
hearts of the stagnant pools
and plunged them far below
into her dragoon graves

she has her knaves who
break the brittle and hollow
pits to leave the shells in
sightless soundless soulless
hells but whistle her tune

she has her names she
drains from veins the vamp,
the hag, the killer of Pan

she has her time that
blackens days into glorious
nights and hearkens those
back to hearths and frights

Flowers in your hair

shattered the life that was
and fell and flowed
into hands that now
itch of corn and reek
of late marigold essence

the life that fell into
halls only rabbits frequent
for royalty and pilgrim
sails in whirling puffs
for sips of divinity

the life that flowed
through those halls
as slithering hunger
to beget a shiny coat
to forget the shedded
skin left in shadows

the life in body wake
fell asleep the toad
in buried October mud
and married the little
gained from trolley tones
and Amherst rendezvous

the life not known
but once was home
now harbors beyond
the bay with first breath
in May little more to say