Samhain man

  the elder of late October

wears robes of silver thistle leaves

with a serpentine gourd vine

tied round his bony waist

he's crowned with bare branches

that shade his long locks

of crimson amaranthine hair

his skin is course and crackled bark

of which lichens are akin to

his dark vacant eyes are chasms

one can fall into if not careful

while his grin is as sharp

as the first frosts in the 

presence of the dawn

he carries with him all the fruits

that have fallen, forgotten and not foraged

these are his orphaned children 

he comes to collect each year

to carry them safely into the long night of the year

but parents be wary to not leave 

your own children under the arms

of a tree with showering leaves 

or else along with the discarded fruit

they too will be carried off

by the elder of late October

Copper's weight

 the grave sings the same song

as the green woman by the sea

it eagerly calls to the tired and poor

it laps on the shores of huddles masses

yearning for freedom as icy waves

of northern waters lick ships in the night

it hungers for the wretched refuse

the homeless is its favorite target

and the tempest tossed, well they

are one of its greatest temptations

but that green woman by the sea

she possibly hides wings under her robe

for her song is one of deliverance

while the grave hymns indulgence

 each song pulls greatly on the human soul

one strumming the strings of fear

the other the chords of love

yet the notes mingle in the ear

but each distinctive melody rings clear

and each step must decide their way

and what another's life is worth

weighing the green woman's copper

against a bed of cold damp earth

Confirmation

in the steps one takes to the sea

those taken back to forgotten fins

and amoebas dreaming of the sky

time's hands momentarily pause

to tock their ticks and to count

a dozen or two down to one last second

this second when we watch Nero

beckon for Caligula's resurrection

the tears that will be shed will be

the blood of so many yet to come

spilled out on the pavement 

where barren lands give birth

to skin draped skeletons

these forgotten children

whom angels have abandoned

will only thirst for neglect

and only hunger for shadows

that hide them from themselves

they will wander through lies

that bellow forth from behind columns

and take flight in ravenous crows

these devious tempests will toss

Eden's offspring into the abyss

as Caligula's horrific glory

shines down from obelisk heights

Nero will be but a memory in

the geoluread dust contaminating 

the air and adulterating breath

stifling of the cries for justice will be

taken in the wind away from the asshats

that gobble their grisly suppers before

the horrific glory of the now risen Caligula

one by one truths will turn to stone

waiting their turns to be pulverized

by the scepter of Caligula's tongue

one by one every answer will be questioned

every star will fall from its celestial space

every tree shall fall, every speech will go unspoken

until darkness and silence shall robe Caligula

and strip Eden's offspring of everything 

The midnight window

 late night hours 

turn into the earliest minutes

street lights cast through

the barren arms of elm and ash

to their own litter that has gathered

in curbsides and near gaping grates

leading to darker depths

what's laid out through panes of glass

the most unassured possibilities

the still and silent chaos

biding yet lurking on the heels of the light

through this sheer semi liquid translucency 

that shivers in the harshness of October

this thin separation of the out and in

that keeps autumn frost from this skin

in entertaining insomnia as a bed fellow

eyes through windows wait out the dark

Mentis

 light escapes the mind

it gradually recedes from the corners

and bleakly stares through the windows

for briefer moments as the time passes

and what is this time anyway

a suggestion of what a moment should be

a bag full of coins spent at an accursed market

where you can never get fair value for the trade

and posted to your account are all these debts

you thought you had paid

for surely your age tells you that

but the year deceives you

it coerces a belief that you give into

that you are younger in the evening

than you started the day off at

yet the in-between matter, well as if that matters

for there may have been some faces that made sense

and others you might have known, once, at some point

but assurance is just as lacking as the receding light

just as lacking as what was said just before

light escapes the mind

Arboreal hexen

 the skeleton hands reach high in the sky

conjuring the time of the southern sun

to bid remind the calling of maggots

in the cadaveric corridors they hail from

to call forth the holding of breath

the pinching of pulse, the freezing green

that burns to blacken soot and withers gray

the ethereal remains tattered in the day

those hands rattle their charms in the nights

when blood red Mars in vengeful scorn

tears feathers from Mercury's wings

and casts them to the chilling ground

while Venus winks in morning calm

the great deceiver, he sings his song

that here is peace, here is rest

within his silent hollow chest

yet the children tear their eyes

from their sockets so they are blind

to see the knife at cattle throats

the heart that bleeds is the one that feeds

yet they use the very forks they feast with

to gouge their eyes and play the ignorance card

at a game no one in earthly robes ever wins

the skeleton hands clamber still

through howling winds and exhaustive frost

they waxen cold and drain their gold

into buried stores where yielding worms wait

for pooling regrets of graveside confessions

and for the ladies and gents they have yet to greet

Betrayal

 his words fell upon our ears

as the sun still falls upon the dancing grass

in the warmth of day

his words were once the wine in our cups

that slipped down our throats

in intoxicating heat

we would consume every verbal slip of his lips

the vibration of his voice would shake loose

all our cares, making our doubts slip off

the edge of the cliff into the sea of lost memories

and we would lay there in his resonance

succumbed to his breath upon our souls

we used to love every time his mouth moved

to bring about another bloom of celestial scent

yet those scents have escaped what was promised

all the hope has landed fear side up

the tender words of piercing truth has burnt with books

once glowing enlightenment now marches on

in an army of mindlessness with spoons sticking from its lips

the spoons that have fed it empty lies and hate

an army that has turned upon itself 

for it has nothing to fight but itself

and the words that flowed from his font of wisdom

may only be echoes in the shattered ashes that remain

that carry in the wind, to love each other

Within

underneath the billowing moon

the creeping shadows ever so subtly

steal away the lunar caress 

on your cool pale flesh

'tis not the darkness unto itself

that holds you still in silence

waiting to assure yourself

your heart will beat again

'tis not the the emptiness of the night

that freezes your soul to stone

a mere porcelain statue

to tarry in quiet fright

'tis not this moment of lack of light

that carries you off into corridors

you thought were locked away

so very very long ago

for you are simply enveloped 

in all of that you haven't known

when the dark nestles at your neck

and kisses those raising hairs

and you are slowly being drowned

in all those memories you've gained from pain

when misery was the tempest threat

and loss was drenching icy rain

these shrouded companions come calling

in the insomnious hours of weakened lives

they rap at your heart when joy has left

asking for the vacant place by the smoldering coals

'tis for you to choose to grab the key from the shelf

for you to reach for the brass doorknob in the moonlight

and rattle the key in the lock until it clicks

and you slowly turn the knob to open... the... door