Such cold roots

I buried myself in verdant leaves,Which grew damp in crimson dreams,And with the taste of winter on the breeze,I find comfort in these faint memories,Lost now in deep roots of ancient ash trees.

Some Joy

There are some joys, still,Like dyed leaves drifting on wind,And a cat purring.

my pen’s ink

My pen's ink runs dry,A sentence left unfinished,But that is fine too.

bird, captured

I might fly away,Catch the wind and simply soar,If not for this string.

maple leaves

Maple leaves mingle,With the hushed whispers of youth,Then falling, silent.

midland autumn rains

Midland autumn rains,Morning mists growing colder,Summer passes on. Piano keys creak,Old hands struggle with placement,But still, it sounds good. Passing strangers smile,Lives meeting in the stairwell,Never again seen. The scarf on the hook,Made with love by an old 'friend',Still smells of perfume. The painter's wet cheeks,Just enough to thin old paint,Now, let's start again.

autumnal breeze

Yellow leaves scatter, Red upon the chilled river, Smoky autumn winds. A whirling dervish, Splattered in colours of fall, Recall our old gods. Well-worn mountain paths, Glimmering like arteries, Bright with fallen leaves. Blue smoke drifts upward,While damp leaves of yellow-red,Fall upon my head. An autumnal breeze,Smelling like sweet potatoes,Ah, am I hungry?

Lost in the Blue Ridge Mountains

The Blue Ridge Mountains,Wreathed in rolling sheets of mist,Now carry my heart. A shovel and hike,Beyond these paths less taken,In a still clearing,Where brooks weep for a lost land,I buried my heart,In a stony grave so dark,Night skies flowed inside,So calm, black stillness. The shovel scraping,Like a farewell aria,Drew up a thick mist,Salt-stained with my … Continue reading Lost in the Blue Ridge Mountains →

Phantasmagoria

As she mused over the whereabouts of the missing monks, a gust of wind tugged at her haori, and the reedy, distant laughter of children seemed to momentarily vanish from the chilled air. She took another wary step down the mountain path, but paused. There shouldn't be children on the mountain this late at night.

The Triple Goddess

For my arrogance,He reached for the stars above,Black skies filling empty hands. Within this hollow,Filled with your endless desire,A pale flower blooms like blood. I offer my eyes,Covetous, life-drinking orbs,Gleaming the shade of lost dreams.