Winter Fingers

We all expect the nights to be long
As we concoon ourselves inside our homes
Nothing to disturb the daily slumber except for winter's invisible
knife cutting life’s cord

We long for longer days and sunshine
To come out of the den fattened and ready to run
We expect nothing to change but for great things ahead
Except for the slow tapping of the skeleton fingers upon one's window

Winter's fingers are coming to embrace life's forgotten joy
So embrace it's little tricks and fancies before winter's skeleton becomes your own

How Could the Sun Disappear?

How could the sun disappear down into the horizon hiding in the heavens?
It glows past time and perception and warms the soul when bodies awake.

It shines and sometime burns those who get to close,
And then begins to swallow the ocean whole when thirst takes over.

How could the Sun disappear into the mountains and
sometimes share the sky with the moon?
Each illuminating its gaze, not breaking from one another,
Till the winter peaks linger through and the seasons begin to fall.

Conjuring the Eternal

The flames rise higher,
Higher and swirling they entwine.
Together and masking the forest dance of so many divine.

It begins with the first blast of cold, the shield covers the faces
And beckons those chanting the fire song to sing in unison.

The last figure it sees is upon the moon and in this cocoon of warmth,
The last note of the fire song dies in unison.

Invisible

There is no solace in the attic,
There are foot prints of mice and spiders that call it their home.

I have known of gatherings that would turn the blood cold.

Come back home when the moon begins to wane, to unfold the letters where
horror stories are written.

Dearest old beast who hides in the invisible house.

Home

She resides in the attic,
Dressed with cobwebs and smiles,
She waits patiently for her husband and sons to come home.
This year, the harvest provided the biggest and reddest of apples.
Next door, the pear tree produced none.
Upon the ridge is the steady flow of traffic,
No more horse carriages and first time cars getting stuck in the mud.
The house she lives in was built in 1924. Protecting all that come in
and humming to herself as she prepares a meal.
The house that still is blessed with it's original wood work and that Swedish charm.

 

Blue Ribbon.. part I

Every summer he would send her letters.

Evelyn was thrilled when they arrived. The anticipation of receiving them after the long winter would bring a smile to her face knowing that they had traveled far. Sometimes the paper he wrote on would carry the fragrance of distant lands. Her mind would imagine the exotic sights he gazed upon and the wondrous scents of sandalwood and frankincense. She especially loved it when he would sprinkle lavender oil from Spain or France on the paper. She in return would send him dry flowers from her garden or send the delicate miniature still life's she painted on wood. They might have been miles apart, but there was always something tangible to remind them of each other.

Their history was one that was long and well traveled. No secrets were left between them. Most people thought of them as husband and wife. But the romantic side of their relationship had ended years ago. Distance can be a cruel ending to a relationship, and even crueler when someones heart refuses to move on. Evelyn had always thought that. That she herself was stuck in some romantic time capsule, only to awake to the fact that it was she that had refused to go with him. To accept his proposal of marriage.

The Collage of The Professor’s Mind

Dwelling deep in his studies.
He writes and ponders, pen taping on blank sheets of paper.
The words flow from memories of old text books from the 1800’s.

His last lesson was botany.
Botany?
He was not suppose to be in this field.
He dreamt of carrying guns when he was young.
Cowboys and Indians fashioning an Oklahoman accent.

That “Good Ol Boy” is tucked away behind his rib cage.
His mind becomes muddled with grading papers and wine.

Ocean Journey

Sometimes Death Happens

The Hollows

River

The river will wash away all of the sins.
The despair that weaves in the air.
The days draw long and where are the angels now?
Their song; The river will wash away everything.

The stream flows down and follows no path.
The end is not near but only in your heart.

The river leads to the ocean that knows more suffocation.
The heart of those meek beast;
Beats no more.

The Dark Woods

He did not hear the whispering anymore.
The gentle breath did not tickle and caress his mind with sound. He laid on the ground where he had been for the last ten days.
He imagined his body decaying. He became scared and imagined that his soul would break from it’s fleshy prison and soar. Away from pain and suffering. Away from the nagging distractions that kept him from “living”. Then more thoughts came to him. No more drinking of wine and laughter. No more feeling his wife’s touch or walking together in the woods.
He did not know whether he should consider himself dead or alive.
He felt the taste of blood in his mouth. Was it his? Where did it come from? He was cold and he felt his body was broken, sinking into the earth already. An early funeral. He felt strangely comforted by the ground molding to his body. He even imagined himself becoming warmed by the earth. He suddenly become aware of his senses….

Black

Fear comes from a shadow in the dark

A stranger who approaches us from around the corner,

Lightening, thunder and hail that sends a child under the bed



The fear of drowning

The fear of age

The fear of debt

The fear of not having enough

The fear of germs

The fear of terrorism

The fear of cultures who we don’t understand



Fear comes from insecurity

Fear of speaking our minds when we know we should

Fear of not standing up to those who would keep us down



The fear of being alone

The fear of being too happy

The fear of being too confident

The fear of feeling too small

The fear of feeling ugly

The fear of eye contact in the age of instant messaging



Fear is what we believe it to be

The blanket that keeps humanity shivering.

New Home

The new resting place of Fairy Convent Publishing.
Here you might catch a glimpse of a fairy or a different
kind of convent.