peace—not found
in an ode or the pen
but in the forest
of the real
cut down for pasture
littering sunset skies
the crisscrossed trails
of belching beasts
rustling pines
under starless
moonshine
a flash of orange
summer's closing
brings the royals
stalwart pines
on the edge of tracks
bearing secrets
golden sunset pours
over the shimmers
of Debussy's clavier
imperceptible rain
beyond the patio
mountain sunshine
menacingly suspended
the beast
films irreverent
jackdaw calls
on the evening breeze
to be kicked out by a fucking cop
fading melodies turn to silence
on a side street's dimly lit path
the siren breeze of springtime
fallen petals
purple and starred
cheerleaders to the bloom
dark clouds at sunset's end
retreating east
into night's embrace
nothing new under the sun
I stare out the darkened window
at a road always under repair
the bay turns to canvas
in the morning stillness
the sky paints away
after the bloom
memories of pink
across the windswept plaza
water reflecting a moonless sky
another unremarkable Monday fades
I mark the evening with this poem
outside the window
the reeds dancing
on the riverbank
refresh the page again
to see content already read
surfing on a windy night
an apple, a morning tea
that's it
take a nap
without a hat I venture
warm enough outside
alas, the melting snow
snow covered court
windswept evening
awful shot
if an AI understood
the nature of Microsoft Excel
delete system32
early morning flakes
on the crisp storefronts
reminders of time past
sniffing the scent of fresh snow
i sip my coffee
in the Adirondack chair
the tree branch sags
white with snow
after the blizzard
beauty lingers for an instant
frigid chill at
the corner of the rooftop
the morning doves squawk
gentle silence
the light flashes walk
to windswept flurries
gliding gulls, soaring grey
buffeted to and fro by
snowfall above the river
melting snow
on a bonsai refugee
lounging atop its napkin
just for a moment
a breath of cold
ah!
bird swarms circling
at the dying light
slashed net swaying
ghostly whispers
of an absent crowd
clinging to a time
no longer here
the delight
of reading a poem
you forgot you wrote
I pick it up and read the news
why do I do this to myself?
morbidly I turn the page
sky and tarmac grey
deep breath and glasses fogged
sans scarf a chilly Friday
every day
a sunset
the howling wind
bids me welcome
along the dimly dark path
one foot after another
the shimmering black tarmac
on the cusp of autumn's night
the dying autumn twilight
torn asunder by
the chorus of birds
storm clouds on the way?
a quick check proves me wrong
but the doubt lingers
standing tall with basket in tow
the line stretches on, endless
testament to our shame
the sky rains the trees' bounty
falling leaves and
quiet on the mountaintop