Wanderlust

I wanna tightrope walk on contrails,

skinny dip in the zephyrous yonder

lost in wild blue wanderlust thoughts with you.

We can linger in the umbra

when the sun holds its nose and dunks under;

let our starry Van Gogh eyes

light up Cheshire bright

and wink

like Betelgeuse and Orion.

We can fit our feet with Autumn leaves,

surfing the dusky sky’s coffeebreath breeze

and jump into the raked piles

of our fall in love.

Santa Fe in September

It’s been a long, hot summer
stretched out

like lazy men resting in hammocks,
and now, driving the country roads,
the landscape cloaked in sepia tones;
yellows, browns, and clay

and the weight of sun’s rays

hot on my collarbone

are what drive me home.

 

My troubles?

Just those water slick mirages

400 ft ahead.

 

The tumbleweeds ‘long the railroad tracks

are spent and dehydrated tangled brat’s heads

waiting for Autumn’s reaping wind

to lop them from their earthly neck

and send them rolling like poor Antoinette

down ghost town roads.

 

The fruit stands are closed.

 

The corn walls were hauled off

like a set change

ready for the second act. 

The barren fields, 

harvest’s yield,

already nestled into cellar beds;

jars of toil for mouths unfed.

 

But here am I

in Indian summer oblivion

soaking the last blobs of color

from valley horizons,

meditating in the last throes

of a spent landscape

before full resignation.

Dry up and die

On these Autumn days, I wonder

as I look at the colorful trees,

if I too am to be so colorful

when I dry up and die.

Deep Autumn Waltz

There’s a madness blowing in the wind

A kind of sadness forcing it’s way in

A single note striking again… and again… and again

There’s a darkness that smears down sky’s walls

A dreary smirchness in ev’ry leaf’s fall

And the settling house, creaking calls… and calls… and calls

There’s a haziness from the farmer’s burned brush

set to drown from the oncoming drizzly gush

And the scarecrow has no choice but stay hush, hush, hush.

Get ready for a long weary shade,

a blanket cloaked in ashen frigid gray,

wrapped around us and bound with rusty chains