Light and shadows dance
through the ages
flashing, winking, spinning
And now the time begins
when shadows enfold the light
when we turn
to darker thoughts
with shorter days
and colder nights
when blossoms are spent
and fruits have ripened
The growing season is over
prepare your garden
prepare your soul
winter is on the way
This is for Joy, who has resurrected FF55 at Verse Escape. Go there and see what it’s all about. (Photo is by me.)
I am standing in the dark.
Suddenly there is a keyboard
around me
like a corkscrew
reaching up, farther than I can see
The floor is gone.
I am floating
with the black and white keys
spiraling down,
down
and disappearing
to a
point.
I begin to play.
The tune is discordant
full of dread
but I can’t stop.
I feel the flapping of wings
just beyond my face,
just out of view
When I look down my hands have
turned into knives
stabbing the
keys which
now spurt blood
everywhere.
And still the dreadful
song goes on
Over in the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Bjorn has shown us some nightmarish art and asked us to write about our own nightmares. Click on the link and check it out.
-Photo by Mary Bach
There is a beauty in
negative spaces,
in winter,
in life drawing down
to a
point
the stark dark and light
of trees and snow,
of moon and night
of hunger and time,
thickening, lengthening, slowing
blown by winds
drifting at our door
beautiful and dangerous
call to us
winter draws us down
to the bone
This is 55+ for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads where we are asked to write 55 words on the topic of our choosing, and if we would like to deal with some pairing of two things. Click on the link and check it out.
The November temple is empty
the sacrifice finished.
Leaves scatter in the wind;
branches snap
like dry bones
of an unearthed skeleton.
The hole
in my graveyard chest
is empty
and black birds pick
at the pearls
which were my eyes.
Houdini’s midnight cape
settles with a flourish.
The show is over.
You
and I
we build
a scaffolding
of
sighs
reaching to
the closer
clouds
our fears
are not
of flying
but of
falling
back
to earth
with those
who go about
their lives
as if
the sky
was only
empty
as if
it did
not contain
wonders
as if
it was not
the threshold to
heaven
By Mary Bach, previously published at http://writinginthebachs.blogspot.com/2014/11/sky-light.html
