Grand Finale

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.


Jackson Pollock, Black Flowing, No. 8

Jackson Pollock, Black Flowing, No. 8

does it come from,
that feeling:
standing on the edge
of a tall building
holding the railing
looking down
what is it inside us
that wants to jump?
From the center of the chest,
this impulse,
to jump,
off the edge of the known
like a cliff diver
through clouds – air – water
It frightens us
this feeling
making us step back
but what if we stay
at the edge,
and feel
the uncoiling,
letting go
through a sky of knives
Falling through time and
plans and promises
and life.
Letting go,
falling from blue into grey
And what if we don’t fall?
What if we fly?

This was written in response to a promp by Karin at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.  The Pollock image is from Tess at Magpie Tales writing group.

Autumn Allegro

Red Leaf by Mary Bach

Autumn allegro,
perhaps that’s why
I love it so
coming as such a lovely death
flaming, raging, mellowing
then cooling, greying

This is for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads where Margaret Bednar asked us to revisit an old writing prompt.  The one I chose is by Laurie Kolp, A Word with Laurie.  She asked us to write eight lines in one minute and include the word, “allegro” (which appropirately enough means “briskly” in music talk).