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Calendar Blues

So, September
what did you leave for me
beyond stupidity
gushing from a broken dam
that held all reason.

Don't blame October;
a new month of masked mayhem
colored leaves and Trick or Treat --
it's now that grabs my interest --
perhaps smiling Jack-O-Lanterns
will light the way to sanity.

Maybe November Thanksgiving
will fill the belly with stuffed birds,
jams and jellies awaiting
the re-birth of all that was good.

Time will tell.

~Reverie

//Posted with author's permission. Ash posts for Ecthrois Grimm, Last Dance and now Reverie on AAPC, in AYoS only, since they don't wish to come here under the current conditions, but want their work posted to AYoS.//

On Monday, October 2, 2023 at 7:20:18 PM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> Calendar Blues
>
> So, September
> what did you leave for me
> beyond stupidity
> gushing from a broken dam
> that held all reason.
>
> Don't blame October;
> a new month of masked mayhem
> colored leaves and Trick or Treat --
> it's now that grabs my interest --
> perhaps smiling Jack-O-Lanterns
> will light the way to sanity.
>
> Maybe November Thanksgiving
> will fill the belly with stuffed birds,
> jams and jellies awaiting
> the re-birth of all that was good.
>
> Time will tell.
>
> ~Reverie
>
> //Posted with author's permission. Ash posts for Ecthrois Grimm, Last Dance and now Reverie on AAPC, in AYoS only, since they don't wish to come here under the current conditions, but want their work posted to AYoS.//
>

WHEN I AM DEAD

I'm in no "better place," nor have I power
To think, or feel, or dream, or see the tears
Shed at my bedside or above my grave;
The moments are as meaningless as years
Devoid of substance, context, time and place --
Not that I'm stoical, resigned, or brave
But vanished like the ghosts from prosper's stage.
This sagging flesh that used to be my face
Has no more of me in it than the sand
That stole our footprints for a Summer hour,
Then swept them off to sea without a trace
And washed the beach clean as an empty page.
The sunset's grand, but I'm not in its hues
Of crimson, lavender, and burnished gold,
Nor am I in the day's cerulean blues
Or midnight's velvet widow's weeds of black;
The spark of life within cannot withstand
The heart's cessation, nor can memory hold
The ghost of one unable to come back.

I'm not a guardian angel looking down
Who guides your steps somewhere beyond the stars
But plowed beneath the earth with last year's seed,
I have no inkling of this world of ours --
The seeds may grow, if such fate has decreed,
But man cannot renew once life has flown.

Don't seek for me in Heaven or in Hell
There are no "Afterworlds," and we've but one
Life here – that like a charmer's spell
Entrances for an hour… and is gone.

-- Michael Pendragon

*****

On Wednesday, October 4, 2023 at 2:48:15 PM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> WHEN I AM DEAD
>
>
> I'm in no "better place," nor have I power
> To think, or feel, or dream, or see the tears
> Shed at my bedside or above my grave;
> The moments are as meaningless as years
> Devoid of substance, context, time and place --
> Not that I'm stoical, resigned, or brave
> But vanished like the ghosts from prosper's stage.
>
> This sagging flesh that used to be my face
> Has no more of me in it than the sand
> That stole our footprints for a Summer hour,
> Then swept them off to sea without a trace
> And washed the beach clean as an empty page.
>
> The sunset's grand, but I'm not in its hues
> Of crimson, lavender, and burnished gold,
> Nor am I in the day's cerulean blues
> Or midnight's velvet widow's weeds of black;
> The spark of life within cannot withstand
> The heart's cessation, nor can memory hold
> The ghost of one unable to come back.
>
> I'm not a guardian angel looking down
> Who guides your steps somewhere beyond the stars
> But plowed beneath the earth with last year's seed,
> I have no inkling of this world of ours --
> The seeds may grow, if such fate has decreed,
> But man cannot renew once life has flown.
>
> Don't seek for me in Heaven or in Hell
> There are no "Afterworlds," and we've but one
> Life here – that like a charmer's spell
> Entrances for an hour… and is gone.
>
> -- Michael Pendragon
>
> *****
>

On Thursday, October 5, 2023 at 10:40:23 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> On Wednesday, October 4, 2023 at 2:48:15 PM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > WHEN I AM DEAD
> >
> >
> > I'm in no "better place," nor have I power
> > To think, or feel, or dream, or see the tears
> > Shed at my bedside or above my grave;
> > The moments are as meaningless as years
> > Devoid of substance, context, time and place --
> > Not that I'm stoical, resigned, or brave
> > But vanished like the ghosts from prosper's stage.
> >
> > This sagging flesh that used to be my face
> > Has no more of me in it than the sand
> > That stole our footprints for a Summer hour,
> > Then swept them off to sea without a trace
> > And washed the beach clean as an empty page.
> >
> > The sunset's grand, but I'm not in its hues
> > Of crimson, lavender, and burnished gold,
> > Nor am I in the day's cerulean blues
> > Or midnight's velvet widow's weeds of black;
> > The spark of life within cannot withstand
> > The heart's cessation, nor can memory hold
> > The ghost of one unable to come back.
> >
> > I'm not a guardian angel looking down
> > Who guides your steps somewhere beyond the stars
> > But plowed beneath the earth with last year's seed,
> > I have no inkling of this world of ours --
> > The seeds may grow, if such fate has decreed,
> > But man cannot renew once life has flown.
> >
> > Don't seek for me in Heaven or in Hell
> > There are no "Afterworlds," and we've but one
> > Life here – that like a charmer's spell
> > Entrances for an hour… and is gone.
> >
> > -- Michael Pendragon
> >
> > *****
> >
>

On Thursday, October 5, 2023 at 3:07:35 PM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> On Thursday, October 5, 2023 at 10:40:23 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > On Wednesday, October 4, 2023 at 2:48:15 PM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > > WHEN I AM DEAD
> > >
> > >
> > > I'm in no "better place," nor have I power
> > > To think, or feel, or dream, or see the tears
> > > Shed at my bedside or above my grave;
> > > The moments are as meaningless as years
> > > Devoid of substance, context, time and place --
> > > Not that I'm stoical, resigned, or brave
> > > But vanished like the ghosts from prosper's stage.
> > >
> > > This sagging flesh that used to be my face
> > > Has no more of me in it than the sand
> > > That stole our footprints for a Summer hour,
> > > Then swept them off to sea without a trace
> > > And washed the beach clean as an empty page.
> > >
> > > The sunset's grand, but I'm not in its hues
> > > Of crimson, lavender, and burnished gold,
> > > Nor am I in the day's cerulean blues
> > > Or midnight's velvet widow's weeds of black;
> > > The spark of life within cannot withstand
> > > The heart's cessation, nor can memory hold
> > > The ghost of one unable to come back.
> > >
> > > I'm not a guardian angel looking down
> > > Who guides your steps somewhere beyond the stars
> > > But plowed beneath the earth with last year's seed,
> > > I have no inkling of this world of ours --
> > > The seeds may grow, if such fate has decreed,
> > > But man cannot renew once life has flown.
> > >
> > > Don't seek for me in Heaven or in Hell
> > > There are no "Afterworlds," and we've but one
> > > Life here – that like a charmer's spell
> > > Entrances for an hour… and is gone.
> > >
> > > -- Michael Pendragon
> > >
> > > *****
> > >
> >
>

Mates

It's nature's way
those two swans I fed
no longer pass each day.

I do show up,
toss a bit of corn,
thinking they'll
return back home --
but it's nature's way
those mated for life
have now gone away.

~Reverie
//Posted with author's permission.//

On Thursday, October 5, 2023 at 9:13:38 PM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> Mates
>
> It's nature's way
> those two swans I fed
> no longer pass each day.
>
> I do show up,
> toss a bit of corn,
> thinking they'll
> return back home --
> but it's nature's way
> those mated for life
> have now gone away.
>
> ~Reverie
> //Posted with author's permission.//
>

BLACK MASS

Build the bonfire high tonight
Till its fingers to scorch the moon,
Soon the Bringer of the Light
Shall stop the heavens in their flight --
Let's sing his praise this hallowed night,
An ancient witching tune.

When the moon is full and red
When the midnight hour is nigh
Draw the ring and raise the dead,
Speak the charm that binds like lead
Prick your finger, raise your head
And curse the star-crossed sky.

Raise the goblet, drink the wine
Be it Christ's or Satan's blood,
Demon spawn or Being Divine,
Drink! And bear the Devil's sign
Then thrice again to make up nine --
For it is understood

That those who serve the Prince of Power
Gain their power from his shrine,
Gather 'neath a leafy bower
Dance across the deadnight hour
Let the weak and timid cower
Tonight the world is thine!

-- Michael Pendragon

*****

Wisp

One ember remains,
waiting for a slight breeze
to re-ignite its journey, but it fails
as a single strand of smoke,
curls and disappears into the desert sky

I look up at the brightest star
knowing the light I see
has traveled on.

~Reverie
Posted with author's permission.

WHERE THE WILD FERN GROWS

Come away, come away, where wild fern grows
And the wind breathes a mournful sigh,
Come away to a world where nobody knows
If the sun or the moon rules the sky;
Follow me down a trail where the fireflies' glow
Is the only light there to be found,
Down a trail far away where the hours come and go
On tiptoe without making a sound.

Come away, come away, to a faraway land
Where the rain never dares to fall,
Come away where life's cares drift away like the sand
When the waves wash the shore; and the call
Of the old Piper Man is a whippoorwill's cry
That shall sing you to sleep evermore;
There, wrapped up in a sigh, through the ages you'll lie
As you fade from the pages of yore.

While the tears that you've shed for the sick and the dead
Shall be dry as the centuries of dust,
Piled high o'er your head, as you lie in your bed
Hewn of pinewood, while swaddled and trussed
From your head to your feet in a white winding sheet
That will shield your remains against time,
Where the present, the past, and future shall meet
In the peace of a heavenly clime…

Where the wild fern grows by a moss-covered stone
All alone in a wild woodland glen;
Where the sun never shines, and the Summer's unkown
While the names of forgotten men
Shall watch over their bones till the stones turn to sand
And the heavens are rolled as a scroll;
We shall stroll hand-in-hand to that faraway land
Where but one obolus buys our toll.

Then somewhere in the night where the ancient gods lie
Fast asleep in the silence of time,
Buried deep in the darkness where dreams go to die
You can let your eyes close, knowing I'm
There to lend you my arm as the ages roll on
And the universe draws to a close;
Side by side by, slumb'ring on as we wait for the dawn
In that glen where the wild fern grows.

-- Michael Pendragon

*****

On Wednesday, 11 October 2023 at 19:53:46 UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> WHERE THE WILD FERN GROWS
>
> Come away, come away, where wild fern grows
> And the wind breathes a mournful sigh,
> Come away to a world where nobody knows
> If the sun or the moon rules the sky;
> Follow me down a trail where the fireflies' glow
> Is the only light there to be found,
> Down a trail far away where the hours come and go
> On tiptoe without making a sound.
>
> Come away, come away, to a faraway land
> Where the rain never dares to fall,
> Come away where life's cares drift away like the sand
> When the waves wash the shore; and the call
> Of the old Piper Man is a whippoorwill's cry
> That shall sing you to sleep evermore;
> There, wrapped up in a sigh, through the ages you'll lie
> As you fade from the pages of yore.
>
> While the tears that you've shed for the sick and the dead
> Shall be dry as the centuries of dust,
> Piled high o'er your head, as you lie in your bed
> Hewn of pinewood, while swaddled and trussed
> From your head to your feet in a white winding sheet
> That will shield your remains against time,
> Where the present, the past, and future shall meet
> In the peace of a heavenly clime…
>
> Where the wild fern grows by a moss-covered stone
> All alone in a wild woodland glen;
> Where the sun never shines, and the Summer's unkown
> While the names of forgotten men
> Shall watch over their bones till the stones turn to sand
> And the heavens are rolled as a scroll;
> We shall stroll hand-in-hand to that faraway land
> Where but one obolus buys our toll.
>
> Then somewhere in the night where the ancient gods lie
> Fast asleep in the silence of time,
> Buried deep in the darkness where dreams go to die
> You can let your eyes close, knowing I'm
> There to lend you my arm as the ages roll on
> And the universe draws to a close;
> Side by side by, slumb'ring on as we wait for the dawn
> In that glen where the wild fern grows.
>
> -- Michael Pendragon
>
> *****

On Wednesday, October 11, 2023 at 8:36:45 PM UTC-4, ME wrote:
> On Wednesday, 11 October 2023 at 19:53:46 UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > WHERE THE WILD FERN GROWS
> >
> > Come away, come away, where wild fern grows
> > And the wind breathes a mournful sigh,
> > Come away to a world where nobody knows
> > If the sun or the moon rules the sky;
> > Follow me down a trail where the fireflies' glow
> > Is the only light there to be found,
> > Down a trail far away where the hours come and go
> > On tiptoe without making a sound.
> >
> > Come away, come away, to a faraway land
> > Where the rain never dares to fall,
> > Come away where life's cares drift away like the sand
> > When the waves wash the shore; and the call
> > Of the old Piper Man is a whippoorwill's cry
> > That shall sing you to sleep evermore;
> > There, wrapped up in a sigh, through the ages you'll lie
> > As you fade from the pages of yore.
> >
> > While the tears that you've shed for the sick and the dead
> > Shall be dry as the centuries of dust,
> > Piled high o'er your head, as you lie in your bed
> > Hewn of pinewood, while swaddled and trussed
> > From your head to your feet in a white winding sheet
> > That will shield your remains against time,
> > Where the present, the past, and future shall meet
> > In the peace of a heavenly clime…
> >
> > Where the wild fern grows by a moss-covered stone
> > All alone in a wild woodland glen;
> > Where the sun never shines, and the Summer's unkown
> > While the names of forgotten men
> > Shall watch over their bones till the stones turn to sand
> > And the heavens are rolled as a scroll;
> > We shall stroll hand-in-hand to that faraway land
> > Where but one obolus buys our toll.
> >
> > Then somewhere in the night where the ancient gods lie
> > Fast asleep in the silence of time,
> > Buried deep in the darkness where dreams go to die
> > You can let your eyes close, knowing I'm
> > There to lend you my arm as the ages roll on
> > And the universe draws to a close;
> > Side by side by, slumb'ring on as we wait for the dawn
> > In that glen where the wild fern grows.
> >
> > -- Michael Pendragon
> >
> > *****
>

Leave a Light On—I’m Coming Back
by NancyGene

I’ll move towards the light--do not be afraid.
I’m your man but transformed from where I was laid
In the ground but not dead, yet dead I would be
But I knew that your love would help sustain me
Through the hours and days and months in my tomb
While you lived on alone with our babe in your womb.

You wear a new dress with your hair left unbound?
You sing a sweet song and I’m drawn to the sound!
You’ll be happy I’m back to care for you two
Though the clay stained my clothes to a putrid brown hue
And the flesh on my bones hangs down by its cords
That were ripped and stripped on the grave sealing boards

Does your heart beat fast now that I have returned?
I look in your eyes but yours are downturned.
Where is my son, the one who inherits
My land and my goods--he has gone to where its
The unbaptized and bastard, the unholy born?
Why is it that you do not wail, cry and mourn?

What then happened to you, to me and our child?
You smile as you say that you were defiled
By me and then others and you wanted me gone?
And instead you desired that majestic swan
To come back, lay with you, forever to dwell in
His kingdom with eggs of his children and Helen.

I’ll go back to my grave if that’s what you desire
I love you but now know your ambition was higher
Than a farmer who scoffed at the Gods and their whims.
If it took a white Cob to loosen your limbs,
I’ll go back in the earth and this world I’ll renounce
For without you, my life is not worth a troy ounce.

TIMELINES

Nobody dies.
The universe exists
In an eternal state of "Here and now."
Each moment of our lives held in the mists
Of time and space -- adrift within the Tao
Forever moving, yet always in place,
Each one a frame from some great picture show
That countless centuries cannot erase
As round about the sprocket wheels we go
To throw our shadow faces on a cave.

Nobody dies.
Our timelines meet and part
Then meet again, as two films are replayed;
And for a little while, heart to heart
We walk together till the closing fade
When one of our twin tales has reached its end.
But even then the images remain
Fixed in their reel of film and so transcend
The tyranny of time as once again
Their tale's replayed from cradle to the grave.

Now as before, our tales shall interwine
As we relive each moment that we shared,
Through neverending years, your hand in mine
To face the hand of fate as lovers dared
Unfold their wings to soar across the skies.
Nobody dies.

-- Michael Pendragon

*****

The Long Hall

Stacked as if rush hour
stainless steel rubber lined wheels
line up -- the drivers,
with a permanent smile,
wear fresh washed bibs
catching drool and breakfast,
perhaps remembering
that slow snake ride up the freeway
while inching home to supper.

The long hall has no
traffic lights, no right turn only
demands, just the wait
until back to bed and beeping
machines with their steady drip
of saline and heartbeats.

~Reverie
Posted with author's permission.

SOMEWHERE IN TIME
Somewhere in time I know we'll meet again
Beyond the sun and moon, the starry sky,
I'll steal a gentle kiss beneath the rain
And touch your forehead at our last goodbye.
Somewhere beyond Earth's rim where night and day
Embrace in hues of purple, red and gold,
I'll raise your cheek and brush your tears away
As I once did, somewhere in days of old.

Somewhere a lake is echoing your name
As lovers race across the snow-white sand,
Somewhere we walk together, hand-in-hand
Each word, each glance, each footstep just the same

As we retrace two paths that intertwined
Combined as one then went their separate ways.
But somewhere lost in time, I know we'll find
Each other far behind forgotten days

To share the lovedreams that we shared before
Our lives, and love, renewing evermore.

-- Michael Pendragon

*****

On Thursday, October 19, 2023 at 11:12:49 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> SOMEWHERE IN TIME
>
> Somewhere in time I know we'll meet again
> Beyond the sun and moon, the starry sky,
> I'll steal a gentle kiss beneath the rain
> And touch your forehead at our last goodbye.
>
> Somewhere beyond Earth's rim where night and day
> Embrace in hues of purple, red and gold,
> I'll raise your cheek and brush your tears away
> As I once did, somewhere in days of old.
>
> Somewhere a lake is echoing your name
> As lovers race across the snow-white sand,
> Somewhere we walk together, hand-in-hand
> Each word, each glance, each footstep just the same
>
> As we retrace two paths that intertwined
> Combined as one then went their separate ways.
> But somewhere lost in time, I know we'll find
> Each other far behind forgotten days
>
> To share the lovedreams that we shared before
> Our lives, and love, renewing evermore.
>
> -- Michael Pendragon
>
> *****
>

On Wednesday, October 18, 2023 at 8:50:13 PM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> The Long Hall
>
> Stacked as if rush hour
> stainless steel rubber lined wheels
> line up -- the drivers,
> with a permanent smile,
> wear fresh washed bibs
> catching drool and breakfast,
> perhaps remembering
> that slow snake ride up the freeway
> while inching home to supper.
>
> The long hall has no
> traffic lights, no right turn only
> demands, just the wait
> until back to bed and beeping
> machines with their steady drip
> of saline and heartbeats.
> ~Reverie
> Posted with author's permission.

Revision (many thanks to Anon)

The Long Hall

Stacked as if rush hour
stainless steel rubber lined wheels
line up – the drivers,
with a permanent smile,
wear fresh washed bibs
catching drool and breakfast,
perhaps remembering
that slow snake ride up the freeway
while inching home to supper.

This long hall has no
traffic lights, no right turn only
demands, just the wait
until back to bed and beeping
machines with their steady drip
of saline and heartbeats.

~Reverie
Posted with author's permission.

A backstory note: The imagery when visiting a friend's mother in the hospital-- this long hall full of all those waiting for a room and it looked just like a traffic jam.

On Thursday, October 19, 2023 at 10:58:08 PM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> On Wednesday, October 18, 2023 at 8:50:13 PM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > The Long Hall
> >
> > Stacked as if rush hour
> > stainless steel rubber lined wheels
> > line up -- the drivers,
> > with a permanent smile,
> > wear fresh washed bibs
> > catching drool and breakfast,
> > perhaps remembering
> > that slow snake ride up the freeway
> > while inching home to supper.
> >
> > The long hall has no
> > traffic lights, no right turn only
> > demands, just the wait
> > until back to bed and beeping
> > machines with their steady drip
> > of saline and heartbeats.
> > ~Reverie
> > Posted with author's permission.
> Revision (many thanks to Anon)
>
> The Long Hall
>
> Stacked as if rush hour
> stainless steel rubber lined wheels
> line up – the drivers,
> with a permanent smile,
> wear fresh washed bibs
> catching drool and breakfast,
> perhaps remembering
> that slow snake ride up the freeway
> while inching home to supper.
>
> This long hall has no
> traffic lights, no right turn only
> demands, just the wait
> until back to bed and beeping
> machines with their steady drip
> of saline and heartbeats.
> ~Reverie
> Posted with author's permission.
> A backstory note: The imagery when visiting a friend's mother in the hospital-- this long hall full of all those waiting for a room and it looked just like a traffic jam.
>

On Friday, October 20, 2023 at 8:43:00 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> On Thursday, October 19, 2023 at 10:58:08 PM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > On Wednesday, October 18, 2023 at 8:50:13 PM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > > The Long Hall
> > >
> > > Stacked as if rush hour
> > > stainless steel rubber lined wheels
> > > line up -- the drivers,
> > > with a permanent smile,
> > > wear fresh washed bibs
> > > catching drool and breakfast,
> > > perhaps remembering
> > > that slow snake ride up the freeway
> > > while inching home to supper.
> > >
> > > The long hall has no
> > > traffic lights, no right turn only
> > > demands, just the wait
> > > until back to bed and beeping
> > > machines with their steady drip
> > > of saline and heartbeats.
> > > ~Reverie
> > > Posted with author's permission.
> > Revision (many thanks to Anon)
> >
> > The Long Hall
> >
> > Stacked as if rush hour
> > stainless steel rubber lined wheels
> > line up – the drivers,
> > with a permanent smile,
> > wear fresh washed bibs
> > catching drool and breakfast,
> > perhaps remembering
> > that slow snake ride up the freeway
> > while inching home to supper.
> >
> > This long hall has no
> > traffic lights, no right turn only
> > demands, just the wait
> > until back to bed and beeping
> > machines with their steady drip
> > of saline and heartbeats.
> > ~Reverie
> > Posted with author's permission.
> > A backstory note: The imagery when visiting a friend's mother in the hospital-- this long hall full of all those waiting for a room and it looked just like a traffic jam.
> >
>

^

^

IT'S AUTUMN

The seasons change, and Autumn's here again
My tired bones grow cold with morning frost,
I settle back and watch the dead leaves fall.

Bent down with age, like bundled sheaves of grain
I bow my head and ponder all I've lost
Since youth and time were at my beck and call.

The years slip by like golden Summer days
And time weighs down my back with fallen sand
Till I am certain that my spine should snap.

The skies are gray with early morning haze,
A ghostly shroud that hides the reaper's hand
As chill winds strike my cheek like age's slap.

It's Autumn, and the days are growing short,
I know my days are growing shorter still,
And Winter snow will soon be drifting down.

I pull my collar up, and down a snort
Of brandy, and pretend I've found the will
To face another day as leaves of brown

Gather like fallen hours outside my door
To let me know that Autumn's here once more.

-- Michael Pendragon

*****