Get Your Premium Membership

Burnt Offerings

Burnt toast horizons singe the autumn sky. Cinnamon swirls smoke the golden hour, awaiting the drizzled frosting of ashen night. Pluck the taunt string of barren branch. Whip the laggard moonlight white. Bring forth the banshee’s breath. Scorch the sockets of pumpkin impaled in fallow fields. “Gather, Oh come! Ye ghosts beneath the apple tree."

Copyright © | Year Posted 2010




Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Date: 11/10/2010 6:22:00 AM
Yes, a new metaphysics fallows here, and this is the role of the poet to create. Good write
Login to Reply
Date: 10/31/2010 11:27:00 PM
I loved reading from you. Thank you for commenting on my poem. HJ
Login to Reply
Date: 10/29/2010 11:08:00 AM
hi!!...i read many of ur limericks..ur style of writing..the themes..and so much said in a few lines--i loved it all...u've got a new fan:)
Login to Reply
Date: 10/26/2010 5:54:00 PM
Soup Mail !!!!! You are a star!!!
Login to Reply
Date: 10/26/2010 4:10:00 PM
Soup Mail!!!!!!!
Login to Reply
Date: 10/26/2010 10:22:00 AM
ooooh, I love it
Login to Reply

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry