More than hushed up refuges
A pooled water, stilly
Old, lickened benched as treed round.
Your inner depths can sound!
If not the samctums of monks
Breathe slow, too, with eyes shut
And alike, dim-lit, concealed
As holy; for what's healed.
In the hollows of the night
I lie and face the stars, the things behind the veil
In dreams, I turn from things afar; I feel my soul quake
In the hallows of my night, there in a bar
The shadows man watches, the night pools
In hallows of my heart, I lie and face the stars
The universes mass, something’s floating
Event horizon fading, I’m lying in the automated
Autumn’s breeze, things beyond
A nightmares gallop, skeletal things ride upon
In the hollows of the night, there is a bar
Shadows walk in the neon rain
In the shallows of my soul
I feel my soul break
Creation amasses along horizons, seems
In the autumn breeze
Automatic and serene!
Down in Hillbilly Hollow, under the silver moon,
Rustlin' leaves and hootin' owls, playin' a country tune.
Haystacks high, and the creek runs low,
Life rolls by, nice and slow.
Dirt road windin', bend to bend,
Kin and friends 'round every end.
Old guitars strummin', hear the sound,
Laughter echoes, love abounds.
Barefoot dances, by the old barn door,
Stories told, of legends yore.
In Hillbilly Hollow, hearts are full,
Under starlit nights, life's beautiful.
Angry eyes lurk in the forest
Deep within the Deathly Hollows
With unsuspected fervency
And malevolence it closely follows
An apparition from the grave
A vision from nightmarish dreams
With nimble hands that quickly throttles
And icy fingers that stifles screams
None who enters survives this realm
So menacing and devoid of light
In the Deathly Hollows murky mist
Still is the air and cold is the night
Night filters sight and sound
into separate caves of awareness,
Owls and nightjar's duet
in different tunnels of time.
For generations
the forest has gathered here,
it has its own language,
one rooted through layers
of nocturnal sentience.
In the harkening cabin
sounds interface,
lull mind and ears,
into imaginary auditoriums.
Subliminal arboreal words
read me to sleep -
thoughts rustle like
whispering leaves.
A desolate shore reaches,
its gritty scree taunts
a green and tumbling sea.
Breakers slap an
umpteenth juncture.
Kelp sea pods dilate,
foam swirls in the shingle,
barren wombs drink.
Krill churns out
of a sandy dross.
Waves carry their children away.
DANCING WATER HOLLOWS
The canal water endlessly moving from passing boats
Creates not waves but dancing hollows between,
Moving like countless competitors in a dance hall
Swirling around in kaleidoscopic color.
Hollows waltzing in time to their internal rhythms
In a constant irregular flux of shapes and positions,
What geometric science calls hyperbolic paraboloids
In countless watery reflections. Dancing figures of eight.
Each with the same rainbow of colors on its edges,
Red and yellow and always with green on the outside,
Lliving reflected imitations of the church colors above.
Yet each is different. Liquidly mobile with endless variety.
God’s informal dance has no rules, just beauty :
Colorful shapes taken momentarily
By wave-hollows. Giant living amoebas with green edges,
And seen with His heavenly microscope.
17 April 2021
…………………………………………………………………..
NOTE
Next time you are looking into a river or lake with reflections between the waves, look carefully at the reflections and see how they are arranged by nature into beautiful patterns.
Gravestones in the park
Scary place when its dark
Empty plots marked by string
Morbid figures trying to sing
Pretty flowers dead or trying
Grace the path on which their lying
Scripted rocks with glowing paints
Must not be read if hearts are faint
withered corpses dance around
acting like their little clowns
comical yet scary too
watching the dead say goodbye to you
creepy vermin upon the plot
waiting for the next corpse to drop
swirls of fog blocking view
keeps you wondering what corpses do
so entranced by the game they play
leaves you lost, yet afraid to say
digging shovels stand erect
positioned so as to protect
mounds of dirt piled 6ft high
to bury the corpses when they die
because wild wolves like tasty bones
and drag corpse souls far from home
so as we know and always will
unburied bones are never still
Halloween Challenge Poetry Contest
Emile Pinet
11/02/2020
Sitting in the parking lot
in my truck just wondering
wondering what this day I’ll see
my coworkers and what they’ll be
many today do costumes wear
reflecting what they may not be
hidden desires running free
given liberty on this day
a police woman do I see
as skin tight uniform of bright blue
with the skirt so very short
bright brass buttons call to me
around the corner in the breakroom
wonder woman do I see
with assets so exposed
heart attacks in older men
Minnie mouse does scurry by
big black ears and tail so thin
rushing by down the hall
very quickly lost from sight
a vampire too soon appear
Cape of black but bright red hair
flowing sleeves with fancy cuffs
going to the microwaves
skeleton of glowing green
bones that rattle so fiercely
sitting down food to eat
and I wonder what I will see
candy flows everywhere
chocolate coated everything
endless calories without need
with fond abandoned are consumed
as I sit with pen and write
my Muse is flittering somewhere nearby
ideas thrown upon the breeze
and I wonder what to write
Woe the few brave
That fear cowered behind
Waiting to deprave
Till shots rung
Viewed as the addled
We are engulfed
We are only
The silhouette of our substance
We have been formed crudely
By the circumscribe of tyrants
But we will not be deterred
The restrictors will not dilute the glory
Of those few brave who rebuked
our transgressors
We are caged
Like animals we stalk
But we are not the egregious they seek
All they are the ones unperturbed
By their forfeited ethical standing
Soldiers that never atoned
For their precarious standing
In the voluptuous kingdom come
Yet we are indefatigable
Yet we will not forget
October 9th,2019
"Give Me Your Best New Poem" sponsored by Emile Pinet
grand towering limbs
reach to meet
branches a flourishing keep
twigs to trunks create
a stretch to breathe
crooked seedlings bow in need
live to die, and sow to reap
sewn together a needle to seam
hand to cheek
a means plunges deep
moves a steady pulse to bleed
seeping shallows underneath
beating tree to tree
a hollow quant and sweet
free will drives the darkness
a gesture to greet
the animal unseen
shadows join in to deceive
the passerby and inbetweens
a hunter to a prey
the profile of trees
dazed in the headlight beams
outline reality as a thief
stealing moments
yet to be
the forgotten trinkets
hang from trees
a keepsake for a figurine
trapped beads concede
to a broken string
fall along the wayside
finding hope is still free
playing content in the wind
chasing tossed debris
gathering leaves
one by on they fall weak
remnant colors in deceit
raise to a scatter
a boundless retreat
content to repeat
the redeeming sweep
Terry D’Arcy-Ryan
When the morning sun glows pale
and shadow rays slink along the trails
the autumn leaves turn brown
and one by one fall dry upon the ground;
there is found the well worn paths
scurry summer creatures quick and fast
readying a winter's nest or burrow
to rest and sleep safe through tomorrow.
Winters cold and chill
fall prey to slumber's pill
here warm, hot summers fade away
and fruit and flowers can no longer stay.
Bee and butterfly have disappeared
and deep blue skies are no longer clear;
It is hard to see the pale yellowed sun
as both spring and summer are undone
with all that remains are cold temps sustained
by cloudy grays as winter gains.
Few lay claim to these now barren lands
with dried grass and naked trees that stand,
there in the pale glows of light
only cricket songs soften in the oncoming night.
A full bright harvest moon
glow brilliant as midnight looms
and a walk in the casting shadows
now comes the last dance in the hallows.
She sees beings resembling her,
in the form of flesh, bones, and blood,
as they criss-cross along the streets,
their talks and laughter echoing inside them,
for they don't have feelings occupying
their hearts.
She's afraid of touching their hearts,
for they might break or shatter,
because they are not familiar to the energetic
impact of emotions.
"Handle With Care" is written on their faces,
every time a song or story reminds them
how hollow they are in the inside.....
I want to go where hollows go
and sink into the earth;
where love retreats to be enfolded
with itself, forever home.
I listen for the stillness,
climb the crags of discontent,
direct my body and my heart
above the wars of make-believe
and to the real ascendant joy
of everlasting peace.
It is our destiny, you know.
Its power is unassailable,
our refuge ever there. It is
my sanity, my god-source,
raison d'etre of the being
I elect. And when I wish you peace,
the gods will smile, for they,
too brood and writhe within--
the process of the ages
unbeginning and
without an end.
"There is no way to peace," *he said;
"Peace is the way."
~
*A.J. Muste
(Muste is the founder of our most historic peace organization)
In the depths of the hollows
The prominent eye watches
It sees what goes on around
Knows the hearts of man
Russell Sivey
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