Glowing by the moonlight pallor
Are the circles of coyote eyes
Hovering above ground - pair by pair -
Wandering like restless sprights
Seeking for one who's lost their way.
Their banter touches my heartbeat;
My stunted breath rolls out - and I -
I'm glad for their roving company
Near my small chasm where I hide -
But not lost - just gone astray.
Categories:
pallor, animal, loneliness, moon,
Form: Rhyme
Trust is an oak tree with shallow roots.
so very treacherous in windy weather.
I feel as though I'm glued to the floor;
pinned like a moth to an insect display.
I wish to leave this horrible evil place,
run far away into the cold, dark night.
In the flickering shadows of mankind
sympathetic words are a honeycomb,
sweet to the soul; healing to the heart.
Dreams rise and fall like lunar tides;
engrossing thoughts flood the brain;
as blood through old varicose veins.
Flotsam strewn about dying fields as
jetsam falls from darker, foggy skies.
Face rises to the sun, a sallow pallor.
Vultures perched, perversely hawing;
a flag is folded in presentation style;
roses tossed onto a shiny new casket.
The eve of one's quietus has arrived.
Categories:
pallor, age, dark, death, funeral,
Form: Imagism
And
David J Walker
And
Who willfully enters this
beautiful land
Of misunderstandings
Its pallor a depth increased
Beyond the azure sky
the dawn a deceptive gathering
of propagated meanings
A tapestry in patois proverbial greetings
The façade in umbrage of
The Hierophants sagacious pleadings
He will leave a different man
But not alive
Categories:
pallor, allegory,
Form: Rhyme
The Season of Grieving Color
David J Walker
The day dawns in golden streams
Of pinks and grays
And the frays of things
In moist and curious blues
What color of the pallor
Could be piled upon
the pallet to bring
In the days news
Seasons are soon changing
Rearranging the specter
Of views we’ve become
Used to
There is little heat in yellows & greens
Scenes of desires in
Cool violet fires
That preens in convex mirrors
Categories:
pallor, color,
Form: Rhyme
The Dry Ice of November
David J Walker
There was
once a time
dead leaves devoid of pallor
Were raked into a
a mound of pyre
Great heaps dissolved
In a funeral fire
Releasing the last of
What they were
Into the Autumn air
The scent of
dry November
from a distance
announced everywhere
Then
The cold
Seemed that much
Colder
And the November sun
Much less bolder
Returning so much later
In the morning East
Dissolving sooner in the
Evening West
The dry ice of November
A precursor
To the winter
Categories:
pallor, winter,
Form: Rhyme
My nightmare filled with streaks of saintly garb
rousing the flares of benevolence
and the strokes of compassionate ink
scribbled on to the snow-hued papyrus.
The fields of golden grains unmasked
the unpolluted ecstacy of childlike desires
Simple.
Innocent.
Pure.
Softly swaying as the hammock in the dew air
gently rupturing the laddery pride.
It waves its resilient trunk
then stoops to the god of snow.
And the windows to the soul will tire peeking
and paint instead ashen hopes
Languid.
Reminiscent of pallid hermit
caressing colorless sands,
tranquilly hummed by the songs of a lone shell
under the unambiguous sky.
Compose your poems
now with the sallow ink
on a dustless, ethereal white sheet.
Categories:
pallor, mystery, peace,
Form: Verse