These walls are made of sedimentary stone,
it's a desolate house with glaring glass windows;
they emanate the reflection of distorted images,
gulls twirl around it, their shrills have a dark tone.
How quickly I have aged by noticing these deep lines
across this face that was as smooth as a child's skin;
doesn't time ravage everything, leaving a bitter grin?
Whoever envisions only joy is startled by surprises.
Do we restrain ourselves or live in utter madness
to reject the dreadful thought of each abstinence?
Does pleasure alleviate fears in hopeless moments?
Wouldn't it be a refuge from denial to seek resistance?
This rapid existence has a deadline for glory or demise,
being alive is virtuous thankfulness to implement reason
and choose the easiest temptation or the hardest choice;
the decision rests on either: become a saint or a demon.
At times upon the grassy hill
a brisk breeze will blow teasing my hair
And within that breeze I will hear
questions asked of me as I lie still
Do you have secrets you long to tell?
Perhaps, but I never do and never will.
In darkness of a lonely night as I walk on dusty trail
the silver moon shines it's light guides me by it's will
A night wind blows strong asking me with a chill
Do you have regrets to share? whisper I won't tell
Perhaps, perhaps but I never do and never shall.
Winter night and the cold is harsh freezing at it's will
Alone in bed covers up to my head as screaming wind shrills
A voice commands loud and clear bellowing for me to tell
Fears, fears do you have fears your quiet heart needs to spill?
Perhaps, perhaps I do. But I never do reveal.
They dive and circle as if in hypnotic state,
Tiny wrens, and ravens, and coal black crows.
When trucks dumps their loads, the flurry of fowl contemplate
Savory morsels or just household throws.
The noise of large tractors, and of sharp shrills and caws,
Of wild wings flapping over a landfill,
The thrown scraps from a table bring the birds to a pause,
Then landing en mass for a full belly fill.
It's exciting to watch them, yet worries my mind.
Some of the garbage is not fit to eat.
To the forests and meadows, there are rich foods to find,
While hanging bird feeders are quite a treat.
This uncompromising Sunday
has agreed to let us enjoy
what is left of a boring day
as we ardently seek the brief presence
of a radiant sunset resembling red clay,
attesting the inevitable evidence.
The purple lilacs and pink tulips gently sway,
nobody listens to the crickets' soothing sounds;
early at sunrise they were inundated by big waves
and torrents of unmerciful rain pelting on the bay.
Every Bayberry and Crape Myrtle shrub has fragrant flowers,
they attract Sandpipers, Snowy Plovers and Monarch Butterflies;
they all feast on them, then they take off with incredible swiftness:
while the tranquil and brilliant sea resounds with various shrills.
I spot from far the noisy seagulls landing on the Church's steeple,
scattering the Gray Catbirds huddled on long cable wires that were
listening to the choir of faithful marching out with glowing smiles,
cherishing their last moment of glory under brilliant September's skies.
This uncompromising Sunday
has agreed to let us enjoy
what is left of a boring day
as we ardently seek the brief presence
of a radiant sunset resembling red clay,
attesting the inevitable evidence.
The purple lilacs and pink tulips gently sway,
nobody listens to the crickets' soothing sounds;
early at sunrise they were inundated by big waves
and torrents of unmerciful rain pelting on the bay.
Every Bayberry and Crape Myrtle shrub has fragrant flowers,
they attract Sandpipers, Snowy Plovers and Monarch Butterflies;
they all feast on them, then they take off with incredible swiftness:
while the tranquil and brilliant sea resounds with various shrills.
I spot from far the noisy seagulls landing on the Church's steeple,
scattering the Gray Catbirds huddled on long cable wires that were
listening to the choir of faithful marching out with glowing smiles,
cherishing their last moment of glory under brilliant September's skies.
With mild mannerism
I catered to the
emptiness while my
mind wandered effortlessly
through memoric findings
finishing my thoughts
whispering from beyond
calling out to me braising
white noise voices withered
screeching squeals shrills
witnessing hell beneath
Dante inferno balanced
mingling with drifting wails
gather beneath oak branches
blood soaked feathers
tangled threads watered down
beads of swollen sunken
eyelids releasing tears as
the mist of thee unrest
souls rises into the awaiting
skies within closed eyes
holding on to my own
remarkable faith
night sounds awaken
as eerily shrills echo~
ominous mantra
plumed wings cast shadows
reflecting in the moonlight~
twilight prey tango
birds hidden in nests
quietly guarding fledglings ~
nocturnal mission
a night heron squawks
while motionless in the marsh~
still fishing pursuit
And all these voices
They sing along in my head
I hear their shrills
And I hear their screams
They cry out for help
They ask like beggars
But they've come to the wrong place
For there is no triumph to be found in here
There is only a pile of cries
And a pile of lies
And a pile of hopeless loves
Waiting to be spared
Suspended high up the tower,
I hang out of sight.
My shiny golden brass core is hollow,
but I have a big mouth with a bell as a tongue.
Sometimes pigeons visit, resting on my arch,
but fly away leaving their droppings behind.
Don't pity me for my loneliness and silence,
as this serenity never lasts.
When the cloaked man arrives and pulls at my rope
he breaks the peace with deafening sounds.
Each tug hammers against my cup shaped sides,
belching vibrating echoes across the lands.
In an enchanting melody that brings joy to most,
but distress to some -
who only hear me as shrills and shrieks.
I love my ding dongs,
be it to tell the time,
or for funerals, weddings or as a call to prayer -
I'm content in ringing all day long!
dawn lays its head sleeping as moonlight prevails over copper glory
autumn arrives - sapphire clouds eyes mist as water puddles flood their feet
storms shrills echo walls gliding leaves crispy amber pain upon grey mind
the ballerina breeze dancing with golden moths in fierce pirouette
weary birds survey violet air wrath - blowing bare innocent trees
bronze weeds wave gleefully from verdant fields - rich flowers slump olive soil
Upon the sand that adorns the shores,
Sit the children who watch their kites soar,
The sounds of glee loud as the sea,
The shrills of pelicans as they flee
Amidst the blazing sun,
Sitting through the summer thunderstorms has begun,
The signs of the sky, before the clouds cry.
The sight of the rain is cherished by the eye.
My back brushes against the tall grass,
The swaying marigolds brought a twinkle on my face at a glance,
I felt the warmth on my skin,
The heat was a warm hug from within.
The hikes of summer are long and weary,
The ethereal landscape makes me teary.
Biting into a juicy watermelon is as delightful as being in a warm bed when it's pouring rain.
The memories of summer will always remain.
As I float across the ocean,
I can taste the salt on my lips, it is like a potion.
Running through the shallow water, I feel pulled back to the tide,
It is as if the ocean is inviting me for a ride
A day spent beneath the sun is truly beautiful,
Laying next to the sounds of splashes and laughter is irrefutable.
I hoped summer would everlast,
For it is summer at last
Spirits Of The Night
A witch has cast an evil spell,
and opened up the gates of hell.
Pouring out upon the ground
the ghosts of hell are spirit bound.
Among the stones row on row
they rise this night, stand and grow.
Incessant shrills that fill the sky,
in the dark we hear their cry.
Souls so cold and full of fright
spirit wraiths that fly by night.
All, whom dare to wander there,
knows that evil lives out there.
Monsters, Zombies, Ghosts and Ghouls
playing by their own rules.
Hideous creatures of the night
call to the heavens spreading fright.
In the streets, they run and play
Trick or Treat is what they say.
By
Josehf Lloyd Murchison
it begins at dawn a tweet tweet then a beep beep~ a crow caws loudly
tiny little chirps
twitters silly shrills whistles ~
hel looo hel looo trill
and then, begins the circled flight in the sky
swooping as one, turning, diving- little birds fly
then, a pair of gliding birds gracefully dip and soar
oh, such divine and sublime sounds from tiny birds pour
You season the days with your eyes
rolling the hours, a cracked egg
feeding the sunset with its yolk
the embryo of all the happiness
that could be drawn on a shared map
I’m so in love that it’s love that holds its breath
when you’re in deep sleep and need to wee
that I try to shut my feelings
but the mic is muted, so i blink my eyes
in pointless meetings
and your chest gets itchy and pulses
we ride the symphony of shrills so lavishly
we are volcanoes of prayers
lost and found definitions
And signifying nothing, upon life’s stage
meaningless, endless, a cruel war he waged
Fretting and strutting, as the curtains narrowed
Out, out, foul vegan, who doth hate man’s marrow
Comes back for encore, to be mocked, and broken
Having found mere hate, vaunting the unspoken
A shadowless ghoul behind faint shrills of woe
Sans a candle, roams hell’s abattoirs below
A dedication of respect on the
nihilistic tragedy of Macbeth
# # #
Bastardised here indeed
but more so each day by
a bard who flunked all meaning in life
# # #
Yet has somehow found faith
in putrid flesh eating flowers
# #
No doubt whilst searching for a niche
on the last syllable of soybean @urd
By
David Kavanagh
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