Details |
Stephen Pray Poem
The long gray cobwebs at the end of autumn,
Bare bleak branches with empty nests.
Small fast squirrels gathering the last of treasures,
The distant sound of a neighbor putting up storm windows.
Crisp brown leaves so tough they are felt though your shoes.
They whisper of winter snow soon to come.
Last flock of geese gossiping on the still pond,
Finally leaving at the arrival of a nosy fox.
Red dried roses hung as decorations on the back fence,
Your kettle whistles calling you in for your tea.
Copyright © Stephen Pray | Year Posted 2006
|
Details |
Stephen Pray Poem
A rose lies dying,
petals fall one by one;
scatter, wind blown and random.
upon fresh turned earth.
Bitter silence,
cold,
indifferent,
wraps around my shoulders.
A quiet companion
I hold close.
Friends with strange faces,
smile sadly with inadequate words.
Doled out clichés fall
upon ears that hear only
your forgotten voice.
Memories of years revisited
dusted off and polished;
lost days irreplaceable.
Life with out you carries on.
Copyright © Stephen Pray | Year Posted 2006
|
Details |
Stephen Pray Poem
Through the glass thin pane of the window,
I knew the refrain of your voice.
I rejoice in the choices I have made,
Walk down the drive, on past your home.
Through the thought of glass so thin
Come in, come in, but I refrained.
I stand in joy outside the glass
Wandering off as your voice sings out.
Wandering is now for me a way,
No more glass, staring at pleasures
I could not have nor enjoy.
The smell of your fire follows after.
Copyright © Stephen Pray | Year Posted 2006
|
Details |
Stephen Pray Poem
Beware her eyes, for the risk of drowning is great.
What her friendship was worth, beyond the concept
Of my knowing and the limits of my ability to comprehend.
Beware the ides of her eyes, daunting, haunting, and amber,
Her lies, her lies, her sweet little lies, no surprise is there?
Dream angel, dream lover, await the night with me.
Beware the fire inside, it burns with a passions blue flame,
White-hot searing smell of burnt flesh hung out to rot,
How hot her fires, her eyes, her lies now understood, rise.
From her ashes, slashes and returns the quick cut deeds
Underscored and scorned her lover passes on and sighs
With the cries of vultures circling overhead, laughing.
Copyright © Stephen Pray | Year Posted 2006
|