Scimitar Draconid

(a poem in anticipation of Halloween)
—

The sun set, surrendered
to a sliver
crescent moon
glinting silver
through October sky.

Cut from the dragon’s head,
stars tumbled,
left brief ghost streaks
of their blood.

Far below,
breath boiled
over a man’s left ear
as he walked,
the visible trail
of half murmured thoughts.

He ducked inside,
peeked out the window,
cursed the semaphore
of exhalations
which led to his door.

All night he washed his hands,
wary of God’s raised blade,
nervous of the only one
who could safely kill,

no questions asked.

===
Posted for @dVersePoets Open Link Night

no hold left

fall
each day
through clouded rooms
not of fire or hashish
but dulled to memory
nothing as it once was
the furniture all wrong
the people gone
saying hello
as I pass
to the walls
which remain
blank white
yet dinged
by creeping time

float
each night
beyond pale stars
and the rising orange moon
to vast realms
of permanence

punctured
by one sharp streak
across the sky
fading
and gone

I tumble

====
For Open Link Night #111 at dVerse Poets Pub (was torn between this poem and the previous one for Open Link Night)

Love

What have we
in common
but the moon
rising and falling
over horizons?

Even our seasons
slide out of sync,
I summer in your chill
and we wish
on different stars

yet we make verses,
divided evenly
between us,
multiplied
in a mystery

creating our own
field of stars.

Dystopian

Cityscape

Steel girders, bare, arise a crosshatch grid
from wooded mounds.  By millions, birds nest safe
above sharp, forest-prowling fangs and eyes
that slink among still, shadowed limbs.  Deep night:
the hollow light of stars above.  No moon
is needed.  Hunter and hunted alike
see forms, smell countless others, hear each stir
from rest.  A cry and struggle.  Crunching bone.
Torn flesh consumed through warning growls.  Birds blink,
impassive, perched on I-beams, acres deep
and high and wide.  New gargoyles for a new
dark age, their dung piled deep beneath their roosts.

A Clever Poetic Form

Music Box
aa(a Jenny)

Bright coin moon slides into dark stand
of trees.  Limbs loose and sway.
From the horizon clouds rise,
hide each wheeling star
one by one.

Close lid covers all and none will dance.

——–

The Jenny is a poetic form invented by John Newmark.   Each line contains the number of syllables matching its corresponding digit in the phone number 867-5309 from the song “Jenny” by Tommy Tutone.

Here is his blog post explaining more about it:

TransylvanianDutch

Music Box

(a Jenny)

Bright coin moon slides into dark stand

of trees.  Limbs loose and sway.

From the horizon clouds rise,

hide each wheeling star

one by one.

Close lid covers all and none will dance.

Through the Night

Pushing Through
for A.R.

The sunset is beautiful.
I seem to have forgotten
there are such colors.

Bright pink sky
and gold edged clouds
darken to crimson and violet,
fade to dusk.

I sit
through the wheeling panoply
of stars,
the horned moon’s
thin light

until chill
gray light of dawn,
white fog
threading
among distant trees.