Writing Challenge # 38
 

We're entering into a brand new month .. and here's yet another challenge - Good Luck!

Bramey's dead, they said,
Speeding down some high street place
trying to make a connection
With the finer side of life
Found a heavy tree instead.
The guy who was driving
Still lives round my way
The tree that they planted
Next to the post office
With his name on a board
Vame down in the autumn gales
Was replanted
Big deal, what difference
Can it make to the dead
Anyway.

Burn the orange lines of this wooden hand
Cold roots drinking in long dead leaves
A bitter wind bites the tips of old Oaken boughs
And songs of winter sing to the trees
Autumn leaves and with it suns heat
Allowing the crystal splendor of patterned frost
Twisted nude the trees become
Standing strong above the colors lost

Everywhere, things are changing.
Technology changes the way we work, talk, and bank.
Planes change the way we travel.
Investing changes the way we save for our retirement.

But what of the homeless, the disenfranchised?
Personal wealth is not part of their vocabulary.
Travel is not their priority.

Living behind a door is a luxury to them.
As is feeding a family.

Spare some "change?"


Peace,

Pierre

A pair of jeans I faded well
Colored earrings that caught my hair
A laugh that echoed as a bell
You were my devil, I was your care

Hard winds would stir your weary face
You blew them back into my eyes
Just take the first train from this place
I've grown too bold, I'll realize

Her hair an oil spill in the sun
I brushed it down and called it mine
Her mouth the barrel of a gun
I stared it down and read the line

She found her place within the sky
Her glow will find me if I stare
But I can't see where spirits lie
I found my devil, and I don't care

We woke in the morning to air
that felt different
colder, more solid and silent
as if padded with something soft,
muffled and blanketed and
charged with expectation
and what felt like a promise.

The bedroom walls bloomed wildly
with dusky pink and yellow roses
that bathed us in a shower
of light and blossoms,
the thin morning sun illuminating
each petal from within.

White light poured in the window
through the panel of lace
that was stuck to the pane-
its movement hampered by the
motionless air and a thin layer of frost
which had penetrated the glass
and clung smooth, slick and
shimmering, like a new skin.

I looked out onto ice-covered fields
Framed by bare and black branches
My liquid amber tree, whose red and gold
Star-shaped leaves had colored my
Dreams as I napped under blue skies
Now stood sad and denuded
Stripped of its solace.

In the yard, Larkin
walked over the fence-
Four feet of pickets buried
in snow -all boundaries deleted
leaving behind only a vast and white
and newly uncharted landscape,
blank but for his paw prints.

Our first Maine winter - your first real snow
And we watched as our dog
walked out of the yard
on a piece of earth whose surface
had risen four feet overnight
We watched from an ice-covered window
in a room filled with roses.

here it goes!

i love the way the season change!
the leaf fall down, it is not strange!
the snow is cold on my freeze face!
the snow all melt and grass all over a place!
now the sun shine and burn my skin!
the leaf fall down, we are back again!
the season turn and so do i
you need not wonder why!
there is no time left for you!
it is change!

around the edges cobwebs gather
hidden history this space became
each item retired when replaced
the textured silkyness of maple
lost the battle to particle board

way you look at me changed

thought it was at least interest before today
seemed that way to me

was hoping it was love
was hoping it would last

today it was you dealing with
a person that happened to come up to you
that you're trying to get rid of

for reasons unknown