Autumn Blues

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My blood thinned by foghorns.

Chilled rain instead of cold beer

on the puddled patio.

Night reflections shimmering

on downtown streets

enter me with a shivering,

stuttering neon.

 

My skin, stretched by winds of change,

tightens into geometries

of angled cold and weak light.

My eyes struggle against sleep.

The season moves

with the languorous throb and angst

of autumn blues.

 

Are these the fallen glories

of the winded wings of trees?

or the ragged motley

of a jester at a wake?

I jump in leaves

and bury myself in their smell

as we enter dark.

 

 

painting and poem by Clinock (edited redux – 2014)

October 2013 – Ghosts Pass By

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Ghosts pass by.

Abandoning armchairs,

stubbing out cigars,

quaffing the final drop

of vintage port

they float away,

down the back stairs,

checking their auras

in the cracked mirror

as they go.

 

Ghosts pass by.

Evicted from rooms

of haunted sleep,

they pass on, like wind,

like a Fellini parade,

a dust blown cavalcade

of ragged motley

seeking another home,

another creaking attic,

another empty shell.

 

Ghosts pass by.

Swathed in scars and chains,

autumn leaves and broken hearts

they pass the open window

of my glorious night.

Weeping phantoms,

restless souls and spirits,

their gaze is losing me

and I watch their sad ambling

with eyes of dawn.

 

Ghosts pass by

in feather boas, painted rags,

stained armor and cloaks of stars;

a susurration of shadows

shimmering with enchantment;

tears and whispers in the night.

Ghosts pass by, darkly inviting

but I turn and touch the sun,

and am exorcised again

in pulsing light.

~~~

 

Acrylic painting and poem by Clinock

Edited redux from October 2013