Goodbye Haiku

Goodbye Haiku

Your face in the window.
winter makes its beastly trek.
A chill in the air.

Another Freewrite Poem

The darkness so easy to fall into
opens its mouth and light comes out
a drowning occurs,
bathing my lungs in fecund light
I die and die and die again
trying to rise out of darkness
into a new blasting light.
mute shadows silence the faltering light,
a sunset moment, a dusky death.
Leave me here, mouth open, heart beating,
dreaming of grey, dreaming of milky moons
cocooning around stars. 
The universe does not exist.

Why Not?

I have decided to post here once in a while just for the fun and love of poetry! The poems will be ones I wrote long ago or just spontaneous outpourings.  Hope you enjoy!  If they inspire you, let me know by leaving a comment or link to your poem.

Living, loving, life
longing, lonely, lifting,
weighing world ways,
winging, whistling, wasting,
away, always, awake.

Haiku: Fraught

The latest prompt from haiku bones is fraught.  Here is my haiku:

The world fraught with snow

makes its way slowly towards Spring.

Sun is no small thing.

Six Word Saturday

For this Saturday, I am borrowing my six words from the Beatles:

"Here comes the sun....it's alright!"

Get your Poem On: Rainy Day Existentialist

Rainy Day Existentialist

Although I can tell a hand
(or a hawk) from a handsaw, I still panic
about insanity muttered
like a whisper, or soft patter,
like murmurs, falling into soft decay.
Inside the footlocker of the heart is red

with the lubricious lie of love.  Red
painted nails on a well manicured hand
reaches out from skin with a slow decay
frosted over it's surface in veins.  Don't panic,
it is only age, making its soft patter
over our bodies.  The rain muttered

its sadness against the window.  The glass muttered
its fragility like an eggshell.  The sky turns red
as the clouds seem to release a patter
of droplets I try to catch in my hand.
When the day opens up, I panic
at the fear of its decay.

Yet it is all fiction, this day, this second, already decaying
and the universe could be no more than a muttered
phrase, a mantra to save us, to stop panic.
I close my eyes, see the red
against the lids, close my hands
and let the gentle patter

envelope me, this rain, this sweet patter
of rhythms as old as time, decayed
and starving like a lubricious lover, with hands
that reach for everything.  The answer is muttered
into the void and all turns red
as I try to calm this panic.

The rain comes harder, a frenzied panic
of water overflowing the calm patter,
like a soft gentle pink turned to crimson red.
The Earth becomes decayed
with mud.  The dirt mutters
its pain under the deluge, like hammering hands.

As the sky lets down its crown with liquid hands,
I let the panic settle into a soft patter, a muttered beat. 
My decayed heart marries the earth, a frog in my chest,
a red moon descended.

Retro-Wednesday: Sharing Personal Classics

Written as a teenager:

Night's Gown

Midnight oceans waver
the moon shining silver ribbons
across black satin waters.

The wind's steady beat
harmonizes with my breathing
as breezes play with my hair.

Shady velvets fill the sky,
stars glitter like diamond buttons
reflecting lacy streamers on ruffled waves.

In a silent fantasy,
I dream
of donning night's gown
and dancing across heaven's floor.