witchcraft

 

Sacred Spaces

 Sacred Spaces

The trail is full of rocks

and the brambles

tear both skin and shirt

No one has been here

in a while except

Goat, Bear and Pika

There is something spiritual

in this remoteness

among the wind shaped pine

A storm growls

in the distance

and lightning sprites dance

The wind grows colder

and the mountain seems to groan

it is time to go down.

Monkeys with Typewriters

 We poets are all Monkey’s with Typewriters

In cages of flesh,

with fire of thought,

We tap at keys,

by instinct or whim.

A game of chance and rhyme,

An epiphany scrawled,

or gibberish hurled?

A Shakespeare sonnet ,

or monkeys' world?

Each word falls,

a puzzle laid,

‘A world created,

at our fingertips beat.

Poets write

because they have to.

Happy for bananas,

or praise

though money wouldn’t hurt.

The Break up

 The Breakup

I thought Winter  had left me, 

with her cold-hearted ways,

cutting me to the bone.

I was happy to see her go.

now the snow is falling

and the windows are rattling.

Looks like the bitch is back.

                                       ch2024