Chilling of the Wind
The harsh cold breeze of autumn penetrates down to the depth of my bones.
I often shudder at the haunting notes birthed within the winds’ howling tones.
The chimes ring, and the trees sway as all the leaves are cast and blown astray.
Presently, the firewood is split, and my furnace lit while the flue is smoking away.
Thanksgiving
Whose food is on the kitchen table, does anyone here know?
Our cupboards so bare, not even the flour to make a little dough.
Who would do such a thing to share their morsel of bread?
To leave a fish upon our platter and the dressing by its head.
Eat up now; the daylight is fading, and darkness is setting in.
Enjoy the feast before us, and wipe the drool from your chin.
Autumn Rush
Can you feel the chill in the air?
The wind is blowing here and there.
All the leaves have flown astray.
Burrowing rodents beneath the decay.
A time to gather in all the wood;
To rid the forest of what once stood.
Uncharted Time
Like any wise soul, wisdom often comes with age;
Tied from life to death as if chained inside a cage.
Like an hour-glass, these moments cannot last;
One by one, the days fall victim to the past.
Decades hold and hide memories without notion,
To push forward, as lives being lived out in motion.
Months to years is the clock’s never-ending sum.
Oh, what have all our seconds and minutes become?
A Storm is Brewing
The waves are crashing onward, their high walls forever fold.
The storm clouds are rumbling; the thunder is roaring bold.
The water above, water below, waters everywhere I try to row.
Lightning flash, electric glow, waking the colors of the pastel bow.
The tornado is coming; the south winds are hammering forth.
The weather is terrible, I know, but my compass is pointing north.
The Sacred Brew
On Albany Mountain where all Albanist Tea grows.
We monks mix a brew daily for all passing amigos.
Our mixtures are famous with fruit fusions galore.
So stop by our temple for a time-honored pour.
We offer all passing visitors a fresh blend of sweet teas.
The harsh cold breeze of autumn penetrates down to the depth of my bones.
I often shudder at the haunting notes birthed within the winds’ howling tones.
The chimes ring, and the trees sway as all the leaves are cast and blown astray.
Presently, the firewood is split, and my furnace lit while the flue is smoking away.
Thanksgiving
Whose food is on the kitchen table, does anyone here know?
Our cupboards so bare, not even the flour to make a little dough.
Who would do such a thing to share their morsel of bread?
To leave a fish upon our platter and the dressing by its head.
Eat up now; the daylight is fading, and darkness is setting in.
Enjoy the feast before us, and wipe the drool from your chin.
Autumn Rush
Can you feel the chill in the air?
The wind is blowing here and there.
All the leaves have flown astray.
Burrowing rodents beneath the decay.
A time to gather in all the wood;
To rid the forest of what once stood.
Uncharted Time
Like any wise soul, wisdom often comes with age;
Tied from life to death as if chained inside a cage.
Like an hour-glass, these moments cannot last;
One by one, the days fall victim to the past.
Decades hold and hide memories without notion,
To push forward, as lives being lived out in motion.
Months to years is the clock’s never-ending sum.
Oh, what have all our seconds and minutes become?
A Storm is Brewing
The waves are crashing onward, their high walls forever fold.
The storm clouds are rumbling; the thunder is roaring bold.
The water above, water below, waters everywhere I try to row.
Lightning flash, electric glow, waking the colors of the pastel bow.
The tornado is coming; the south winds are hammering forth.
The weather is terrible, I know, but my compass is pointing north.
The Sacred Brew
On Albany Mountain where all Albanist Tea grows.
We monks mix a brew daily for all passing amigos.
Our mixtures are famous with fruit fusions galore.
So stop by our temple for a time-honored pour.
We offer all passing visitors a fresh blend of sweet teas.