Days are dead now. Ash is blowing over bare tree woods,
leaves make it slippery under our feet, starving blackbirds stick
as tar tears in the snow. In between seasons, days are dead
and even more dead in the night.
But life is already thought of. Designed somewhere in
muddy pools, newer trees grow secretly,
newer leaves are planned for next spring.
While the ice is breaking slowly,
making newer blood veins, all is awaiting the light.
entry for poetry picnic halloween special
Maybe I should have waited by that old gate,
in the woods where the sun kisses the green tree.
Maybe you had not gone, just arriving late,
but I left, thinking you were all done with me.
I went to the stream watched the water go by,
fast on its way to the sea, joined with my tears
when, from deep in the woods, I heard this loud cry.
I thought it was you, but how wrong were my ears.
It wasn’t you near the gate weeping sadly
as I should have waited for you over there.
You mother, it was, said you loved me madly
and now you were not to be found anywhere.
So you were not done with me but just too late.
They found your drowned body days later in sea,
and at home was a note explaining your fate:
You wanted to die and this all cause of me.
I tried something “romantic”, somehow it made me laugh because of all the drama in it (it is fiction!) to see if I could do a poem with only 11 syllable lines.