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Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Happy Halloween!!

(I 'built' this image myself--no photos involved)

The Witch's Hour

As a mysterious colored moon glowed above
Fog blanketed the damp marsh ground below.
Thick white images swirled about the cove, 
And haunting sounds echoed frightful woes.

Swish, a group of bats flew over the meadow.
That creepy, batty noise pierced a pain of fear. 
For, it was the night of the witch’s marrow.
No one dared to venture without someone dear.

Pumpkins and goblins decorated every lawn.
The tales of Jockey horror tapped on each door
Children cried trick or treat until early dawn
Candy filled their sacks quickly and more.

The darkness remained ever young to all.
Will Linuses great pumpkin rise tonight?
Then one wonders, how evil demons call?
Only on Halloween is there such a fright.

Once it is past the ghoul’s hour of midnight,
All mortals of foul revert to there place,
The moon above returned a normal sight,
And the smog lifted from any kind of trace.

Monica Engeler

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Moon Magic

I thank  Montucky  for the use of his photo,  October Moon,  for the background.

Moon Magic

Moonbeams glide into my room,
Weaving the spell of a magic rune,
Capturing the soul of me,
Enrapturing the whole of me.

Gateway to the world of dream,
Clothed in silver all agleam,
Guide me softly with your light,
Through the mystic maze of night.

Mistress of the surging sea,
Creating tides of destiny,
Pulsing through the lives of all,
My deep self rises to your call.

O Queen of Heaven, stars form your crown,
Smile on us when you look down.
O ruler of the wondrous night,
Bless us with your gentle light.

Alan Pert

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Winter Sunrise

Winter Sunrise (excerpts from)

I turn to the window, and out of a low cloud
is a brimming--over of brightness; dazzling the eye
with levelled brilliance, fiery--fresh, the sun.

As in absent thought with dreaming eyes I gaze
on sudden shadows gliding across the rime
a vision comes before me in utter silence

the earth is moving, the earth is rolling over
all that is usual all that goes unquestioned
is taken from me
wider, wider the doors of vision are opening

let me not be so stunned that I cannot feel . . .
Imagination is but a little cup
it can hold but a minim part
can a little cup contain an ocean?

My dreaming eyes return
the flower of winter remembers its own season
and the beautiful shadow upon the pale wall
is imperceptibly moving with ancient earth
around the sun that timeless measures sure and silent.

Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)
Red Rose