Lady October

Lady October

October wears a dress of orange
She's letting it slide down her shoulder
It seduces me, the dark wood
As I watch the way she moves
Spreading herself out across the land

I've tried to paint her, but she's
A complicated girl
Some would say she's dangerous
Conspiring with the coven
Lending a hand to the witches

I believe all the lies, understand the truths
She's here with me, blowing me kisses
Filled with brightness on the leaves
Her damp scent is luring me
Her dark charms I cannot resist

Her black hair slides around
Her deep red smile
Set perfect on her yellow face
I admit she is like no other, she is full
Of a vibrant heart that cannot be contained

Blue Jean Jesus

Blue Jean Jesus
He comes to speak to me
He's riding in an old Black Mustang

Cigarette Burning,
From his well placed lips
T-shirt's in tow, and a song on the radio

Blue Jean Jesus
says we'll be alright
He's got a blue collar job, like you and I

He's dusty, his scent
A mixture of old and freshly cut wood
Calloused hands take hold of mine

Blue Jean Jesus
He comes to visit me
He talks to me, and his company I keep.

Autumn's Cries

Autumn
is running
to the back
of the cathedral

Autumn
is shouting
for us all
to Awaken!

What Autumn Did

(an excerpt from "She's Facing Me")


There he stood

Staring Autumn in the face

As she moved her hips, and sighed



She blazed there before him

Like a candle burning with the sun

Then with broken whispers, she moved him.

The Damaged Spot

I'm wandering, as I'm thinking
I'm thinking maybe some things are two sided
I wonder as I wander what the consequences would be
If my heart would release all the damage
I've been holding back
I think that maybe the damage has been done
I think that maybe my wanderings have left a part of me
It has been twisted and gnarled by the wayside
I think maybe as I wander I should pick my self up
I think I should with hold the damage
I think though, not in my heart
I will make a new vessel, a coffin, a resting place
I will still all the damage, forever in a grave
I will bring it flowers to remind me it was there
I will not let it speak, instead...
I will find a new voice, blowing on the wind
It will heal, it will nurture, and I will rest
I will be safe, not left to wander, but to sleep in a place with angels

Summer Thunderstorm

We've had a thunderstorm here for everyday, except Monday and Tuesday, for the past three weeks. I love summer thunderstorms, and I was thinking about this, and I was inspired to write the following:
Summer thunderstorms...the humidity lays heavy in the air. I can see the lightning flashing in the distance, the thunder rumbles a low warning as the dark cloud edges forward. "I'm coming to see you," says the storm. The cicadas are singing, and the smell of the little white flowers by my balcony fills my senses with an excited delight. I feel the breeze picking up, carrying more of natures warnings. "I'm feeling alive!" Exclaims the storm. There is another flash, a rumble, closer now. A stray raindrop falls to my arm, and the cicadas are drowned out by the twittering of the birds atop the roof, and the call of the seagulls circling above. That damp smell of rain disperses into the air that is already weighted down with moisture. The heat seems to lessen as the sky grows darker blotting out the sun, and then she greets me, with a roar of excitement. The storm is here. I go inside, and watch her from the safety of my home, and her rhythmic humming of rain and wind lull me into a blissful sleep. This is how we interact, me and the storm.