140

Pink pumpkins from google dot com


THE BEWITCHING NIGHT IS OVER
I stand on the steps of evasion
Moonpie ascending
A scent lures of baked fog
Misted over the wiles of witchy ways
Bones of children to boil, from wander
Landed on unbeaten paths in howled woods

An un-hooted owl through one sided glimpses
Wary of the tap tap tap of woodpeckers treats
Now rests unruffled
Branch clawed-in for retreat

Pirates earn their plunder from oceans
Vast and wide, deep and muted
In parrot squarks and monkey tales
Curled into fables and eye patches

Thus the night is stretched across galactic spans
Who owns the shadows, the clouded clumps
The silhouettes of stars tipped
To capsize galleys
So Charon may row the oars of souls
Across invisibility, or plead the task to another

Alas for night!
Pink hues of dreamers flutter
Like eyelids awakening to the bleat
Of sweet grass marauded in autumnal crunch

Crushed to reds oranges and gold
You are but a bitter awakening
A whirling whirligig of heaps and mounds
Then words shot through the mesh of day
Happening to clocked hours in minute waltzes
For time dances a ballroom fantasy
Soup anyone?
Two dashes, three pinches, a sprinkle of phrases.
THE BEWITCHING NIGHT IS OVER © gillena cox

Written for Kerry O'Connor's
The Tuesday Platform its open mic