The Fortitude of Fallen Foliage

Often is winter's arrival mourned

as an icy season of bitter death

but I find it rather a time adorned

with the opportunity for fresh breath.

The solstice is dark and hard to endure

and it represents the pessimist's peak,

but after that those dark days are fewer

and the skies steadily appear less bleak.

So do not mourn the fallen rusted leaf

separated from the embrace of the tree

but rather take solace in the belief

that it will benefit from flying free.

The fallen leaves, once so solemn, stir

from the comforting pick-up in the air.

A Cold and Lonely Embrace

Nothing stirred the

empty flaking seat; -

not even the leaves cast

off of tall pines

dared to take spot from the empty chest

that waited for its missing piece to come.

And so they waited, taking half the bench

and watching the frail hands of the watch tick

steadily ahead to disappointment

and to empty arms resting on cold knees

As the shadows of the trees slowly grew

the face of the watch shined in the sunset,

the hours opening the metal arms

as if to console the teary-eyed soul.

Crying into a Coffee Cup

He gazed at his vacuous visage

in the treacled reflection of black coffee,

as its steadiness is displaced by his laboured breath

from his own brooding reflections.

A gulp goes down, to ease his burning throat

and then another displacement

as the tear weaves from his gossamer lash

into the bullseye of the cup.