Please respect each authors’ and poets’ copyright. The rights remain with the writers. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without expressed and written permission from each of the poems author’s is strictly prohibited and violates copyright laws in the country you are reading this work in as well as in the country you are trying to re-publish this work in. – Aurora Jean Alexander
The Witching Hour
When willows arch their backs in reverence,
bowing toward the earth below.
When evening breezes messenger the coming of the moon’s pale glow.
When night birds telegraph their omens,
fresh from lunar heights, foretold and hearth sides showcase flames emblazoned,
burnished embers edged in gold.
From deep in silent, grassy places sodden with late-evening air.
Ambivalent to strange embraces,
lilies bring their buds to bear.
Amidst the stony tributaries built to those no sound may reach.
To evidence impermanence,
engraved with lessons, yet to teach.
Here begets the Witching Hour, slivered apex of the night.
All at once, begun and ended,
metaphor for mortal plight.
Taunts all life with fear and splendor,
dreams of flying, long since lost.
Tempts the grave with memories tender.
Glimpse the light, whatever cost.
Coiled within the misty shadow,
serpentine and poised to strike, lay the horrid reckoning
feared by both chaste and foul alike.
Graveyard Speed Dating
The cold and misty air contains a deathly musk
A stench that hovers over the graves
Stirring from the ground of depth
Lost souls looking upwards to be saved
Bony hands clutch their invitation
Tight to their skeletal chest
They hope to attract a new dead mate
One they can touch and maybe caress
Darkness is their familiar friend
As they sit beside their first date
Beauty is in the socket of the beholder
As a specialty, their head rotates
Stripped of flesh and brains
They now judge on spirit alone
They talk about previous lives
And reminisce about earthly homes
The church bell sounds its tune
Its time to swap around
The truth is they will never find new love
While they all sleep six feet underground
the avenues burning
the death of a child
from a roof
horses with iron hooves
pulling the corpse
the skull slamming
on the curb
over the remains
escaping into the trees
and his coat
caught by rain
my mauled body
damp in a ditch
stretches its arms
threatens to embrace
even my kitten of hope
is falling off
and a roadside scarecrow
is gouging out
I cannot sleep
close my wet eyes
with your hand
with your lips cover
the gates of nightmares
sit beside me