Season

Did they tell you?
Did they tell you the news yet?
There is a change of season.
A change in the decade,
colors in the sky.
People too, are turning red
and white, and dead.
There is light in the sky
but it is not of the stars,
but more of the scars
which are borne by the earth-
this green planet upon which we live.
This beautiful scarred planet of life.
Yes, a change of season
that leaves the icy mountains
and is riding down the wind.
It loves to chase and scatter the hopes we have built
in the stagnant air.
Thirst slowly drives us mad
as the fires of humanity
are extinguished and driven down;
the last portraits of empire
slowly fade away.
Here I am walking
from one room to another
in the care of myself or another.
I seem to exist
for a fraction of a second,
a flutter of a leaf,
a sheaf of candle flame
that is so slowly falling
to the ground,
to settle among the other leaves
of passing seasons.
There is a change of season,
did you hear?
And people are changing-
red, white ... and blue.
There is a place where these colors paint the sky with beauty
An overflowing of paint
upon fresh young flesh
vibrating and alive,
and shining with all the colors of the earth.
These are the children our race
Standing among the reds and browns of fallen leaves
and dirt.
These are the painted children
who are rising up among the ashes of our fire
To stand like rainbow silhouettes, against the sunset.
These are the winged children
who take flight
upon the driving winds of change
These are the gold and silver
the light and shadow
the sunshine and stone
of the future.
These are the children
that reach beyond this black block of time
that step through the waterfall of age
and fall of autumn leaves.
These are the children
of the seasons
And the light of the world.
4th Dec. 09

Hunkerville

Another day in Hunkerville
A place where men slump
and feet bump each other down the path to home
But the Sun still shines
like in the days of the young.
And occasionally the men
even have a heart to dance,
jiggle and juggle
have a bit of fun,
And then there are the rainy days
when the air frizzes up
and cranky turns crikey
and there's a little twist to the tale...
Hunkerville is weight
on the shoulders, even the lungs,
a bit of silence, stuffiness, coughing.
Where the mist plays with the sunrise
before it reaches the ground.
But oh, it still lights up their eyes
When they look up to see the morning sky!
Men don't go slow in Hunkerville
The world just goes slower for them.
There's no reason to die in Hunkerville
where the men stumble down their paths to home.
It's just a place to be
when the cloudy days are hunkering down
for the season.
Love is a reason to sing
in Hunkerville
And talking is a 'take it or leave it' deal
There are people there
who don't know where they came from
and are trying to find a reason to be there
But Hunkerville is a place to be
when you need a safe place to be for a while
Without any reason at all.
Hunkerville is not a question.

Hunkerville is a season
A walk down a muddy pathway
on a day when you've lost your balance
and people are a blur
as they walk by your place.
They don't stop for a glance at brown.
They are cool and cuddly
And sometimes they blink so slow
You get lost in the depth of their eyes.
They are beautiful between the falling leaves of fall.
All the colors
that come before white.
Hunkerville is walking on the right side of the road
and counting your footsteps.
Men count their footsteps in Hunkerville
till their boots are worn,
but they've lost count
plenty of times before.
There seems to be a sunset in Hunkerville
But no one knows the scheduled time
until it comes.
1st December 2009