Empty

This still evening

Cool cloudscape bubbles rise,

Spread across the horizon

Like ogre’s thrice warmed,

Ugly supper beans:

Grey, slow, irresistible.

Dashing-spirits of summer

That kept the futures

Gentle and fluid are leaving.

The air is left empty of friends.

Rumours of geese on wings

Of frostfall fear are doing the rounds.

Question mark moon

On a bed of fogs –

For once –

Expects no replies.

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4 thoughts on “Empty

  1. Chatty Owl says:

    Hello mister. Sorry for not being around lately – life chores get in a way. This poem is great, especially last lines:
    “Question mark moon
    On a bed of fogs –
    For once –
    Expects no replies.”
    You twist words well.

  2. Oloriel says:

    I loved this part:”Question mark moon

    On a bed of fogs –

    For once –

    Expects no replies.”. Masterful poetrycrafting this is.

  3. ramblingratz says:

    Very evocative. Although my first reading I saw “bed of frogs” which conjured an image – must get my eyes tested. As an aside, it was a Hare’s Foot Inkcap fungi.

  4. Yes. Attunes my ear to subtler sound of geese rumor and fog- to that time of year when thou mayest behold the ogre’s twice-baked beans of wrath. I learn much from you poets-the fine-honed word use and musical phrasings which abjure the stiff platitudes of pedantic prose.

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