Patchouli Dreams

Patchouli dreams stir old memories,Like pulling old photo albums from the shelf,Dusty, grainy, somehow burned,But that's because one of us keeps trying,Keeps trying to burn this memory down,But I'll save it,I'll remember,Even if I'm all that's left,Of this broken home we built,In an Autumn of long ago.

midland autumn rains

Midland autumn rains,Morning mists growing colder,Summer passes on. Piano keys creak,Old hands struggle with placement,But still, it sounds good. Passing strangers smile,Lives meeting in the stairwell,Never again seen. The scarf on the hook,Made with love by an old 'friend',Still smells of perfume. The painter's wet cheeks,Just enough to thin old paint,Now, let's start again.

The Coffee Blues

Morning coffee blues,Cold cream in steaming darkness,A pinch to wake me. The barista's weary smile,All business, a pro,Small talk is for the depraved,Or those lonely fools,Who mistake a smile for love,And chase their coffee,With pitiful fantasy.A rhythm so smooth,His exhausted nonchalance,Just goes with the beat. This one's a to-go,For this weary vinyl,Is worn out enough.

Hold up your hands

Hold up your hands,Stained with pale fire,Until hot dreams ofBright futures grow dim,Cooling against your sighs,Softening like your soul,Trickling through your fingers,As dried streams ofHope haunts unfettered children -These phantoms drawn inAsh falling like snow. Prompt: from the kind writers over at the pub, dVerse, “Ash” as part of their Quadrille Night.