Exalted in Scarlet

The wind acts as herald,
as sharp as the sound of a hand clap
calling you to pay attention,
because the procession is about to begin.

Summer enjoys a few last tumbles,
as Autumn promenades onward
to the sound of cricket minstrels.

The swish of Autumn’s robes
is heard in the rustling of the leaves,
who have donned their festival colors
in honor of its arrival.

Autumn waves starlight trimmed sleeves
while the nights grow longer
and nature's din dims to
sighs and susurrations.

I can't help slowing down too,
swept up in the pageantry
of Autumn's regal progression.



Song Choice: Kamigama-Sama from Spirited Away



Molly Grue

I was rosy-cheeked, with sparkling eyes
when I was eight years old.
I danced, feeling the swirl
of imaginary gowns around my ankles.

I almost thought I saw you then,
until adult voices called out
to tell me about chores left undone.

There was still gold in my hair at sixteen.
But I swayed to different songs,
of moonlight promises that I knew
would evaporate faster than dew.

Did believing in you make me more gullible
to frivolous songs sung by unskilled bards?
I don’t know.

I know that I tried not to believe,
as sixteen faded into the distance,
as gold turned the color of the dishwater
I had my hands in every day.

Disappointment makes an excellent whetstone
for a tongue that wants to hide a tender heart,
still moved by tales of legendary bandits
and still intrigued by a magician’s words.

Then you arrived,
to fan the cinder of my belief,
when the bags under my eyes
were more noticeable than my lashes.

How could I not scream at you,
for all those times I needed wonder,
looked for it, and all I found
was the sound of my own sobbing?

Am I to start believing again
when the world has almost finished its job
of convincing me that faith is pointless,
and magic isn’t real?

I suppose,
since the world has done an incomplete job,
I will try to trust in what my eyes and heart see,
and start dancing again. 



Still from the movie The Last Unicorn


This poem was inspired by a prompt (I came up with!) over at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads: Sidekicks in the Spotlight. I based it on a character from the cult classic, The Last Unicorn. 

Stage Fright

Dad’s sweatshirt transforms into a velvet cape,
draped over my shoulders.
I flourish a stick I found in the yard
in front of an appreciative plush audience.
Passing it over a hat I found
for a quarter at a garage sale,

I conjure flying silk squares,
and moon white rabbits
that do somersaults,
and sing songs dryads taught them
back when the world had plenty of magic beans.

But when I bring my wand, hat, and cape
to the school talent show,
when I stand alone on the stage,
all that I find in my hat is rabbit poo.


This poem was inspired by a prompt given over at Imaginary Gardens for Real Toads: Weekend Mini Challenge, Following a Thread