The Unfair Season

It's hot, like a snot in my nose, or a hose in the sun, it's no fun. 

Blazing orb, circles higher, bakes the ground, ceaseless fire.

Lumber we, through the haze, spirits dampened, in a daze.

Afternoon, cicadas sing, tiny heralds, sun, their king.

We just cower in the shade, humble vassals August made.

Fiery dusk, distant drums, cruel deception, no rain comes.

In the dark no dogs bark, howl they can't as they pant.

And I toss in my bed, sleep elusive, fevered head. 

Dreams of autumn, chilling breezes, frost once cursed, now she pleases.

Fickle things, my desires, cold when heat, ice when fires.

So for now I'll abide, knowing preference shifts like tide,

in a season when the air is quite anything but fair.

Fall

Swirling, churning, a blustery burning, it whirls into the indolently ebbing summer to remind me of the meaning of time. Swelling the landscape with a wave of color, frosting the grass with a bitter suggestion that the party might soon be over, it nips my cheeks with chilly lips as I gather myself within a coat that embraces me like an old friend. The marina sits empty now, long weathered creaky docks calling stalwart seagulls to their tall dark pilings, to await an onslaught of ice. I walk through the wind among these patient sentries, gazing out at the lake, darkened like a winter sky, as distant rolling white-capped waves beckon me like sirens.

Fire and Ice...or Another Device?

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
But the supposition I most admire
is a transcending upload's demented desire.

But if I had to perish twice
I'd favor a nano-sized bringer of fate
An ever-dividing robotic device
could pile up grey goo 'til all life did abate.


www.nickbostrom.com/existential/risks.html

Stream of Consciousness

Cool water flowing
around my feet, overboard,
wind-blown current bliss.

Pale Company

When I have gone, my ashes strewn,
Across a lake of childhood dreams,
I'll stretch for miles through endless night,
Enshrouded by your silver beams.

There I will linger silently,
Alone in your pale company.

I'll shimmer in your haunting glow,
Beneath a veil of midnight air,
To soothe the hearts of those who stand
Upon my shore with pain to bear.

Your light will show the soul of me,
Revealed in your pale company.

Our vision will illuminate
A truth your lonely face has known,
To grant the minds that starve in woe
A harvest in your presence sewn.

The wisdom that we'll always be
As one in your pale company.

Winter's Wings

Shadows in the snow bend across an icy purity that veils the frozen ground. Black wings beat overhead to cut the bitter gray air and eclipse the thaw of the mid-day sun. The patches of darkness scurry across each sparkling drift with every stroke of shiny outstretched feather. They reminisce with broken corn stalks, to chill in jealousy the remnants of a better season. They stretch unto a lifeless tree, and coil about its hard bleached trunk, to reach upward and darken limbs, so much like leaves once did. And there cold talons grasp this cobalt twin, and drape it towards the ground, to wait silent and still in the endless wind.