Harvested by night, eaten by day.
you wake at night
when first snow has tucked the city in
and neon glow has plucked glam rings
into the supercilious dark
you see outside
something shaggy and stark wants in
presses craggy nose, sharp tightening
unto the chilled window pane
you rush through the door
jump up bare to the porch sans clogs
and december like a debauched dim dog
licks your cheek with frosty tongue
It was down in the woodland on last Hallowe’en,
Where silence and darkness had built them a lair,
That I felt the dim presence of her, the unseen,
And heard her still step on the ghost-haunted air.
It was last Hallowe’en in the glimmer and swoon
Of mist and of moonlight that thickened and thinned,
That I saw the gray gleam of her eyes in the moon,
And hair, like a raven, blown wild in the wind.
It was last Hallowe’en where starlight and dew
Made mystical marriage on flower and leaf,
That she led me with looks of a love that I knew,
And lured with the voice of a heart-buried grief.
It was last Hallowe’en in the forest of dreams,
Where trees are eidolons and shadows have eyes,
That I saw her pale face like the foam of far streams,
And heard, like the leaf-lisp, her tears and her sighs.
It was last Hallowe’en, the haunted, the dread,
In the wind-tattered wood by the storm-twisted pine,
That I, who am living, kept tryst with the dead,
And clasped her a moment and dreamed she was mine.
by MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN (1865-1914)
Public Domain Poetry
A cat duet.
A high brick wall,
An awful squall.
A moonlit night,
A mortal fight.
A man in bed,
Sticks out his head.
The man has riz.
His arm draws back
A big bootjack–
A loud swish,
A dead cat.
by EDWIN C. RANCK (1879-?)
Public Domain Poetry
My life goes alone
But it is not a safe life for anyone,
I just hold on to all that I can …
Try this or that, but I am a lost boy.
And when you say, “Maybe, I will read you
In a book store one day” …
I know you are gone.
I am a lost boy writing my life in a song,
And that is all I will ever be.
That is all I will ever have
To give you my darling lady. I will
Always love you, and you will be gone.
by JOHN FEASTER
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