#tbt

I hope your spirit haunts me
once every day.
So my spirit will be lifted
from this dismal fray.
I’ll look out for the signs
you leave in your wake
and know that every spook
is a new memory to make.
I hope that you will be able
to move on in time
but know that your spirit
will always be with mine.

© Autumn Siders 2015

Aluminum

Facebook Users, have you noticed that Facebook always asks you if you’d like to post your most recent pictures? Maybe put a frame on it? Well I don’t.
However, this got me thinking about the odd pictures that find their way into my photo gallery. So to you, odd pictures, I dedicate this week’s poems to you.

Aluminum
can you take the heat?
Aluminum
can you bake a treat?
Aluminum
are you the right size?
Aluminum,
the color of second prize.
Aluminum
what are you about?
Aluminum
will you pan out?

© Autumn Siders 2018

Homecoming

Homecoming,
a vacation from life
a trip to the past
and away from strife.
Settling in
to where you’ve been
but never far
from where you are.

You can’t go home
and you can’t stay here
and the streets you roam
are the truth you fear.
Your bed is made,
don’t be afraid
since home is here,
closer than it may appear.

© Autumn Siders 2018

Murk

What genre do I live
tragedy or comedy?
So hard to find
meaning in the pain.
What path do I walk?
An honest anomaly
in a hopeless hell
with a smile that I feign.

Oceans and seas
turbulent than most
and calm waters
deeper than the core
surround my thoughts
with a haunting ghost
and cut so deeply
waiting for more.

Grant me freedom
from stone-cold thoughts
where demons hide
and devils lurk.
And help untie
these ragged knots
which dwell inside
deep in murk.

Plant a seed
and watch it grow
black vines take over
and eat me whole.
Reap not only
what I sow
but rip the light
right out my soul.

© Autumn Siders 2018

1216412

I know now
I have loved you
for a while.
Your laugh
infectious, just like
your smile.

What I would give
to share your
life
and instead of friend
call you
wife.

But fate has chosen
we shall never
be.
Your heart belongs
to one not
me.

I know now
love takes many forms
one of which
we won’t achieve.
But love like this
bonds the souls
with gifts so wonderful
to receive.

© Autumn Siders 2018

#tbt

A fountain pen
and a bleeding heart,
the ink won’t dry
as words fall apart.
The paper’s wet
with every tear
still the words
express each fear.
Emotion’s ripped
right out the soul
for each blurred line
takes its toll.
Painted memories
dull the pain
but black and white
is for the vain.
Pen to paper
ink to blood,
the poem is written,
in a tearful flood.

© Autumn Siders 2017