Tag Archives: garden of poetry

On Becoming a Golden Statue

On Becoming a Golden Statue

On-Becoming-A-Golden-Statue

On Becoming a Golden Statue

What else can I be
Through eternity?
I am only me.
Where else can I flee?
Shall I make a run
To the sun,
To the source of the pun,
And erase my memory, take away my me and you –
Abracadabra, become something new,
Hum, hum, hum,
Come apart, part the sum?

Buddha, I am growing old.
Turn my brain to solid gold,
So I can see
Eventually,
Peer through a clouded why
Until I
Can’t feel anymore,
And wash ashore.

~ Daniel F Mitchell

All Hallow’s Eve

All Hallow’s Eve

All Hallow's Eve

All Hallow’s Eve

‘Tis from the hollow, mists arise
To drift beneath the autumn skies,
To usher in a dark surprise –
The night of righteousness’ demise.

Upon the rising moon they spread,
Like shrouds upon the waking dead,
The trappings of a silver bed,
From which all evil things are bred.

When wind blows through the barren trees,
There spreading as some foul disease,
There piping fearful melodies
Of never-ending tragedies,

When mischief-laden fingers snatch
The pumpkins frosted in the patch,
And in them fires of brimstone light,
And make the souls of darkness bright,

When ghouls awaken in their graves,
When vampires burst forth from their staves,
When fleshless bones arise to war,
And venture from perdition’s store,

When banshees howl out from the mire,
When werewolves sing their wicked choir,
When ghostly rites all souls inspire,
And magic sets the moon on fire,

When wake the monsters yet untold,
When zombies march the open road,
When demons lurk beyond the gate,
And darkness holds a dreadful fate,

Then know the night of doom is here,
The dawn of everlasting fear,
The opening of an evil door –
All Hallow’s Eve has come once more.

“All Hallow’s Eve!” The beasties cry.
On Hallow’s Eve, the witches fly.
On Hallow’s Eve, hell’s creatures spy.
On Hallow’s Eve, all good things die.

~ Daniel F Mitchell

Before Thy Day Doth Fade

Before Thy Day Doth Fade

Before Thy Day Doth Fade

Before Thy Day Doth Fade

Today, with all thy heart,
Love the bloom that wilts tomorrow.
Though from love thou must part,
Waste thou not a tear on sorrow.

At the sudden onset of night,
In the deepening shade,
Love thou dearly that precious light,
Before thy day doth fade.

~ Daniel F Mitchell

Dry Leaf

Dry Leaf

Dry Leaf

Dry Leaf

Oh, dry leaf, insignificant and transient,
Formed so, and abandoned so,
That your passing should have a fixed course,
That your rustling might linger for a time more,
That remembrance of your passing might linger,
This is the core want of my substance.
This is the dire need of my soul, oh, dry leaf.

~ Daniel F Mitchell

Of Tea

Of Tea
Of Tea
Of Tea

My cup of tea is steeped in deepest lore,
From olden times in lost, exotic lands –
The stuff of ardent scenes since days of yore.
I hold a cup of legend in my hands.
Reposed upon my thoughts as on a throne,
Beneath a tropic jungle’s misted light,
In visions of fragrant haze, I am shown
Incense scent from some ancient temple height.
Sweet wisps of Gypsy secrets at my lips,
I recollect the wealth of friendships past,
Dispelled to naught, like vaporizing ships,
‘Cross seas of mystery and romance vast.
With kindred souls I sip, and muse, and dream,
And sail away on wafts of sultry steam.

~ Daniel F Mitchell