Friday, October 31, 2014


the quality of haunting lingers
telltale russet tinged; etched in the glass
of someone sighed in the long ago.

the tinman's satin sawdust

heart bequeathed- o,to whom? 

turned down, the hurricane lamp,

but you didn't. scarecrows loomed.
the ancient snows rushed forward

filling Time...

the quality of haunting. the violet cloud
that stares: lifting the latch.

the watchers on the hills surprised

and no one's birthday. whence
that ginger cake smell, the generous raisins

spilled, the orange spice not quelled?

some people said it's always autumn there
let the height of summer rattle the full

green trees to no avail.

the quality of haunting far surpassing
the clocks at hand. the silence of interior

music upended;

dust covers off old furniture

in the shuttered cove
there being no wind

or anyone left to lie.

but fugitive tears,
sad auctioneers, close by-

mary angela douglas 31 october 2014