Shall We Call The Cleaner In?

Today my poem is an offering for the Sunday Whirl #675 and today’s 3TC #M849. As the season calls for it, I welcomed the mystic magical tones to help me put this fantasy together. I remembered my late teenage and university years when autumn would push my friends and me to telling horror stories and pretending we participated in summoning rituals. I’m glad none of us actually had the nerve to complete any of those because we would get really frightened just before the rite would yield its result. So, we never saw any proof of the otherworldly. I’m glad, oh yes, I am. Right now, I’m also greatly amused. Ah, youth! Priceless and heart-warming.

So, Shall We Call The Cleaner In, Please?

Do we expect the woods to be silent,
Or our coffee brought by a waiter in deference
as the yellow leaves whirl?

Should a siren answer our call?
Or a maid take care of all?

Can we fly around the garden short for breath,
and read the mystic signs of runes set in stone?

Let’s do a circle dance where we expect
at least a magical metamorphosis.

Then, please, let’s call the cleaner in.

© 2024, soulmary

In order to read more, you may visit the prompt web sites and enjoy, enjoy, and then some!

Full Moon

Today is the second day of the month of November, famous for its sugar and caffeine flavour. Taking part in the November Poem-A-Day Chapbook challenge I still am and here is today’s prompt: Full Moon. It has been suggested by Khara House, who is an amazing poet, so click on her name and see more. Here is my poem. Yet another “moon” poem. But, honestly, this one took a different turn.

Image credit: Wikipedia


Full Moon—

as in complete, accomplished,

and perfectly shaped

to raise our dreams or apprehensions,

to feed our mystic cravings, and to

whisper in our darkened nooks

of weirdness unseen, unwaited for, and

un-desired – uneasiness awakened.

For, after all, we are just beings

bathed in profuse light,

clinging to the hope that

light will not desert us

to that full moon’s full-flavoured grip.

© soulmary

On the run, Nov PAD 26

an “on the run” poem

*****
On that mystic run

Towards the coast

We are

And chasing vehement ghosts

We stay

Way too bizarre.

***