A chiaroscuro
of charcoal clouds
masses in the East
to mob the morning sun
and blunt its light.
Sensing that Persephone
has packed her bags,
senescent leaves
fall like ancient Rome,
to reveal a silent nest.
Squirrels scurry
along bare branches,
securing their cache
of burnished chestnuts
against the coming dearth.
While Earth exhales,
and nights draw in,
mellow pumpkins grin.
Their fire-bright eyes
watch as the world grows thin.
John Walter Taylor
© All rights reserved
27 March 2025
On a quiet stroll
down a leaf-dark lane,
I met a young man
from the past.
He was drifting
toward tomorrow,
whistling a ditty,
unaware of the toll.
And the price?
Knowing that his letters
to the North Pole
would never be answered.
John Walter Taylor
© All rights reserved
18 March 2025
Adam.
Made in the image,
like the movie set
of a Wild West town.
A cheap knock-off,
imported from the Middle East
without a warning label.
Expelled patient zero.
A walking Wuhan lab of viral sin.
Oh, Goddess of the Woods!
You, who never left the Garden,
protect us from his axemen,
who fell your sacred groves
to watch the hamadryads die.
John Walter Taylor
© All rights reserved
12 March 2025
