blue and white

Summer, 06:30 am

the painted parapet wall
of an empty terrace

is not subtle mauve
like twilight and whispered love,

nor the blushing gold
that only sunsets
and dusty filament lamps can hold,

but pearl white
like the icy moon at the zenith,
lofty, luminous,
under a brilliant tepid blue.

T. E. Pyrus

prelude

The air is full
of greyed birds
and quiet leaves.

Soft chimney-smoke
over red roofs
stands dark and still.

Our crumbling earth
makes home for pools
of rippling sky.

These restless winds
hide, trembling, tense,
within tall trees.

Lightning startles
nightstained clouds;
white winds sing.

Clear rain rings
in shivered hymns
of a perfect storm.

T. E. Pyrus

the Sculptor

then she twirled around
beneath her dizzy sunset
and forgotten moon

like torn autumn leaves
that circled golden stormwinds
spiralled home to earth;

eyes, burning like snow,
summer raindrops on her lips
quivered with new mirth,

and i carved her breathless silhouette
with paper hands into the burning sky
ere they crumbled into breathing ash;

wishing stars burn quietly tonight.

T. E. Pyrus

Stormwind Castle

Rays of sunshine shuffle in
through lone and dusty corridors
and spill over stone windowsills
in the Stormwind castle.

The green glass bottle twinkles bright
with raindrops’ summer lightning dance
where weathered staircases of stone
break into grassy forest.

Wheels and white mares clatter down
the road not taken, ’round the hill
with velvet, flutes, and princesses
who dream of moon fall music.

Stormwind wanders softly through
sun-crushed walls and doorless rooms
then to Thunder’s heartbeat sings
upon the nightstorm tower.

T. E. Pyrus

Daily Prompt: Bottle

summer afternoon

sixteen miles until silence.
the train tick-tocks into
distant lands in summer afternoon.

red schoolhouses,
playgrounds that swarmed with bell and laughter,
die into whispers in summer afternoon.

the meadows run wild,
the purple headed mountain, the river running by
come to life in fiery solitude in summer afternoon.

come fly with me, in oceans over the sky-
hearsay, they are haunted by
impending sunsets in summer afternoon.

swirl the twilight with love and sweet sorrow,
blend in the darkness like vanilla and
soul past summer afternoon.

midsummer night- dark, windless and purple:
angels with bracelets of dreams
fly light-footed golden like summer afternoon.

T. E. Pyrus

coal mining

he leaves his
window open
so the rare
wind whistling by

through a dust-coloured
day; in a
dust-coloured cell
on a dust-coloured
treasure chest lie

his faded blue
attire, worn and
patched by gentler
days,

greyed gracefully
to dusty black;
new wrinkles
on his face

weigh him down;
a faded
treasure chest
stares at a cement
coloured wall

over his head,
and the lonely
voiceless mist,
blinding; hear it
call

to rusty,
dark and sunless
sky, reflected
in his eyes,

when a bright and
impish countenance
eclipses tired
sighs;

the tired rusty
treasure chest
five decades
hibernates,

to feel the stirring
light of grey,
to feel new
hope, awaits

the cold and
stinging storms
that pour, taste
salty youth again;

the dusty
yellow rain boots
melt, ecstatic
in the rain.

T. E. Pyrus