M.Hall

Nesconset, New York

As many traditions unfold and vanish upon their ruins, new beginnings usually ensue. However, during this renewal process, numerous revelations impart many human realities.

A Mountain of Diamonds

White crystal specks sparkle iridescent rainbows upon a soothing, hunter green mountain with an abundance of tranquil temperament. A yawning peace stretches across the dusk filled hill blending palls of streamy smoke with gray meandering mists. The verdance of the mountain battled the roaming rust on the granite peaks, while a bubbling fountain of stream sang in the humidity. The cries of the mountain echo to the quaint traditions of the ghost houses below, as the tomato red roof tops covered the artful mixture of wood and winter white marble, laced with blackness. The worn and weathered windows conceal room of massive moodings that vine the cottages and the greeting gardens, which have become mounds of wild weeds and dying flowers. The silver wrought iron gates cage in the cottages while holding the tantalizing mountain from a crushing fall in the calm of calamity; as time pierces the gates, granite floods the cottages, which rise in the waters of shriveling stone, while the yellow stained mountainside bellows in burning mist while wailing of the groomed graves that shower its soul.

A Jungle Journey

Dark, forest green, gregarious broad leaves wave through the suave
sways of four feet of deepening thicket as smoke
sheen rings of musty milk mist devour the venoms of ailing tree towers
tainted with tangy tastes from virtuous viping vines. As rainbow
beaked toucans sheltered in shiny black velvet coats humble sweet
sounding songs succumbing to the joyful jazzy jingles of fluorescent
parakeets, foot deep pea soup waters flow along peat moss stained mud
banks smoldering from the black rained rich soil. Crocodiles, soiled
and throned, silently sail softly amidst the fully bloomed creamed
white water lilies, scaling slowly, sneaking under heavy waters.
Moments pass, while a jaw gapes widely capturing the small and sallow,
warted toad, duped, yielding and unassuming, into a tunnel of
darkness. Wading up the river a few feet, the crocodiles pass wobbly
willows veiling a fifteen feet green eyed slithering serpent that
lurks behind the them, gently wrapping itself around the enemies.

The Last Rose of Summer

A red rose fostered among the rowans,
where spry springs escape, shines upon
the golden glade of the silvery sun,
laced in flaming orange shadows.

Seasons skim the whets of change,
never replacing time only
sheltering its inviting introduction,
to the beginning of an era.

Shrinking Violet

You hide from the sun in darkness, for you have seen the light.
You have learned of self sufficiency as the core of survival, for you've been deceived.
You know of death for you have been pushed into an abyss.
You move away from green and go into the white, for you've benn buried by envy.
Your wisdom reads beyond greener patures, for you've seen illusion.
You live in the present for your future is unknown, as your past is long perished.
You can hide from darkness, while embracing the light. For in the sun, you can blossom brightly.