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  1. Cobwebs

    by , 11-02-2006 at 05:41 PM (Ramblings from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia)
    COBWEBS

    Sitting in near darkness,
    I watched a spider spin a silken web.
    The fragile threads were wove
    Into a complex pattern of crisscross
    Lines, a geometric
    Design that might have been difficult to
    Reproduce easily.
    Yet this tiny artist expected only
    Her daily sustenance.
    Of such humble souls is the heaven made...

    Jonathan Blade
    © 12/15/97
    Published in The Aurorean, Winter 1997
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  2. Danse Macabre

    by , 11-02-2006 at 05:41 PM (Ramblings from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia)
    Danse Macabre

    Around the silent headstones
    in the cold moonlight,
    burnished bones gleaming with unearthly glow;
    they dance to the beating
    of each fearful heart that’s pleading
    for this nightmare to simply vanish! Enough!
    But as the rat-tat-tat of the heart continues
    and the blue lights flicker
    on the top of every tomb,
    the shades weave in and out of shadows
    in a ghastly tarantella,
    the moonbeams dancing with ...
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  3. The Messenger

    by , 11-02-2006 at 05:41 PM (Ramblings from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia)
    The Messenger

    And so at last I come to thee,
    Like thousands gone before
    To pluck my beak at my ebon breast
    And drop a black feather at thy door...

    Behold the dusky down as it descends,
    Regard its gyrations and pathway well—
    For upon length of descent thy length of days depends—
    It is a summons to Heaven or to Hell!

    Other eyes than mine watch the feather fall,
    The orbs of He of whom I am but the messenger. ...
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  4. There are Days

    by , 11-02-2006 at 05:41 PM (Imported Poems)
    and i am afraid
    i'm very afraid
    of taking a deep breath

    and drawing
    a knife
    wrenching
    it
    into my
    heart

    and finding - too late -
    only empty space

    small flecks
    of what may have
    been blood

    tiny shards
    of what could have
    been life

    there are
    days, Dorothy,

    when i
    am jealous
    of the Tin Man.
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  5. Man Who Wasn't There

    by , 11-02-2006 at 05:41 PM (Ramblings from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia)
    That Little Man Who Wasn’t There

    Let me tell you what it is like
    To exist on the fringe,
    To be a Shadow of The Man
    That you might have been.
    I used to walk into a room
    And people noticed that I was there:
    But now I always feel like
    That Little Man Who Wasn’t There.

    I can feel the eyes as they scan me,
    When I pass down the street;
    But the smiles freeze on the faces,
    And our eyes just never meet. ...
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