THE LACKADAISICAL POET

Burning Gray Roses

Words I cannot use
lines I cannot do
prose not quite painting the picture I feel
crumpled up on thin trees

tossed into the cauldron
to be sent back to the Womb of Creativity
upon rising smoke

And as the balls of not quite right burn
they begin to bud
opening their ember edged petals
dark silver rose offerings
to the Muse of Inspiration

September 23, 2003
Tressa Lee Breen

Autumnal Muse

Autumnal Muse

She's there;
the rainbow deep inside the green,
the chill at the heart of heat.

Some say She is the Harbinger of Death;
heralding the end of light

with Her drain on energy

and Her cold caress.

Ask Her and She'll say;
She is a Reminder of Life,

a Messenger of Rebirth,
encouraging Humanity to live in the finite

with thoughts of Infinity,
with Her earthly massage of color

and Her rejuvenating embrace

which holds the seed of spring.

September 18, 2003
Tressa Lee Breen