Old lady by the Sea

High atop the frothing sea
waves shattering on the shore
bleak
grey
no sense of wonder
no one comes here any more.
Once used for galas
for entertainment
for bringing together
societal equals
pauper poets
inebriated journalists
sober judges
the list can go on and on.
When lit up at night
the mansion gleamed
history seeping from the stones
at every turn.
Time can be a harsh mistress
sea salt
sea winds
land winds
causing the rocks to tumble.
Once a proud maiden true
his parsimonious nature
has turned her into a bitter old woman
turned in on her memories
as ghosts of the past
dance through forgotten halls
to music no one can hear.
August 29/18

Photo by Steije Hillewaert on Unsplash

Mother’s Rage

Silver stream protector of the land

winding and bowing around rock and sand

high above the rotting cliff

lays the crumbled castle

where the Midnight club met.

They came but once a year

to renew their bonds with the land

with the energy around them

with Mother Earth.

As the time drew near

a development began to take place

a defacement of the sacred ground.

The Midnight club met and stared in horror

at the broken terrain

the fallen castle

at the machinery  whose claws

dug deep in moist soul

murder of crows above.

They muttered and murmered

they called upon the Mother

to wreck havoc on the men so crass

as to pervert her domain.

Come morning as the sun rose

brilliant scarlets and violet pinks

men stood at the edge of the land

across the crevice lay nothing

no machines

no castle

no trace that there had every been.