WAYNE RUSSELL

 

Untitled

 

Florida refused to breathe

life into that contorted night!

 

And into this visceral day,

spat out upon, white sand dunes.

 

Perplexities of a dead catastrophic

universe, dead like a malignant tumor.

 

I ask you this, are we plummeting

into an abyss of our own consumer windfall?

 

I heard an unbeknownst glass shrine,

shattered in stealth magnificent, canyon,

of orange strewn red and barren land!

 

Vibrant, plucked like a ripe fruit, glistening

as a dewdrop, upon a blade of grass, on a

Sunday morning.

 

Autumn Morning

 

Mornings are frigid and darkness

still consumes this patchwork quilt,

Autumn tapestry.

 

Deer can be seen in silhouette,

grazing, the new moon sits low,

like a tigress stalking her prey.

 

Leaves strewn twirling like ballerinas,

hypnotic in pirouette, dance in gentle

breeze.

 

Dogwoods sway, their branches seem

to be mourning the loss, of a rejuvenating

Spring hue.

 

Lovers are still strewn casually, down

by the river side, and basking in earthy

colored hammocks, tied to trees.

 

The bounty of last night's drinking sprees,

will be folklore; stories told with pride; like

soldiers wearing shiny new metals.

 

Life Is Worth Living

 

Life is precious and valuable,

it is fragile and gone with a

twinkle of an eye.

 

Everyone's life matters, no

matter what race, ethnicity,

social economic background,

or religious beliefs, or lack of.

 

Sure wish that I could have

talked that kid down, before

he leapt from the forth story

window ledge.

 

Sure wish that I could have

called for help, for that homeless

man, that died behind a lonely pub

dumpster.

 

But I only heard people gossip

about it, the next day, the kid

that leapt into oblivion, the

homeless man that died outside;

cold and alone.

 

I often feel guilty when I'm not

there, to help my fellow human

being, especially when their

mindset is impending doom.

 

Life is precious and valuable,

it is fragile and gone with a

twinkle of an eye.

 

Phenomenon

 

In twilight, eyes closing,

an echo of oceans waves

upon sandy shorelines.

 

I am here safe with you,

my love, for now, tucked

underneath sheets; and

lucid dreams.

 

What is this, phenomenon's

of love, of life?

 

Of Cupid's bow and arrow,

brought the forcefield down,

of a heart once so hardened,

yet now; molded into clay.

 

Your electric touch, the light

of your blue eyes, lit far away

galaxies, yet alone; my soul

shines brightest now, thanks

to you.

 

Phenomenon's can and do

occur, miracles still happen,

God is all around us, I know

this fully, as I collapse into

slumber; blessed by your side.

 

Silhouette

 

Would the raven

come tomorrow

basking within

its silhouette?

 

A tired old relic,

laughing upon

some heartfelt

introspection.

 

No specter, nor

ghoul haunted,

nor hunting; for

absolution.

 

A howl of wind,

written off as dead,

skulls of the mortal

damned.

 

And here we all stand,

a lyric, interested in

inclination.

 

Sway of crass October

ocean, frozen souls,

sealed, and lost for an

eternity.

 

WAYNE RUSSELL

 

WAYNE RUSSELL is a creative jack of all trades, master of none. Poet, rhythm guitar player, singer, artist, photographer, and author of the poetry book Where Angels Fear via Guerilla Genius Press, it is currently still available on Amazon.