Tabula Rasa
November surrendered to an influx of ashy skies
And falling snow, removing our dirt, our sins, our lies
And from them wringing: a blank slate of frozen purity
We formed weapons of ice to taunt, embarrass, chastise
We kicked it, drove through it slinging mud replies
Disheartened clouds threw waste thicker to frosted demise
Creating barriers through which no one could prise
And walls through which no one could see.
November surrendered
For days before ceasing demonstration and releasing its vise
Relinquishing its subjects, a frigid wind cries,
Whipping through, a reminder of its supremacy
Over these white slabs, we
Tread lightly, an emprise
November surrendered.
-M. Ray Hall
Grandmother Moon & Grandfather Night
Have you heard the story about
the Grandfather night and his brazen
Grandmother moon and all of their brilliant, golden grandchildren
like thousands of trick birthday candles that refuse to be
snuffed out
Painting Autumn
—
Watercolor leaves
with wide crimson brushstrokes drop
under heavy blood
– M. Ray Hall
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