End Of Season
On the threshold of a quiet season-
and eager to tiptoe through that door:
the sun just rose, outside the window
I got to watch it climb down the slopes of the mountain west of us--
the day's first red light in silence and stillness.
No wonder earlier generations thought of this time of year as holy:
stark, barren, and full of light and shadows.
(LoriDixon 2025@)
Old tree by the river bank
Stripped Down
You’ll have to take me as I am –
every wrinkle, every scar, every silver hair.
I’ve earned them all fair and square,
and I’ve got nothing else to wear.
- MollyBloom
Angmar
Past plots crumble into dust while Delphic Future peeks and hides, streaks and dies. Stuck between, I roam the endless tract of Eternal Now, neither here nor there, feeding off other Faceless Wanderers treading the razor’s edge.
- MollyBloom
Angmar
The Joy of Aging
Bit by bit, piece by piece,
every incision with surgical precision,
snips away at body and soul
until nothing remains but an empty whole.
- MollyBloom
Angmar
Angmar
Close Encounter
Snow caul breathes swirling mist through grasping limbs
picked clean by ice and wind. Distant streetlamp swells
with unearthly rose-orange fairy light. The Truth is Out There.
Beyond the edge of the wood. Beyond reason.
- MollyBloom
Angmar
15th Night
It’s easy to believe in god
when the moon looks like this—
thin host rising low
in the East
tinged with the blood
of the sun.
~kj in Missouri
Angmar
Autumn
Golden days.
Silver nights.
Consciousness drifts out of time
To walk with the Lost
sharing the Path,
Forsaken, but not out of mind.
- MollyBloom
Angmar
Angmar
Eos
Darkness lifts.
Sky’s underbelly shifts,
reveals delicate rose morning clothes,
loomed with herons, cormorants, and gulls;
who skim, fly, skirt the East,
herald her rising, dress her
complete.
~kj in Missouri 2006
Angmar
Eden
It’s all contained
in the cry of the gull
our coming
our presence
our fall.
~kj in Missouri 2006
Angmar
Angmar
Angmar
Ghostland
Zen skies.
Windswept streets.
A few masked figures shadow
one another from a distance.
We are shells of ourselves.
Ghosts. Restlessly roaming
empty spaces, imagining we survived.
- MollyBloom
Angmar
Angmar
"End Of Season"
The light slants differently now-
And the moon waxes and wanes
through ever-thickened veils of ghostly clouds
Leaves are dust-
Or sodden, waiting for worms or snow.
The Owl hoots- breaking the silence, on this cold and rime-hardened land
All the Fields are stiff with frost, the sticks and broken grasses flat-
with death.
Soon, snow will cover them all,
hollow and hill- as the last of the little crumpled leaves blow
suddenly- away.
-Angmar
(For Tortmaster)
