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HAPPY HALLOWEEN 2024

Casted_Runes
Mr Karswell
Fire of Insight
England 5awards
Joined 4th Oct 2021
Forum Posts: 464


image: Francisco Goya, Witches Flight, 1797 to 98

Djinn by Rae Armantrout (b 1947)

Haunted, they say, believing
the soft, shifty
dunes are made up
of false promises.

Many believe
whatever happens
is the other half
of a conversation.

Many whisper
white lies
to the dead.

"The boys are doing really well."

Some think
nothing is so
until it has been witnessed.

They believe
the bits are iffy;

the forces that bind them,
absolute.

Ahavati
Tams
Tyrant of Words
United States 122awards
Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 16618


“Listen! The wind is rising,
and the air is wild with leaves,
We have had our summer evenings,
Come, October eves!”

- Humbert Wolfe

‘There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir: We must rise and follow her, When from every hill of flame She calls, and calls each vagabond by name.”

― William Bliss

There are words for when we know the taste of colors, or the way colors sound, for even the genders of numbers, but none for when we know the genders of months.

What I have always know is that October is a woman, and a gypsy at that. Her beauty is ephemeral, and contained in her wild mystery. If September girls are pumpkin spice, light jazz and nubby sweaters, October ones are Merlot, ancient harps and shawls.

She creeps in on little cat feet, as poet Carl Sandburg immortalized. She is lithe and wandering like a plume of smoke, and never stays long enough. She is archaic and smells of old books ands rain. She defines both “Come hither” and “Begone”. And just when you realize her presence, she is swirling her veils farewell.

She makes more beautiful everything that she touches, and no skies can compare with hers. You learn what blue is for the first time in her presence.

She is mystery and myth, black cats and bones. Wildwood and a languid drifting of smoke and fog. Oak and moss and petrichor. The only time when every eve is a full moon. And though she may not have the finery of June garlands or August dawns, to me she remains the most beautiful month of all.

#art “October” by Lisbeth Cheever-Gessaman


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