BOHEMIAN YOUTH

We prowled the city streets like alley cats
From Mondo Cane, Blue Note, to Alcatraz
By Tompkins Square where strains of modern jazz
Spilled from the bars while bands of 9th Street rats
Dodged junkies, punks and hookers chasing thrills…

All dressed in black and decked in gothic frills
Like biker rings displaying grinning skulls --
We'd stop at Backfence, Scrap Bar, Café Wha?
Peculiar Pub, or laugh at the bourgeois
And sip espresso when the bars would close
At Café Yaffa, Borgia, Figaro…

We'd fill our cups, then fill them up once more,
Pontificate as though we knew the score --
Drank decadence that only youth can know.

We mocked the mores of the days gone by
Smoke cigarettes to thumb our nose at death,
Wrote hymns to sin, blasphemed with every breath
And vowed to spit into Jehovah's eye
When called for judgment at the Pearly Gates.

We argued Sartre, Nietzsche, and Camus,
Prayed to Ayn Rand, then raised a glass or two
To Dylan Thomas railing against fate
In White Horse Tavern, while the hours flew…

We thought our words would set the world askew
For we were young, and being young, we knew
Our thoughts were forged in Hades' fiercest flame.

But life went on exactly as before
And should we ever stand at Heaven's door
I doubt the gods will even know our name.

-- Michael Pendragon

*****

On Monday, September 25, 2023 at 9:11:43 PM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> BOHEMIAN YOUTH
>
> We prowled the city streets like alley cats
> From Mondo Cane, Blue Note, to Alcatraz
> By Tompkins Square where strains of modern jazz
> Spilled from the bars while bands of 9th Street rats
> Dodged junkies, punks and hookers chasing thrills…
>
> All dressed in black and decked in gothic frills
> Like biker rings displaying grinning skulls --
> We'd stop at Backfence, Scrap Bar, Café Wha?
> Peculiar Pub, or laugh at the bourgeois
> And sip espresso when the bars would close
> At Café Yaffa, Borgia, Figaro…
>
> We'd fill our cups, then fill them up once more,
> Pontificate as though we knew the score --
> Drank decadence that only youth can know.
>
> We mocked the mores of the days gone by
> Smoke cigarettes to thumb our nose at death,
> Wrote hymns to sin, blasphemed with every breath
> And vowed to spit into Jehovah's eye
> When called for judgment at the Pearly Gates.
>
> We argued Sartre, Nietzsche, and Camus,
> Prayed to Ayn Rand, then raised a glass or two
> To Dylan Thomas railing against fate
> In White Horse Tavern, while the hours flew…
>
> We thought our words would set the world askew
> For we were young, and being young, we knew
> Our thoughts were forged in Hades' fiercest flame.
>
> But life went on exactly as before
> And should we ever stand at Heaven's door
> I doubt the gods will even know our name.
>
> -- Michael Pendragon
>
> *****

Last September
by NancyGene

Last September, you lived and I was well;
This September, I’m sick that you are dead.
Were you sick before you lived?
Was I dead before I loved?

Last September, I cried for what was lost;
This September, you died and it’s not right.
You would tell me that you’re gone?
I don’t know how I should feel.

Next September, the world is unconcerned.
Fallen gold leaves will waft away to rest,
And no man can hold his place
While life’s seasons bury all.

Player Slayer
by NancyGene

He’s a player--
But I’m a player too.
Love Purveyor--
He knows not what he’ll go through.

I’m not purblind--
I know the ropes and spins.
Contacts aligned--
And that’s what I will trade in.

I won’t stay home
And wait for his return.
XY syndrome,
And never will he outearn.

On Sunday, 3 September 2023 at 04:23:08 UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> THE BLUE ROSE
>
> Somewhere a rose of cobalt blue
> Blooms by a woodland stream,
> Kissed by the breezes passing through,
> Lost in a lover's dream.
>
> Far from the clutch of pick-purse time
> Brief as a rainbow's end,
> Teasing my soul with thoughts sublime
> Always around the bend.
>
> Love called to me one Summer day
> Warm as a rose in bloom,
> Love spoke my name, then turned away
> Fleeting as rose perfume.
>
> Somewhere a rose's petals fell
> Blue as a Summer sky,
> Life came along to break the spell
> Letting love's flower die.
>
> Somewhere a lover seeks a rose
> Blue as a Winter star,
> Gone faraway where no one knows,
> Gone where the old years are
>
> Rolled like the heavens in a scroll
> Beyond the brink of night,
> Hidden within a broken soul
> Always just out of sight.
>
> -- Michael Pendragon
>
> *****

On Saturday, 9 September 2023 at 03:40:08 UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> WITCHESꞌ MOON
>
> Tonight the harvest moon burns red
> And bathes the world in pumpkin spice,
> She calls the Old Ones from their bed
> With whispered words that run like mice
> Across the sleeping land.
>
> She hums tunes snatched from black cat cries
> From gingersnaps and fenny snakes,
> She sweeps the cobwebs from the skies
> And smiles as the world awakes
> To dream at her command.
>
> Tonight in some forgotten glen
> Her worshippers will dance in rings,
> And hidden from the gaze of men
> Engage in foul, ungodly things
> As dragons eat the stars.
>
> There in the moonlight's pumpkin glow
> They'll call upon the Ancient names,
> Then round about the bonfire go
> Toss wicker scarecrows on the flames
> To burn away Earth's scars.
>
> Tonight the blood-red witches' moon
> Looks down to cast her timeless spell,
> Where dreams are tossed like scattered runes
> Before the gates of Hell.
>
> -- Michael Pendragon
>
> *****

On Saturday, 16 September 2023 at 17:14:45 UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> Life Spans
> by NancyGene
>
> If we’re fortunate, we grow old.
> We may die young,
> Good or bad,
> Or sell our souls
> To the lowest bidder.
> To die young is to end dreams.
> To die old is to know disappointment.
> To live forever is both.

SEPTEMBER DIES

September dies
In bursts of morning chill,
In fallen leaves
And sheaves of bundled grain;
Nocturnal cries
As nightbirds claim their kill,
While Ceres grieves
And Earth grows still again.

September dies
As geese cut 'cross the sky,
Black arrowheads
Hurled at some Titan's heart;
While Summer lies
With all the years gone by,
Awash in reds
Like blood from Autumn's dart.

September dies
As pumpkins break the vine
And brittle stalks
Of corn await the blade;
When weary eyes
Search heaven for a sign
And Jack Frost walks
Like death across the glade.

Then is the time
When old men gather round
To snatch at flies
Beside the parlor door;
Life's paradigm
Played out without a sound,
September dies
And Autumn comes once more.

-- Michael Pendragon

*****

Day's End

So, September,
I'll not cry; seems
you've always said goodbye
this time of year, but you
remain the lucky one,
living again and again,
never knowing
you're bidding a final farewell

~Reverie

BLACK CAT

He stalks the deep October night unseen
Through shadows and the spaces in-between
Down alleys where the rats run thick as thieves;
With yellow eyes and fur as black as sin
A crooked back that mocks the pumpkin's grin
He slinks in silence through the brittle leaves
That haunt the hidden paths each Halloween.

Some call him imp, or demon spawn of Hell
Twitching his tail to cast a witch's spell
On those who cross him 'neath a harvest moon;
A backstreet banshee yowling at the stars
Or mortals stumbling home from late night bars
Whose drunken singing interrupts the tune
He croons of things that dead men fear to tell.

He prowls the twisted backroads of my dreams
To fill my thoughts with dark, alluring schemes
That good intentions could not hope to match;
He howls his lullabies as stars grow pale
Strings incantations in a plaintive wail
As though he sought to conjure forth Old Scratch
With tortured notes that echo Hades' screams.

He walks where jack-o'-lanterns light the dead
On Hallows Eve when angels fear to tread
Between two worlds that meet this magick night;
The night is his, but when the night is done
He wanders home like Satan's long lost son
And as I wake to greet the morning light
He's curled up on the mat beside my bed.

-- Michael Pendragon

*****

With Love and Mutual Respect, Always
by NancyGene

I am the barghest which keeps you from sleep,
The hag who smiles at you on the street,
The spirit which leaps if you open your eyes,
The shape that lurks behind doors in disguise,

The monster who hides, not under the bed,
But in the basement and wants you dead,
The Oni who reaches your door and then pulls,
The werewolf who waits for the moon to be full,

The basilisk rising up in your back seat,
The killer of lambs, and you hear its last bleat,
The Bogeyman coming for you when you’re bad,
And your name is first on Old Scratch’s notepad.