Midnight fields [kyrielle]

Let us rejoice, winter's at hand!
The solstice shall be his adevnt!
Mad rapture spreads throughout the land!
Let us loose Bacchus, god of vine!

The hunt! The hunt! Glorious and free!
In midnight fields we find our fame,
Let's drink our way to victory!
Let us loose Bacchus, god of vine!

Through drunken steps did I pursue,
That which flits under thorn and bush.
I saw my arrow strike so true.
Let us loose Bacchus, god of vine!

Fire-drunken with eyes mad and wide,
I maimed a creature so divine.
So I felt the death of mine pride.
Let us loose Bacchus, god of vine!

So I have shed a thousand sighs,
For vine has thorns unseen and all.
Forever I will question why!
Let me lose Bacchus, god of wine!
--------------------------------------
It's an entry for a poetry contest. The format's a kyrielle.

Devour.
Rinse.
Repeat.

Sign Language

Stop.
Stay off the grass.

Dead End Ahead.

Dangerous curves,
Accident prone area,
Walk at your own risk.

Look.
Listen.
Stop.

Kamikaze Leaves [free verse]

I was strolling down the autumn lane
of a quiet suburban park
in the autumn of my life when
I saw the most curious of displays.

Colors of earth and fire where awhorl
all around the chilly atmosphere.
Gold, orange and muddy brown conspired
to envelop the most innocent of passers-by.

I have never, I say, I have never
seen such wanton disregard for life
as those kamikaze leaves of autumn time.

Old and withered stems pluck'd themselves,
wrenching tired old bones and sagging flesh,
for a final hurley-gurley joyride
along the autumn breeze.

Impotent.

One wishes we could all go out
in such an energetic and beautiful fashion.