RED IN ITS ANGER

 

 

The storm approaches the shore.

A spray of water hits my face.

The salty breeze lifts tendrils of hair.

Palm trees sway and bend.

The sand ripples

from the increasing wind.

Birds flee for safety.

Waves crash against the rocks.

The sky darkens to red in its anger,

raining tears across the land and sea.

When will it end?

Once the sky calms,

the sun will shine.

The birds will return.

The tantrum will be over.

RIDE WITH THE WIND

 

 

RIDE WITH THE WIND

The Dead ride the night.
They ride with the wind.
The daylight is their enemy.
Lock your doors.
Cover your windows.
You might be next.
They are a select group.
They torment their victims.
They are bloodthirsty.
See you in hell.


THE DEAD GAME

Kindle
http://amzn.to/1lKvMrP

Nook
http://bit.ly/1lFdqNj  

ALONE IN A CEMETERY

 

ALONE IN A CEMETERY

 

The wind whispers.

The trees sway.

Air hisses through the leaves.

Shadows lurk between gravestones.

With long robes, they sweep toward me.

A statue looms in the distance.

A winged angel turns her cold face 

and faces me.

A wicked grin curves her mouth.

Her wings take flight.

And so do I.

ANCHORS IN THE WIND

ponderation:

Postcard from Tulum by Todd Wall

 

Calm blue waters.

Pink sand.

Palm trees wave in the sea breeze.

A burst of wind lifts the palm trees.

From their roots, they fly.

From their anchors in the sand.

A puff of wind

and they’re gone.