Sunday, April 09, 2017

In The Land Of Pumpkins And Smoke...

Post by AquarianM on Oct 14, 2006 at 10:11pm

In The Land Of Pumpkins And Smoke...

It is the Fall, awash in fire and dreams of flames,
A warm thing that dances 'neath the crisp stars,
Strewn in graceful dreams upon the night,
When we look up in the glare of the flames,
Seeing spirits all about the edges of vision,
Right where the golden glow fades to the shadows.

In the daylight golden sheaves of the harvest stand,
'Rounded bout by the bright orange of pumpkins,
Seeming to have each their own personality,
Even before we carve them faces soon to light,
The year is closing and draws us into reverie,
All things past and passed come 'round here haunting,
Whispering like ghosts and setting prayers into flight.

The connection with bygone days is tangible, colorful,
A slow season of traditions' dances across our hearts,
Our eyes and lives - the simple joy of a cigar by the fire,
Smoke-ghosts carry those prayers away to our spirits on high,
The missed ones and the unfathomable one.

The history of this land is in our bones,
In our teeth and eyes and blood and breath,
We've drunk the waters of its rivers and lakes and rains,
Eaten the fruit of its Earth all our days,
Breathed in the millions of scents that wisp about the place,
Soaked in its spirit since before we were even babes,
And so its visions come easily to us - its poets and people.

The people of this land by birth are my people,
None of us knows any other home,
I care not the least for colors and creed,
Simply know that tears and smiles are common things,
Miracles shared by us all,
Their ghosts haunt me as do my own,
I see them in these cocooned nights,
Dancing at the edges of fires, embers, and candle flames,
Laughing from the faces of gourds and pumpkins,
Spinning 'round puffs of sacred smoke that billow to the stars,
In faerie rings around a gibbous harvest moon.

Certainly they remind us of bats and spiders and ghouls,
Coffins and open Earth and cold stones,
Grey cold mists and all the accouterments of the unknown,
They remind of us of what we face in Winter,
Yet it is their season,
One other thing they whisper in the cooling nights,
"Harvest ye well all knowledge of Spring and Summer's growth."


By: Daniel A. Stafford