The Ghost in the Graveyard

The Ghost in the Graveyard

By Brandon Palzkill

A chill breeze glides over

the standing stones,

howling; wailing.

Wandering through the waving grass,

her vaporous steps

offer no further disturbance

to the brittle blades,

while marble lanterns,

planted beneath the soil,

cast the pale, waning moonlight

throughout the surrounding

courtyard,

lighting her path,

as she travels on her way.

But what is her path?

She knows not;

knows nothing of herself

and nothing

of the journey which carries her

onward.

She is but a lost child,

alone in a crowded room;

a directionless specter,

hoping the wind will take her

where she needs to be,

and getting nowhere.

The Morning Latte

The Morning Latte

By Brandon Palzkill

He sits on the park bench

sipping his latte,

thinking of her,

his one and only.

An unclaimed cup

warms the seat beside him;

cooling; unwanted;

coffee without a purpose;

doomed to exile.

Pedestrians amble by,

caught up in their

day to day affairs,

and care not

for the vacant cup.

To him, the cup is love;

he watches it, wistfully,

as sorrowful strings of steam

escapes its pierced lid;

signs of its haunted loneliness.

He remembers the days

when the cup would be claimed,

and she would smile behind

her morning latte,

but colder days have come

and her smiles

are no longer for him;

the latte’s left freezing,

wishing for her kiss.

A trembling hand reaches out;

he follows it to her,

the one who got away.

She offers a smile to him;

a peace offering to warm

 his insides,

as the welcomed drink

will warm hers.

she sits beside him

and everything is right.

Once again,

they share the park bench

and a smile,

they share lattes and warmth,

a crisp January morning,

but most of all,

they share their hearts.

I'm Nearly There

I’m Nearly There

By Brandon Palzkill

I’m nearly there;

the finish line’s within my sights.

I’m nearly there;

I’ve struggled onward through the years

and plowed ahead with all my might,

through darkened tunnels, toward the light;

I’m nearly there.

The Tree and the Sun

The Tree and the Sun

By Brandon Palzkill

A tree stands in a grove,

lonely; longing.

A gently blowing breeze

caresses her weathered bark,

sending shivers down

her soft, willowy spine;

making her dance, hypnotically.

The shivering tree

casts her brittle autumn leaves

upon the verdant bed, below,

and stands naked in the field,

reaching for the sun

for consummation; for warmth;

for winter’s just around the corner.

Two lovers, parted by time;

destined to be together again.

Reunited by the revitalizing spring,

the sun will bathe the tree

in his replenishing rays,

while she dances to the breeze,

in her new emerald dress.

The Writer

The Writer

By Brandon Palzkill

Struggling writer,

sitting at his computer;

solitarily toiling.

Searching, desperately;

seeking the perfect words to

share himself with all the world.

The Future Bytes

The Future Bytes

By Brandon Palzkill

Technology is the future;

hover cars, ray guns,

time machines, warp speed;

science fiction, cradled

in the palms of our hands.

Fantasies soon dissolve.

Reality takes over,

while I stare at the modern

convenience before me,

and see an evening, lost,

inconveniently.

Waiting for my world to process;

doesn’t support my file type.

Flash of blue – bad pool caller,

system not responding;

waiting, still…

Is this the way of the future?

Flawed little Tinker Toys

that seek to frustrate and confuse?

If so, I think I’d like to go

back to the stone age…

happy simplicity.  

Here We Go Again...

Here We Go Again…

By Brandon Palzkill

Lazy Monday morning -

start to another week,

and I am struggling.

Do I have to get up?

I guess I really should.

Ironing my clothes,

shower and shave,

tightening my tie;

off to work, yet again…

another normal week.