Wednesday, September 07, 2011

The Autumn Gay Tints

“…Of youth, and home, and those sweet time,
When last I heard their soothing chime.
Those joyous hours are passed away;
And many a heart, that then was gay…” 
(from the old song)

*A Petal of the Mist*

A petal of the mist fell on my tweed,
a fragrant shade of flowers of the hope.
My garden used to have the flowers’ scent.
A kind of dope. Defoliated now.
I used to pluck the flowers for the thrilling
and magic fortune-telling. I conjured
for tenderness--devoting, holding breath,
awaiting for a miracle. In awe. So hopelessly.
Now, borders of the seasons all crumbled
and quickly disappeared in the helix
between the petal of the mist and scarp of hope.
Lara Biyuts © 2008

*caught in the toils of autumn*

Hours, days, weeks rustle after;
the amber blizzard rushes after
throwing dead leaves onto my face.
Caught in the toils of autumn,
I taste the brandy wind.
The cedar scent. The lump in the throat.
It tastes like heady salt of your skin.
Elixirless again. Why?
It smells like myrrh of your skin.
Lara Biyuts © 2007

*play with us*

The play of hues beckoning outside.
Twilight is purple, nearly sanguine.
Veils aren’t sanguine yet bold--
the yellow tinted vogue is kitschy.
Red, ochre, green and topaz. The blond autumn
plays boldly with the nature.
Black is added to our cachepots.
Some azure to the sky. Umbra and khaki
of trees and foliage like scrolls of annals.
The heady smells and airy cobwebs in the sunray.
Ambergris of Kenzo and cinnamon
unveiling someone’s sins by scenting wrists.
The autumn adorns you with needles of tweed.
Lara Biyuts © 2011


my 'read' shelf:
 my read shelf

Lara's favorite quotes

"Yes, the objective form is the most subjective in manner. Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask and he will tell you the truth."— Oscar Wilde



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