The Dusty Men

The Dusty Men

 

Four men travel a dusty road

Tight of belt and light of load

Weary feet shuffling slow

Where do the four dusty men go?

 

Man number one is a man named Tom

He never speaks much of where he is from

But he holds the ace of spades with a tear in his eye

As the bright sun sets in the twilight sky

 

Man number two goes by the name of Bert

Wearing the rags of a silken shirt

Early each morning with a flask of gin

He sneaks off alone to quietly sing

 

Man number three is a spry old cricket

Said his friends out west called him Wicket

With gnarly old fingers as light as a breeze

He lifts heavy purses just as easy as you please

 

Man number four doesnt say much

The other dusty men all call him Dutch

They can’t imagine that his road has been fun

For poor old Dutch doesn’t have a tongue

 

Four dusty men travel a dusty road

Tight of belt and light of load

None can ever say if the dusty men know

Where the roads they travel even go

 

©Aarron Mondello

2/11/2018

 

Overgrown Orchard

By Aarron Mondello

14/2/2018

The fruit is hanging heavy and ripe
Glistening with morning dew
A bright sunrise chases away the night
As a soft wind breezes through
The silent trees all in a line
Straight as an arrow set
At their roots fermenting and rotting
The fruits of past years rest
Down the lines between the trees
Tall vibrant green grass grows
Waving their stalks at the clear sky
From there amongst the rows
An apple falls swallowed by the grass
To rest on the untrod ground
The leaves of the trees speak to each other
A hissing whispery sound
The blue above is bright and clear
On this perfect springtime day
A bird crawls slowly across the sky
Gliding to some far away
Still the trees wave near silent leaves
To the swaying grass below
Time as it does continues to pass
And the sweet fruits continue to grow

©Aarron Mondello
14/2/2018


Image: https://www.dreamstime.com/stock-photo-plum-tree-overgrown-garden-image14631130

Little Darklings

By Aarron Mondello

17/12/2017

 

“What is a Darkling?”
I hear you ask
Well it’s a little shadow-child
Wearing a little shadow-mask
Flitting running
Through the trees
Blending in
Barely seen
Tittering laughter
Follows behind
These little imp-wraiths
As they hide
From all who come
Near to them
For Darklings everything
Holds fear for them
“Are they evil?”
You enquire
No more evil
Than burning fire
They have a power
In their heart
A power some will
Seek to covert
“So they have magic?”
You seem confused
“They ARE magic”
I say, amused
Their very shifting
Shadow form
The essence from which
Magic is born
They have no use
Of their own
For the power set
Within their bones
A cup of water
Can’t drink itself
As the Darklings
Can cast no spells
“So they are good?”
How to explain
Would you put alignment
To a flame?
Neither nice
Or evil things
They just are
Little Darklings
“Are they real”
Your voice goes soft
Not any more
I scoffed
People hungered
For their power
And hunted them
To their final hour
Now no more
Do they flitter
Through the Shadows
Running thither
Their end was long
Brutal and violent
Their old homes
Now lay ever silent
Beautiful shadows
Always laughing
Their only downfall
Was being Darklings.

©Aarron Mondello2017


Featured image: A Rustle and a Murmur by moppaa

https://www.deviantart.com/art/A-Rustle-and-Murmur-442059115

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/silent/”>Silent</a&gt;

Old Mothers End

By Aarron Mondello

11/12/2017

 

Grey clouds racing through the night sky
Over darker lands below
Where death stalks every quivering creature
And only twisted things grow

In the centre of this dead land
Lies a Forrest dark and brooding
With a small clearing at its heart
Where stands a willow tall and drooping

A patch of green here and there
Still shone amongst her branches
Though mostly Mother willow had succumbed
To poisonous sickly advances

At the base of her gnarly roots
Sat an elderly elven fellow
More bones and skin no meat on him
His face gone gaunt and sallow

Every day from dawn till dusk
He laboured with his hands
At his feet sat crystal vials
A dozen all on stands

He drilled the trunk of Mother Willow
And drained her healthy sap
Twisting the drill to bore a hole
Then knocking in a tap

There was not much healthy sap
Left to drain out of she
For nearly dead, on her last legs
Was this mammoth willow tree

But old man elf remembered
A time before the dark
When Mother Willow sang to the moon
As the children climbed her bark

So now he sat and cried
Silently as he drilled her trunk
The dead lands all about them
Echoed with his mallets thunk

Sweating and tired and nearly done
He stopped to take a breath
Old Mother Willow whispered her thanks
Then finally gave in to death

Her last green leaves withered up
Right before his eyes
Her brown bark turned to ashen grey
As he howled sorrow at the skies

She was the last, he is the last
This garden of eden no more
He packed his vials of her precious sap
And left for brighter shores

None can say how his road travelled
As he searched horizons far
But you can see the vials of Mother Willows
Sap as all the stars

And still the grey clouds race
Over that land twisted and dead
Where in every valley or mountain range
Stalk countless eyes of dread.

Aarron Mondello2017


Featured image

https://www.claudemonetgallery.org/Weeping-Willow-Giverny.html

The Ruined Halls

By Aarron Mondello

10/12/2017

Shadows crawled
Across the walls
Wearing the face of men
The broken bricks
Laying thick
About the rotted floors
Broken glass
Twinkling shards
Still hung in every window frame
And through the ruin
To a sombre
Sung by the wind a’howling
Trapped forever
Always dancing
Moved the Shades of the Past

Forrest marching
Ever closer
Towards the cracked brown walls
Wood beams rotting
Gaping chasms
Where termites ate the floors
Bleached white bones
Of little creatures
Stacked in one quiet corner
Yawning mouths
Leading deeper
Rot has devoured all the doors
Still, trapped forever
Always dancing
Moved the Shadows of the Past

Where flowers grew
In every hue
Now was dry and barren
And the path
Out the front
Was all but overgrown
Any gardens
That ever grew
Have long been choked by lawn
Only crows
Live in the beams
And shadows of the attic ruins
While trapped forever
Always dancing
Moved the Shades of the Past

Where little children
Used to run
Now there is only settled dust
All the halls
The voices stilled
Have become the den of rodents
Nothing left
All is gone
Gone to rubble, ruin and rust
Yet through the ruin
To a sombre tune
Sung by the wind a’howling
Trapped forever
Always dancing
Moved the Shadows of the Past.
©Aarron Mondello2017


Featured image: The Ruin Hall by Ehsartem

https://www.deviantart.com/art/The-Ruin-Hall-473606705

Memories of a place

By Aarron Mondello

6/12/2017

It’s funny how a place
Can bring clarity of the mind
Sent across the ages
From a Once Upon A Time

Walking through this place
I’m assaulted by the past
Some memories I wish would fade
Some I’m glad still last

As the winds blow up a song
A ode to yesteryear
I realise I no longer belong
In any space around here

Familiar faces seen
Staring right through me
I’ve outgrown this place
And it’s moved on from me

And where once I thought
Coming here would leave me
Anxious and distraught
I am feeling light and free

For in this place of the past
My heart no longer rests
And while my memories here will last
I like my hearts new home the best.

©Aarron Mondello2017


Featured image Bussleton Jetty, western Australia

The Fountain

By Aarron Mondello

2/12/2017

High upon a mountain
Built an age ago
Stands a marble fountain
That no longer flows

It’s said that in the past
Under the myriad stars
The crystal water flowed clear and fast
Pilgrims came from afar

They sipped the pristine droplets
As they knelt upon the ground
Lips pressed to a golden goblet
Their prayers barely made a sound

Tis said that if the gods were listening
When the travelers spoke their woes
A comet with its tail a glistening
Would be the sign to know

Heavy hearted many left
When no sign did they spy
Some would even jump from the cliff
When no comet graced the starlit skies

Upon one night way up high
A travellers question asked
For the well to come up dry
And it trickled that night its last

Why he asked this under the moon
No body can ever say
But the gods saw fit to grant his boon
And the fountain still runs dry today.

©Aarron Mondello2017


Featured image: Fountain of Youth by nisht

https://www.deviantart.com/art/FOUNTAIN-OF-YOUTH-77384266

Unrequited Love

By Aarron Mondello

28/11/2017

She weeps alone
He sees there
Sitting upon
Her well of tears
For each of the
Glistening gems
That fall from her eyes
Drop into the depths
There they form
A sparkling pool
While he spies from hiding
Like a fool
And watches her
Falling tears
Watches her
Succumb to fears
Fears that he
Could never guess
Fears that cause
Her souls unrest
With a wordless cry
She throws herself
After her tears
Into the well
He doesn’t think
Or stop to dwell
He just follows her
Into the well
Together falling
Though far apart
She hears him calling
Out to her heart
And there they stay
Falling still
Until a day
One of them will
Confess to other
An undying love
Only then will they
Return above
The darkened tunnel
Of unrequited love.

©Aarron Mondello 2017


Featured image: Unrequited love by Cold-Tommy-Gin

https://www.deviantart.com/art/Unrequited-Love-583061241

My life, My Tapestry

By Aarron Mondello

27/11/2017

All the pieces were on the ground
Of a life that was lied to me
And whenever I tried to walk
I sliced and cut my feet
On the the shards scattered around
The shards of broken memories

I began to pick the pieces up
Tried to find how they all fit
Tried to match the edges up
But they refused to knit
There was something missing in this puzzle
That held all these little bits

It was like trying to write a story
When your pen has no ink
It was like trying to keep it all together
When you’re so close to the brink
It forced me to stop and look
To stop and really think

I saw nothing around at first
When I stopped to stare
Nothing there was in my life
That made me want to care
But bit by bit I began to see
What was really there

I noticed first the sun warmed me
So I can’t have been dead
Then the sounds of their voices
Rose a joyous rapture in my head
And soon the happy memories returned
From all the years that had fled

It was hard and long the path I walked
To find the beauty again
To hear the simple joy there is
In the sound of falling rain
And to defy and defeat the deep belief
That I was destined for only pain

But now I stand before you
Cradling my broken bits
I’ve learned to love the damage done
And the way it all seems to fit
Into this beautiful tapestry of my life
That only I can weave and knit.

©Aarron Mondello 2017


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/knit/”>Knit</a&gt;

Sleeping, Creeping, Secrets Keeping

By Aarron Mondello

26/11/2017

The monsters that are creeping
In your dreams while you are sleeping
Slow you, you are weakening
And their strangle hold is deepening

They hunt you through the night
Through your internal plight
You’re too scared to turn and fight
So you keep running for your life

But all the while you’re sleeping
All the while you’re weeping
As these monsters are revealing
All the secrets you’ve been keeping

Somewhere alarm bells ringing
Someone somewhere is singing
Unknown you are flinging
Yourself into waking

Another night has passed you by
Another night of hidden lies
And monsters who truly spy
What lies within your fractured mind.

©Aarron Mondello


Featured image found in this article

https://www.7cups.com/forum/DepressionSupportCommunity_52/DepressionResources_214/NightmaresandHowToManageThem_66919/