The Fog and the Mountain

The mute scrim of a fog
Defrauded the mountain view
Tricking the observer into
Motion-picture, two-dimensional,
Movie-world unreality.


And yet the mountain laughed
At the fog’s attempt
At masking the peak’s majesty.
It laughed and laughed
Knowing how temporary was
The nature of the fog.


“I shall be always be before you,
Simple Fog.”
But the fog acted as if it was
Completely unaware that the
Mountain existed at all.

Copyright M.R.Hyde 2018

Seven Crows Upon One Hawk

Seven crows upon one hawk!

Isn’t that the way?!

It takes seven scavengers

To attack a bird of prey.

The sky, as their arena,

Saw how the hawk did dance,

Its wings far broader

Than the blackened spines of chance.

Cowards one and cowards all

Crowded ‘round together.

But not one dared

To take it on—the raptor, far the greater!

Yet, the raptor stayed engaged

In that piece of sky

When it knew the heights it could

Fly and fly and fly.

There it stayed up in that air,

The seven ringing ‘round,

Until they grew weak and weary.

Then the black ones sought the ground.

The hawk it flew far out of reach.

The crows clung to some limbs

For they were cowards one and all

And the hawk the king of winds! 

M.R. Hyde

Copyright 2018

Autumnal Hymn

Jets draw their chalk lines through the bright October skies.
Geese ignore that kind of graceless flight, coursing southward in their casual triangles.

We won’t be able to hold winter back much longer.
We just won’t be able to hold winter back much longer.

As if we ever could!

Triumphant leaves sing out their brilliant and beatific swan songs.
Branches siphon out every hue in desperate races to beat the snow at its game.

They won’t be able to hold winter back much longer.
They just won’t be able to hold winter back much longer.

As if they ever could!

But winter’s grip—ah, that’s the thing—
Winter’s grip has no hold on spring.
Winter’s grip is frail.

Fingers wrap ‘round hot tea in hand; steam curls like a rolling river.
Eyes drink in autumnal splendor as the mind collects velvet memories for the plain days.

We can’t hold winter back—never!
We just can’t hold winter back—ever.

--M.R. Hyde