The Ravens
Over the black corner at midday
The ravens rush with hard cry.
Their shadow streaks past the doe
And sometimes they are seen in sullen rest.
O how they disturb the brown silence
Of a field lying ecstatic with itself,
Like a woman ensnared by heavy intuition,
And sometimes one can hear their nagging
Around a carcass scented out somewhere,
And suddenly their flight bends northward
And disappears like a funeral procession
Into winds that tremble with lust.
-Georg Trakl
Poem of the Month 
a gorgeous poem…thank you for sharing! RT
Colorful Autumn
The fountain sings, the clouds stand
In clear blueness, white, delicate;
Silent people wander thoughtfully
Down there in the evening-blue garden.
The ancestors’ marble has turned grey.
A line of birds streaks into the distance
A faun with dead eyes gazes
On shadows that glide into darkness.
Leaves fall red from the old tree,
Rotate inside through the open window.
The room glows in dark fires,
In it shadows, like ghosts.
Opal smoke weaves over the grass,
A cloud of wilted, bleached scents,
In the fountain the sickle moon shines
Like a green glass in freezing air.