Posts Tagged ‘forest’

Somewhere among the dueling concrete

and greenery;

somewhere among the orchards

and the painted dollhouses of suburbia;

somewhere in the obnoxious cries of the gull,

the wail of the baby, the shoots of light

that grow out of the sun;

somewhere in the deep

blue-black forest of scrawls by the poet,

there is

hope.

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Susceptible to Change-

like the weather-

is this land I roam;

great Fields of Heather,

 

boiling Seas of Grass,

Earth like planks of Wood,

Woods bursting upward-

each tree bears a hood.

Something of majesty,

the forest encapsulated

in this tiger’s eye.

 

Lithing its snow-white feet

in my dreams, against murk

of jungle. Flames of pelt fly,

 

cinders soaring

to ignite this shadowland.

Morning is not nigh,

 

but fear before this

blazing beast

would be wise to flee.

When you enter,

you step into yourself

and confront all the things

that you’ve kept buried.

Green-brown spires 

with their limbs- gnarled like weeds-

cast shadows, block

out the sunlight-you must search for it.

The brown path is not worn,

the ground is cold, 

and singing seems pointless here,

because the wizened trees of your mind

will suck the joy out of the tune

and reduce your voice to a stammer.

 

Know

that there are more people 

than solely you in this forest.

All paths intertwine,

and people are never alone.

But be careful what you say

as you stumble through the woods;

you never know what innocent children

will hear your curses

from the thicket on the other side.

Into the thrill of clattering hooves,

black steel on the stony street,

red sparks flitting like fairies in the night;

into the night

vivid as the jungle with its wriggling shadows,

and amber eyes, the lights

small and white through canopy of shadow;

into the forest

with its ground of beige dust,

and pines and spruces

regaling times of fire

and rising like turrets with jewel-needles;

into a new sky

more infinite than a road

and flatter than mirror

where clouds drift above like friends

watching a companion dive into an ocean.

Cruel Dawn

curls her mischievous hair-

glowing flames of flamingo pink

and citrus orange,

into the window

to settle on eyes like buzzing insects,

irritating one’s eyes out of landscapes

of the mind,

and into the dimly lit room

as real as paint,

where one sighs

as hooves, night, jungle, forest, sky

fleetly leave one’s eyes.

Meeting Place

Posted: November 9, 2013 in Love Poems, Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Can we meet

in that stretch between trees

and fields of wheat and wildflowers?

Where ghosts dance by the moon’s ascension,

and shadows play across the humped hills.

Where lights glide along

the sun’s path,

and voices dissolve, and music abides.

Can we meet here,

touch here,

where no one can see us

when the pearly shell of the moon closes

and we are just two living souls

in a world of racing shadows.

The river flows through the forest,

never stopping, always rushing,

with it come fish and debris

swept up in its current

then deposited cruelly in a place they do not recognize.

But the trees stand firmly,

proud and tall.

Branches billow in the breeze.

They are quiet homes for birds and other creatures.

They provide food, and they do not protest.

The chaotic river runs wilder and wilder,

gaining speed toward the edge of the forest.

It grabs whatever it can find and

drags these things over the edge

of the forest where

the tranquility is gone.

The fish and the rocks

swept away by the river

perish at the end of their descent.