Posts Tagged ‘landscape’

If I could spread my Arms

and embrace the Land:

the Hills- Fields- Mountains-

Forests both small and grand-

 

I would then hold

a Treasure unknown

by so many- though-

It has always- been.

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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.

Wheat Fields Under Cloudy Skies

painting by Vincent van Gogh

Sky with its blue scales
does not daunt
pastoral fields- great pools
of emeralds, celadon-
the flowers at their fringes-
white stars, blood spots-
arcing under the wind.

The land is made of curves.
Clouds wheel in and out
of their own whiteness.
The wind is blurring
the world’s colors.
They are all within one another.

In this whiteness there is desolation.

Ferocity abounds while ice plummets

to where a birdwatcher would make his or her observation.

But now the snow plunges into summits,

hiding landscape from humans at their windows.

All one can see are tiny white comets,

and in this instant, that is all one can know.

Winter is a fickle thing:

friend to children who smile

as large flakes swirl down in slow twisters,

and the land pulls this new blanket

over its face, and sleeps;

fiend to the modern conveniences

of orange and yellow, electric cities

whose black paths narrow and crystallize-

traps set for distracted humans

who have forgotten how

powerful nature can be.

Where would I rather be?

There are people here

who do not know me.

I know only their blood, not

their histories.

They talk of people I know,

the gray lady who died, my cousins;

they peruse photographs,

sorting and arranging landscapes.

I find it all uninteresting.

I distance myself–

a pale carp apart from these squawking birds.

As intriguing as

blue glass glaciers in Canada

and enormous fallen trees in California are

I’d rather their mysteries be saved for me,

for when I am old enough to journey

and pull the curtain of fog away

for even a small glimpse

at the present,

but these people are stuck

in the past.

To some extent my world is falling

out of balance, or I am simply reeling

out of mind.

I look up. Stars have warped into yellow-white

peacock feathers, luminous and blooming,

spreading threads of curling light.

My eyes sting.

I look at the darkening world.

The horizon glows purple

against blue haze of night.

What would be trees

are gnarled and twisted spikes

jutting up from the hills

like ugly skyscrapers.

They seem to be cut from black paper.

They are shadows dancing in a hot rain.

My eyes itch.

The whole landscape swells and distorts.

Obsidian hills and shadow-trees and purple sky

are bleeding together, melting

into a uniform nothing.

A ball of shadows and dark colors.

I rub my eyes.

Tears fall.

My world rights itself.