I am somber
like November days
and my words speak
weak, as if through tired tongue
I see the trees
reaching their limbs
across the stream
as if touching
and comforting each other
from the bitter cold
that's settling in
sometimes I envy them
I want to stand naked
arch my back
reach towards hands
and feel the comfort
of more than I am allowed
and escape the bitterness
as it settles in
it doesn't seem fair
to question a day
or night that wears the same veil
as me, colorless
and silent in the breeze
as it whispers
through the trees
I want to lean my ear
and eavesdrop on them
I want to peak beneath
the skies veil and see
the colors blend
to see the rain
through colored drops
fall upon a canvas
and paint a masterpiece
I want to feel my hands
finger a pen, without tingling
from bottled up emotions
to feel my soul inside me
not as if locked outside
looking in, as if a stranger
to my own life
not be the afterthought
or an emotion beyond words
of some poet's muse
I want to know the meaning
of this emptiness
I want to understand
why the tree is as naked
as my thoughts in winter
yet dressed heavy in the summer
and most beautiful in the fall
why does beauty fall
and dance in November's wind
somber, like the day....
June Bells Flowering under the Trees
Scarce had it rain'd -- blue hued
drops showering down;
in the witching hour I rode,
where the earth is overrun by weeds,
yellow fringed with black-eyed-susans;
trees overhung with wild cherries.
Pacing past the sequester'd glen,
following the trail where tall beeches grow:
long sleeved and long limb'd;
and leaves falling in curling frills.
Then I heard a merry song; sweetest tune
enough to make a maiden swoon;
soon turning round a winding bend,
a field of dripping june bells;
I sighted them, a thousand and more
in blue slippers scatter'd wide.
Seated myself on a moss cover'd stone,
as one aptly does after a long ride.
Somewhere beats an earthly heart,
someone breathes a heaving sigh;
Eyes turn to the darken'd clouds hanging by,
and to the lowering skies;
then far to the place where airy spirits roam,
and to the sepulchred ground
where unruffled I lie in my grave,
under the tufts of june bells.
For the contest: "Appreciation (In Honour of PD)"
Sponsored by Abdulhafeez Oyewole
Written on 4/23/2013
A busy road.
A tree stump.
An old man.
Everyday at eight 'o clock
He sits there, cane tapping
just watching cars go by--
I among them
Such a lonely man
I say to myself
Same busy road.
Same tree stump.
Same old man.
He looks up, cane twirling
and smiles at me
in that split second
I smile back
A roadside friend is gained.
Same busy road.
Same tree stump.
Different old man.
Day after day
He waves hi--cane dancing
I wave goodbye,
no time to stop
Same busy road
Same tree stump
No old man
I screech to a halt
Ask of his absence
a piece of paper
found taped on his cane
I weep in my car
and send a prayer
to my roadside friend
Changed my world.
"Thank you lady in the blue car.
You make my day."
Same busy road.
Same tree stump.
"A woodland path in the dappled sun, hushed and quiet "
~A Rambling Poet~
A canopy of trees
filters the sun for me,
and I am grateful...
For I do not feel like
having the rays glare
in my eyes today,
in a brooding mood I am.
The earth is damp,
drunken with dew,
I lay myself down,
jagged rocks beneath me
and I welcome it
For it grounds me,
that not everything
is sunlight and blooms
I sink in my darkness
and close my eyes
to dwell in it and drown,
For an eternity,
I am mired with
muck and moss in my mind,
...until I open my eyes
The trees above me
stand tall and proud
in their radial glory,
the sun just
my cold being
Leaves gilt with light
blink back in awe
and I am floored,
blanketed by warmth
of hushed spirits
tell their tales
of growth and survival,
of yearning for
of their struggle
to catch a glimpse
feeding off from it,
in order to
give back to others
some of them stumble
yet most of them
I am humbled.
I am awed.
Yes, the canopy
gave me shade,
from the light,
I look up again
that the tiniest
pinholes of hope exist,
reaching deep within...
that set off
a chain reaction
--June 11-12 (2011)
A tree stands tall,
in the forest is blended
I sit and admire it's strength,
For each of us has had time to take heed
Time to be fruitful,
give, and time to need
The wind picks up
I hear it call in a distance
It's the path I once chose,
the one with the most resistance
Oh woe, to my life of trouble and despair indeed...
as the wind redundantly shakes the branch with one last plead
Storms come and the rain soaks into the ground
The lightning, the memories
flash all around
Like a breath, in an instant
the calm sets the atmosphere
Don't look at the storm, what was
look at what has appeared
Some of the branches are left weakly unattached
It's the part to let go,
the part of the past
The sunlight now shines on the tree,
it drinks the rain
Ready to grow, flourish and blossom;
remembering no pain
Went through a phase....thought maybe I should live life to the fullest,
and stop giving away 8 hours of each day, towards sleeping.
After the first week of sleep deprivation,
Buddha and Jesus both appeared simultaneously,
started following me wherever I went-
couldn't tell between hallucinations and reality.
Buddha helped write my final exams,
and Jesus always made sure that I didn't forget to eat.
After the second week, I was floating above my body....
no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't fall asleep anymore-
didn't just have second and third winds....I was having winds
to the 99th power extreme.
Jesus was telling me to try again and again,
while Buddha told me to hang in there,
for Nirvana was just around the corner.
Asked my buddy for some help,
and he gave me this little blue pill -
don't even touch aspirin anymore.
Well, the pill knocked me right out!
Tried so hard to fight against it,
having some doubts about what I had just swallowed.
Metallic galaxies of inner stars began pulling at my eyelids,
adding their massive core-gravity to my temples.
Red turned to black inside of my mind,
as little globules of pulsing light
floated before my inner-eye.
d o w n,
down, I spiralled,
thinking about picking cherries from the apple tree in Eden....
beautiful Japanese Geishas propping up the ladder
that pointed down into the rabbit hole.
Up was down,
as cherries were apples?
The branches of the tree resembled its roots in the ground-
perfect mirrors of each other,
as I sat in both places at once;
dream double looking back at me.
ZZzzzzZzzzzZZzzzZZZz....for almost 62 hours straight.
Must have lived a thousand lives in those dreams.
Woke up, wasn't sure if I was still sleeping?
Awoke into sweat and stale urine.
Started falling asleep in school.
Fell asleep at work.
Once you swallow the blue pill,
you can never go back-
the rabbit hole stretches into eternity.
In the solitude of an ebbing day, there is a twilight blush along the hills
And a world switches direction, ......as if tumbling silently into eternity
Where shadows of telephone poles, along a country road,.....
seem to curl,... and follow the curve of the earth
When the shadow of a tree becomes longer,.......
than ever a tree was tall
When my own silhouette, so dark and stretched, and long,......
seems to walk between earth and heaven
To feel such harmony at days end, my arms seem longer,...almost without limit...
so that I can reach out to catch the first star upon the evening sky,....
and feel the touch of God....
For Nette's Contest: "In 24 Hours"
By Carrie Richards
I have dropped my pains on pages of poems,
the ink in my pen treasures my groans,the
quill is my sword, with edges sharp enough
to sculpt the perfect picture, the quill is the
only thing you got when those devils try to
get ya, the only warmth when those men or
women forget ya, I bet ya a million bucks
and yes it sucks, but poetry is more than
just writing, its healing, remedy of feeling,
dealing with the worst of you, quenched the
thirst of you, a doctor or a nurse to you,
sometimes you get delusions and think it
gave birth to you, as it pours on its immensity
of worth on you, that's what enchanting words
One day I gave poe to a dying tree
now it has grown it looks fine to me, boy oh
boy the tree said to me, if it wasn't for your
poe in tree another day I wouldn't have seen,
but now I have STRONG roots running below
city's a million feet strong and a billion feet
long and I can stand to bear the blues jay on
my branches, with songs all day long, I wrote his
song it went like this poe in tree poe in tree gave
ETERNAL bliss to thee, oh by the way, I am
the tree saved by poe in tree poetry poetry
Tree Roots and the Light
The tall Tree was Flying, its leaves high in the sky,
Trying to go beyond the flying kites, towards the light,
Its roots were trying to penetrate the soil,
Heading in the deep darkness, it kept moving without a shine.
Higher its branches touched the Crown of mirth,
Touching the lofty heights of light and the sky,
Its leaves and branches were flying and dancing,
In the joy of touching Light and those untouched, heights.
Some where, not far beyond the skies, lives dearest of our heart and soul,
I saw the Tree kept moving towards that One, it always adored,
While its beloved roots too, were silently busy in supporting,
Without which, the Tree can never even stand to touch the lofty scores.
I thought and wondered, which one contributes more,
In touching the limitless, lofty heights and the glow of the sky,
The stem, which is blessed to touch the sky, or the roots that resembles,
A true beloved without which, the stem even can not stand for a while.
The Tall tree was standing before me, unfolding its love towards the Sky,
With a high and prideful head in the sky, the tree was heading towards the glow,
Far away from its beloved roots, to feel the serene touch in the limitless sky,
Going a little closer to that Glow, which we adore and love and call Almighty.
Kanpur India 22 08 2010
Pinnacle of the pristine forest
Toxic from its blood-stained soil
The trophy tree sits
Barren of foliage
Dark decrepit limbs easily broken by subtle breezes
Amidst wisps of gray fog
The trophy tree waits
Surrounded by a dark ominous wind
Its veins filled with crimson sap from its suffering sorrowful souls
Engorged and contorted with anguish
The trophy tree breathes
Constantly feasting –one victim at a time
Draining energies from Sleepy Hollow’s forest
Starving to fill its empty bowels
The trophy tree consumes
Silent screams echoing within its lair
Innocent peasants' heads stored as trophies
Roots reaching towards hell--
Trophy Case of the Headless Horseman
Submitted by Gwendolen Rix and Julian Egona for PD's Dark Forest Contest.
A mother and son collaboration
*Goosebumps and lethal palpitations overtook us on our journey through this dark and evil forest. We sat on the couch with a darkened room and lit candles conjuring up the scariest forest possible with the most evil tree--The Trophy Tree.