Best Naturehouse Poems
We came to your home
Jack
Hidden amongst bosom
hills and armies of trees
past the State gates
who finally admitted
us entry to your tomb
they keep you here
Jack
in memory, first editions
your wife spent years
here alone, your phantom
haunting the halls
the woods
her memory
she built this place
like the Egyptians of old
dragging each mental stone
one
upon
the other
cranium slave labor
of awe
fear
love
a physical testament
to your published
achievements and
emotional fingerprint
you left your mark
everywhere
Jack
Hawaii where you
danced the headhunter
dance of primitive times
donned your outfit
and howled to the
new moon of inspiration
Jack
you and wife traveled
the oceans just like
your novels
your life ebbing and
alive
still
in these pages of
Calling and White
you observed life
and the universe
and without hesitation
you recorded it for us
Christopher Columbus
Sir Francis Drake
of reality fiction
But reality has a way
of finding even the
largest child as we
hide from it or
ignore it before its
to late
it found you after
your Wolf House burned
and the booze burned
you for far too long
you slept the final
sleep
on the porch of
inspiration
like a babe you returned
now we see the
ruins of the Wolf House
and your grave
your ashes
beneath the stone
next to your wife
across from the two
children's markers
the birds crying as
we all do for you
Jack
Tree house is a house of forefathers
Roses beautify bed together
Enlisting its use which no one bother
Empty envy, loving hearts rather
Humidify the clay moulded by porter
Oath we should take either
Useful for future said by author
sensible use which do not destruct weather
Eternal joy of protecting it is wonder.
by:-
vrushani thaker
Evening tiptoes away on slippered feet
Houses up and down the street are silhouettes
The faint sound of a train whistles through the air
leaving a melancholy soliloquy resounding through the night
A table cleared of all traces of supper, is now set for breakfast
Doors are locked, and a screen has been put across the glowing embers
The two Labradors, in deep slumber, are curled in baskets by the back door
The house settles, like arthritic old bones
and the momentum of a busy day winds itself down
Beyond the kitchen door, a garden is washed white by the moonlight
A mantel clock is ticking, and the refrigerator is humming with comfortable familiarity
The moon slowly makes a shadowy passage
through the windows of each room
as it puts the house to bed...
I quietly head up the stairs, reluctant to let these parting moments slip away
Crawling between the cool sheets, I snuggle my head on the softness of my good fortune
In the long silent moments before I fall asleep
my drowsy eyes turn to wander
where window gazing finds the harvest moon
rifting in the darkness...
Against the moonlight, a magnolia branch is stenciled black and keen
Three stars are tangled in the topmost bough...
My eyes and I say goodnight to the moon....
and thank you to the stars.....
And today becomes tomorrow....
The sirens loudly sounded
I perked up in strange alert as my heart pounded.
My fingers grew cold
I wondered how long my breathing could hold,
A flood warning and a tornado on the ground
The eeriness was filled without a single sound
I crouched and shielded myself in that old basement
I could feel the air seeping into my empty displacement.
Suddenly and just as quickly as it had come... It had disappeared
I emerged from underground and took a look around, but everything looked weird.
My house still stood, but it favored one side
I had never feared anything enough to run and hide.
I looked to the sky and thanked god I was alive still
Unfortunately that wasn't the case for the neighbors on the hill.
Husband and wife had been killed
From their house to the yard was nothing but shrapnel from doorframe to feild
I stood and I cried
Why had two good people just died?
I didn't think it seemed fair
but did that mean god didn't care??
No
Because storms come and storms go...
The angry bees or the mild
Grew together in the hive in the house next to the tree
Although couldn't understand as a child
That any of bees would hurt me
Those bees mating and taken to flight
Would cover and sting anyone in sight
Where we all alike hit the dirt lying low
Not wanting those bees to sting us that day
Now fifty-seven years later remembering you
You who was a hero to me that way
The orchard probably is not longer there
Wonder if those bee hives' boxes still sit
Next to the house at the edge of orchard
Or did those bees go back into the side
The side of the house through that tiny hole
Back to their hive and family
Hip roof house adorned
With a yellow wig that glows
From sun light dancing
(Go by this house many times in a week but happen by at a time when the
angle of the sun with such that the autumn colored leaves looked like a wig on
the house top.)
In the Cave of the Madonna ( Village of Topollia Crete 1994 )
I formed a square of brick
a block house of the future
and the years like dust lay thick
around my door
many footsteps answer like dreams
upon my floor
I built a synthetic artery into the mountain side
And there beneath a hollow cave
I found inside
the minarets of aeons
forming in a habitat of drips and spires
consorting with empathy in the dim dark
evolving beauty
drip drip after drop of centuries
Here, I formed a square of brick
and white shrine painted
to house the endless time
of my soul
the worshipful desires of my domicile and heart
I designed to entomb and liberate
before this sanctum
of the mountains core
to feel here in this high and inaccessible place
a little closer to my troubled God
Far from close and so difficult to traverse
the winding pathways of stones and rock
the sheer cliffs of my life longs work
Long ago I forgot the peace of the valley
the walls and road interrupted my view
into serenity
but occasionally
when the night is close
I hear the drips of those forming spires
and expanses of time open
a vista where my ancestry and history
breathes for a second
and my only answer to this mystery
is my house of brick
shrine of white
Madonna church
My religion
Electriconic connection
On a melting world
And my pain has completely lost her voice
Pajamas up since seven on the sofa now eleven
Where in abundance we can shiver the leaves and have our heads shake things out
Quarreling lovers are burrowing mothers are sorrowful daughters all terrible fathers we are
Pajama thirty now on the eleven-spot now “Zap-2-it” on-screen
I say all this because I love you and me though it's only because you love me that I love me
and know what love means
Can I paint broader strokes stepping out of the window of the house I am painting? Paint,
paint the colors of the paint?
Where were you when you were born: in a house or in a womb? On your mother or on the
ground?
Prefaces like precipices make modern living monolithic and rained on. Like how the flowers
need it.
I’m standing behind you now with your permission.
Hanging bow hanging bow
Bow bow bow
Hang bow hang
Let the rain wash the soiling regret
Make blood fill the veins of our roots
Blooming bloom blooming
Blooming asunder
As I depart from the
trail and into the
bushes I go.
Robin's tree house right
above my head, so many
fine birds, four or five I see.
Such a charming bird,
sounds coming from
them so gentle.
Robin's tree house by
the pond, but
hidden so well.
Goodbye my robin
chums, until
another grand day.
wrote 9-19-07 at Lowell ponds