The Greenbrier's Tenacity
I am the root that refuses the drought. I am the vine that denies the clean edge of the saw. You curse my thorns and call me wilderness, but I am simply the will to live, unbound.
My stems are leather, supple and sharp. They climb without asking, weaving through the neat, clean rows, a dense, insistent, complicated love. I am the silent truth in the heart of the manicured yard: What is essential finds a way to endure.
My leaves are heart-shaped, glossy, and deep green, a constant, quiet declaration of presence. I do not wait for the season's approval; I am here, always, holding the space.
The root is the law: thick, stubborn, and vast. It is an anchor against the shifting soil, holding the memory of every rain and every hunger. You may cut me back to the bare earth, but the life force is only driven deeper.
When you finally surrender to my persistence, you will find the small, dark, blue-black cluster of berries. They are the food of the deep winter, a gift of unhurried survival.
I am the Greenbrier, the tough, thorny truth. I teach you that to cling is to conquer, and that the deepest strength is found in the refusal to rest.
haunted, moon’s on the cliff,
orchestrating the waves —
she studies them.
did you know the water turns green,
the thunderclaps like cymbals?
shroud hangs like a towel
over her right arm,
bare feet
long to jump —
to fall, be wild with the wind.
tangled greenbrier hair,
she’s a Magdalene figure,
with archaic spirits
that dare her to fling
herself into the jet stream.
the tiniest voice
freezes her like a statue.
the rain melts her gaze.
she blinks;
the spell dispelled.
she nearly slips
as if tangled in seaweed,
her fingers claw the wet wall,
she weeps.
falls asleep just outside danger,
dreams a dream —
a waterfall,
tears rush forth
in colorful tones.
suddenly...
a stranger
in the thicket...
one day after sorrows...
she’s being dunked in the water...
reborn in the sunlight…
11/16/2020
Gentle splashing marks her passage
To defy the odds of life
From the safety of the harbor
To the seas with danger rife
To carry forth a burden mostly hidden
To the port at Greenbrier just beyond the light
Where those awaiting her arrival celebrate the sight
Relief to see the end of such a weighty matter
The fishermen distinctly manage moving parting
Leaving wake for no mistake allowed to harm her
On arrival to the harbor to find her berth again
For a time to settle in to handle such a precious cargo
Ending journey starts the long demands
Mostly silent she ignores the celebration
Another cargo just as certain to bring to joy
Upon announcement from the full hudok again
HE WAS
He was one of those Splendor In The Grass
Forgetless- heart filled days of glory;
His spirit on white puffy cloud-
Sun- cloned Lewisburg, WV, fast water
Heaven skipped the top rocks as surely,
As never had my heart longed so deeply,
Nor spirit wind felt so beguilingly sweet,
Whipping the earth's face clearer-dearer
His arms bound our soul-gathered beings'
Invisible cry;
Whilst the brilliant sky so high
TOLD THIS STORY: YEP,
THIS GIRLS IN LOVE WITH THE BOY!
bettyburdette 2016
The first time I knew I loved my husband, we were
up on Greenbrier River across Low Water Bridge, WV.
He was so silently intent on the river, sky, and the
beautiful clearer than clear water. His spirit was
sculpting while I fell through space as only a teen can.
That is what the poem is about, AND
To You, My Only Love --- Gone to Be With THE LOVER OF
OUR SOULS, on this 2016 EASTER---HAPPY EASTER TO YOU..
The clouds drape low,
shrugging blue mountain shoulders,
melding with ghostly river mist
ascending in specterous vapor trails
salted with primordial tears.
Between stately mottled sycamores
and aged medicinal white oaks,
slippered phantom figures glide,
clad in hides of deer and mountain lion.
Down to the silvered stream--
a mirror for chalky spirits and bright stars--
they slip to drink of pristine springs.
The powerful spell impacts within, without,
invading every animated sense.
A dream, an apparition?
I wonder at the dawn of bright sun rising,
green moss clad boulders warmed, fog dissipated.
I discern the curious sensation
of withdrawing from an ancient trance.
The happy river dances down the valley,
bordered in mountain laurel ruffles, pink;
the fragrance of breakfast bacon wafts,
a tantalizing, hunger inducing wave,
and campers' laughter echoes off a dream.
Copyright, August 19, 2014
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